“Irish, honey, just like yours.”
“Like mine my ass.”
I turned around and draped an arm around his neck, leaning on him, hanging, giving him some of my weight. “Don’t be jealous.”
“Me?”
I scoffed.
“The hell do I have to be jealous about?” His voice was low and a bit savage.
“Absolutely nothing,” I mollified him, kissing his cheek.
He chuckled. “Listen, tomorrow night we’re having dinner with the supervisory deputy.”
“For what?”
“He wants to talk to me formally about the command position in SOG.”
I stopped walking and let him go, and he rounded on me, hands on my hips.
“What?”
“So he really wants you to take it.”
He nodded.
“Which means what?”
“Which means that you’ll be suited up in Kevlar every day,” he said, grinning.
I thought of Aruna.
It was the weirdest thing. I was standing there talking to Ian and my brain went blank, except for her.
The Saturday before, while Ian and Liam went shopping for our now-regular dinner with our friends—Ian was going to make some scary-sounding casserole—Aruna and I took her daughter, Sajani, now three, and Chickie Baby, my dog, for a walk. She had decided she wanted donuts, so we were on our way to Firecakes when she asked me if Ian and I ever wanted kids.
“Kids?” I asked, a bit horrified, scoffing to cover my discomfort. “Me? You think I should be somebody’s father?”
She turned, looking hard at me, as though taking my measure. “I think if you wanted to be, you’d make a wonderful father, because you know what it’s like not to have one, and so because of that, you would be the best one you know how to be.”
“Or, because I have a few abandonment issues of my own, I might be really smothering and drive my kid away,” I advised honestly, feeling sorry for myself in that fleeting moment. It never stayed; I was too happy with my life, with the people I had in it. But still, I had missing pieces that came from not having a family when I was young and knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt there was no one in the world who cared. That all changed in college when I met Aruna and the rest of my coven, and then with Ian.
But I was already a bit too possessive of Ian and could only imagine what that would look like if focused on a child.
“It’s different than you think it is, and besides, you parent already.”
“What’re you talking about?”
“I’m talking about the boys.” She meant Cabot and Drake and Josue. “You nurture them constantly.”
“That’s different,” I allowed with a shrug. “They’re all grown-up.”
She snorted. “They are so not grown-up.”
“Yeah, but—”
Her phone rang then, and as she pulled it from the back pocket of her jeans to check the caller ID, she scowled. “Okay, this is Catherine, but just think about it, all right? Either way you go—have a kid, don’t have a kid—it works.” She finished with a smile that told me I was adored before she answered quickly, hitting the speaker button. “Hey, Miro’s here too. What’s the word on our girl?”
“She seemed fine when I was there,” Catherine said from the other end. “I stayed three days, and she was mad at first that I showed up because he called, but then she let it go and was happy to have me visit.”
“I missed something,” I said. “What’re we talking about?”
“Janet,” Aruna said on a sharp exhale. “Ned thinks she’s got postpartum depression happening and he called Catherine, so she flew there to check her out.”
“As a doctor or her friend?” I asked.
“Yeah, see, that’s what she said,” Catherine sighed. “So you know her, she was annoyed that I would jump on a plane without talking to her first and finding out if Ned was full of shit or not, but once I was there, visiting, she was good.”
“And did she seem depressed to you?”
“I have to say that the only thing I saw her depressed about was how Ned’s mother was hovering,” Catherine explained, and I heard the sharp edge to her tone. “And admittedly, the woman is a bit intrusive. She was holding Cody and was worried that he was dehydrated, and I assured her that he was not.”
“Uh-oh, I can hear your claws coming out.”
“Well, she was all ‘And are you a doctor?’”
I chuckled, and Aruna nodded and smiled.
“And I said, ‘Why, yes, ma’am, as a matter of fact, I just so happen to be.’”
“Did you snarl or just speak?” I teased.
“I fuckin’ snarled, are you kidding?”
I knew she had. I didn’t have to be told.
“Fuckin’ cow, how dare she suggest that Janet, who we all know has wanted to be a mother probably since she herself was born, would not be totally on top of that kid’s every need. It’s insane. I mean, Janet’s already made arrangements to start telecommuting so she can work from home once her maternity leave is over, for fuck’s sake.”