AN: The chapter turned out longer than intended, but I would rather not split a single scene between the two. So enjoy the longer chapter!
Beta'd by Grim Tide
Chapter 9
We won, but at a cost.
Three agents died, over a dozen critically wounded and dozens wounded out of 144 deployed. By all standards of the term, decimated. Over a twenty-five percent casualty rate, and most military units couldn't sustain such losses. Highlighting how high the standards were for agents, the crème of the crop, and a dying breed.
John, Rick, and Phil. Three more names added to the extensive plaque wall or should I call it a hall at this point? Good guys, from what I heard, but I never interacted with them beyond exercises. I could only take comfort in knowing that they were smart enough to avoid attachments. No wives, girlfriends, or children. Most acted like Liz and Dave—short, shallow flings.
The kicker? All the deaths and critical injuries came from capes. Agents wore frankly ridiculous amounts of armor unsuited for extended combat operations in the faint hope of surviving indiscriminate destruction. That armor nullified basic ballistic attacks until they were only a serious threat rather than mortal—plenty of broken bones and internal bleeding, but that was far better than a bullet wound.
Pistols and standard assault rifles didn't cut it. There was shit out there that could single-handedly kill an agent in one shot, but that was an escalation the government couldn't allow. The army still existed for a reason, and it wasn't for protection against other countries.
Battery and I hitched a ride back in Squad 28's van, her blood-stained shield taking a seat of its own. They had plenty of room… Hookwolf never left the field without a cost. None died, thankfully, but they caught a different ride back in an ambulance. I ran my hand over Battery's back with her hunched over, burying her masked face in her hands. Quiet sobs left her while the rest of the agents sat in silence. She earned their respect many times over. Brother in arms, fighting in the dirt and blood.
A stench filled the van, partially mental and physical. It was a bittersweet victory, truly pyrrhic for us agents. There were thousands of gangbangers, but only hundreds of us. Years of training compared to weeks at most. Any idiot handed a gun could replace those we took down, with the true loss coming from the capes killed. If it cost an agent's life, we weren't happy. So even with the four of us, the atmosphere remained bitter. Then mix in the sour body odor combined with blood, and they match. Unpleasant to the core.
I shifted in my armor, trying to find a comfortable position for my bruised body. A litany of deep divots coated the outer shell, with my magazine harness long torn off. Some from bullets, but most from Hookwolf. The beast took great offense to me ramming my van into him.
Even though I wasn't physically tired at two in the morning, my eyes drifted closed. The stress and adrenaline take their own toll on my brain. A quick rest.
Then I was awake again, hand-snapping to my sidearm before relaxing. "Get cleaned up, McBride. You smell like shit." A familiar face with dark bags under his eyes. The edge of the armored door was placed just right so that it would give him enough time to hide behind should the startle prove too much for me.
Cool night air replaced the stuffy interior from the open rear door. The sound of an active garage pinned the location under the PRTHQ, right back to where we deployed from, just missing a few vans and agents.
Anything positive washed away, leaving me scowling. "Yeah. You came all the way down here just for me?" I straightened out and rolled my stiff muscles. The other two troopers were gone, but Battery snoozed in her seat. Henry stood out of the back door with three cups. Steam billowing out of them, replacing the stench with something more pleasing. Coffee, the magnificent bastard.
"Quicker I get you cleaned up and your reports straightened out, the sooner I can be in bed and forget about this shitshow. Good to see you got through without ending up in the hospital this time. Both of you did good work." Henry gazed at me imploringly while I stayed sitting. "Well, are you going to get up or not?"
"Right." I shook my head and nudged Battery. The armored elbow pad clinked against her plate carrier, not quite ringing through the protective rubber exterior and material holding it in place.
She grumbled and turned away, reminding me of trying to wake up a teenager. Which served to ruin my mood further. She killed a person for the first time today.
Irrational guilt gnawed at me for leaving her to commit the act when I knew logically that she did her job just as I did mine. Yet no matter how I looked at it, there wasn't an option for me to take her place. She had the speed to save the hostages; it only made sense. Except now her career was on the line, threatened by sanctions over killing an Empire cape. There would be an inquiry. If only I could've hidden the death or played it off as just another gangbanger.
I turned to Henry, and he just kept the shit-eating grin, like he was enjoying that I took his job and now had to ride herd on my squad. Only Battery so far, but I knew more would follow if they didn't sack me for today's events. I sighed, debating whether to shake her awake or be improper and just carry her to Squad 42's ready room. How was it that being a good squad leader came off as enabling a crush so often? Question: Would I do this for flirty Dave? Nope, I'd dope-slap him, but this was a traumatized teenage girl. Yet I still had my answer, setting my personal feelings aside for now. I was an agent first, and Will came second when I was on the job.
There were no guns on her, so I was good.
Wack!
"Ah!" Battery jerked upright, letting out an aborted scream. Honed instincts acted out when she grabbed for her shield with the briefest sparks of blue lightning already charging.
"Get moving, Battery!" Damn, I felt horrible doing that, but she had to wake up anyway, and I was the leader, not a babysitter, no matter what we went through. Once we were off the clock, I could show some compassion. I swiped my cup of coffee from Henry, already formatting my AAR (after-action report) in my head.
I left my station, having dictated the events from call-in to entering PRTHQ after the operation into a recorder. The written report would come later today or next, with a panel of analysts asking probing questions about minute details. I wouldn't do the writing; they would after watching my helmet footage in detail. Nothing would escape them.
And on that note, I officially finished my day. Home beckoned me to kick up my feet and sleep until I forgot about all those I killed. Henry read me the preliminary reports of the operation, and they felt like casualties of war. Twenty-eight civilians died and over a hundred were injured. Miss Militia, Velocity, and Assault all suffered mild to severe wounds in exchange for having a hundred and thirty gangbangers put down and two hundred plus arrested. Two minor empire capes died, and four were captured. Hookwolf and the other heavy hitters escaped the field, not without their own injuries, but we dealt a heavy blow to the Empire.
Hopefully, enough to prevent any retribution, as the PRT floundered with over half the Protectorate off the table. Not that I particularly cared how Piggot dug her way out, just that she did. Maybe this was the nudge she needed to actually
do something besides keep the status quo, like she did in my memories.
Freshly showered and dressed in my finest sweatpants and hoodie, I stopped by Battery's nook to see how she was doing. The slight pile of tissues to the side told its own story. Soft sniffling came from within, downplayed until only my enhanced hearing picked up on it. At my knock, she ripped down her mask, covering her face. She no longer reeked of BO but was freshly showered. Good. "How are you holding up?"
"Fine." That didn't sound fine. The only part of her costume that remained on her was the mask. Everything was just comfort wear, much like what I wore. A blue Battery hoodie and black sweatpants—always funny when a hero wore their own merch. An ego thing or free?
I knew I earned some enmity from how I drove her on to do her job, but being a hero or agent wasn't easy. Another highlight on how personal attachment between superior and subordinate went wrong often, shedding some light on why Henry remained a step separated from the rest of Squad 42.
Off the clock, though, when we hung up our responsibility, that was the time to vent and get over the trauma. She'd be looking at some therapy, maybe some every day, until the PRT was certain they could rely on her, but often they brought the cape and agent to good enough, rather than fix the problem over months. True treatment came from something non-prescribable: teammates, family, and friends to vent to. I knew what it felt like to lack them when I needed them and refused to put Battery in the same position.
"Do you... have someone to talk to?" I ventured. "I know you are living out there on the oil rig, but do you have a friend or close confidant to talk about today with?" Fuck opsec (operational security) when it came at a heavy cost. She rarely brought up her personal life when training, being more focused on doing her best and learning everything she could from me. I spent four years learning for this job; she didn't.
Battery balled up her hands. "No. Dad and Mom are back in New York. My sister is long gone. Fucking Assault…" The last part she whispered to herself. And I could imagine how it went in the other world, with her having a hard time and him giving her a shoulder to cry on, being the only familiar face regardless of how much she despised him.
"Come on." I swiped the recorder from her desk and put it in my pocket to deposit with Henry on my way out, then walked away, leaving an open invitation. Pushing never helped.
No steps followed me, and I thought she would go mope in her room until I reached the door. I'll admit, I was disappointed, feeling like I let Battery down. Then I heard a swift patter of feet trailing in my wake and a proud smile I kept hidden as she made the right choice for her mental health. For the first time, I thanked the crush she had, if only to be the tipping point of making a good decision.
I didn't bother knocking on Henry's office door, throwing it open and barging in. He held out his hand, and I dropped the recorders.
"You know you have the most entertaining rumors following you, and I can't wait to see how this will play out. First, bagging a woman old enough to be my wife, and now have a teenage hero following you around like a puppy." He said, putting the recorders off to the side amidst folders of paperwork. If he puffed on a cigar, it'd complete the image he cultivated.
"Fuck you." I was too tired to come up with any snappy remarks.
"Up yours too, McBride. I expect you at four for debriefing. Battery's at five." Four p.m. because hell would freeze over before I was debriefing in an hour. Maybe a day after that would be the hearing at the hands of a panel about the people I killed. Much like the military, it was strictly in-house and kept out of the public eye unless they were unable to keep it under wraps. There was a large reason why all agents dressed as one mass without identifying marks. Not the only reason, but one of them. We were PRT agents. That was our sole public identity.
I waved him off with a middle finger and closed the door behind me on the way out. She remained behind me all the way to the parking garage, where she took my passenger seat. I waited for her to say something—maybe ask for a ride back to her apartment—but she stewed in silence.
There comes a time after a long night when a person sits in their car with their hands on the steering wheel and stares off into the distance. Oppressive white light filled the underground garage, and the occasional car drove past. Just because it was three in the morning didn't mean that the PRT ever slept.
"I'm going back to my apartment if you want someone to talk to." I expressed my intentions without the chance of them being misinterpreted and waited for a response. No way in hell was I just going to drive her back to my apartment, even if my plan involved kicking my feet up in front of the TV and watching cartoons while drinking.
Battery responded by pulling her mask off, and damn, did she look like a baby. I forgot how young she was with the mask on and how professionally she acted. Short cropped brunette hair, almost a pixie cut, with the last hints of baby fat still puffing out her cheeks. Yet it was her green eyes that took me aback the most. They weren't full of life like they should be; they were rather bloodshot and puffy. Large bags under her eyes and splotchy cheeks enhanced her strung-out appearance. That face did not belong to a hero facing horror and killing. She was just an average eighteen-year-old. Ah, the horrors of child soldiers.
"Kelly. Ah, names Kelly. My name is Kelly Sterling." Kelly groaned and palmed her face with both hands.
"What will you know?" I joked, hoping to ease the tension a little. Thank this body's parents for giving me such a glorious name. Formal, yet can be shortened nicely and presents excellent jokes. They were good for something besides disowning me for becoming a PRT agent rather than going into the family business.
She groaned again and punched my arm, but a small smile graced her. "That was bad, and you should feel bad."
"Will I?" And it worked exactly as intended. Kelly cringing at me was far better than rethinking revealing her identity or everything else. She just gave me a show of trust rarely extended to non-capes or family for good reason.
"Yes, you will!"
"That's my name."
"Urg!"
Shit, this was edging into dad joke territory. The hairs on the back of my neck straightened out, and a shiver went down my back. Against all odds, what if I
did get Annette pregnant?
…nah.
"What's with the face?" Batt- Kelly asked.
"...I need a few drinks first."
"I'll hold you to that."
I signed at that look she had. That wasn't how drinking a few beers went, Kelly.
Well, that was all I needed. I put my SUV into gear and pulled out of the parking spot. "I hope you'll say I was a perfect gentleman when they pull you aside tomorrow." At least I can say I wasn't giving preferential treatment, as I would invite back anyone on my squad for a drink after a rough day. Henry did the same—not his home, but taking the squad out to a bar on his tab.
Kelly looked at me in confusion before what I implied the PRT thought was happening dawned on her. She shifted and turned completely away from me, sitting sideways in her seat.
I laughed, and it felt good after such a night. Did she know I knew about her crush yet? I'd hate to break it to her that it would never happen.
There was a moment I considered turning on the radio, but all stations would either be broadcasting the affected areas to avoid or an all-clear for the populace to return to normal life. Both of those would put Kelly in a spiral, so I drove in silence.
"Do you regret it?" Kelly asked.
I kept my eyes on the deserted road, ambling down it exactly at the speed limit, maybe less at times. There was no reason to rush, considering I took unneeded side roads to extend the five-minute drive. If I ignored the growing decay as social services collapsed, Brockton Bay could substitute for any other New England city at night.
But do I regret it? Being a PRT agent? Dedicating my life to the one force standing in the way of the total collapse of society? No. I might not make a perceptible difference in the grand scheme, but if no one tried, we would already be in city-states ruled by warlords. Each drop counted, and with enough people dedicating their lives to justice, we could wrangle life back on course.
Yet, that wasn't what Kelly was referring to. It was the killing. "Do I regret killing? Not in the act, just that it is necessary. There shouldn't be high school-aged kids deciding it's a good idea to go out and kill someone to join a gang."
She stood on the precipice of being a hero. Each fight after killing that cape turned a touch more brutal. Dishing out more severe injuries and taking down gangbangers without reservation. Either she would take the route of no killing or follow in my footsteps. Little existed in the in-between, yet neither side was right. I had to live with the fact that some or even most of the people I killed could've lived if I were stronger, better, and able to show mercy.
I prayed she took the route of mercy.
That was the last time either of us spoke until I reached my front door on the second floor. I showed Kelly around, pointing out the key spots of my small apartment—not requiring more than a single bedroom, a kitchen, a bathroom, and a living room. It was just me, so why would I want any more than that? Nothing extravagant, but it also wasn't cheap, having ample space for anything I wanted and decent height clearance.
"Take a seat. I'll grab some drinks and snacks." I ushered her to the large couch and threw on an imported show on TV. It cost close to a grand, but I bought the full Avatar series from Earth Alph.
I knew I was being irresponsible, but a beer or twelve did help. Kelly was old enough to kill, so she was old enough to drink. Two six packs of some expensive beer I never bothered to get the name of, chips, and random stuff to mix with it. I set all of it down on the coffee table, pulled a beer out, and popped the top off with my thumb, offering it to Kelly. The bottle top sailed across the room, tinking against the tile in the kitchen.
She shook her head, taking out one herself before blue sparks briefly covered her, letting her snap the top off. "I'm not so helpless."
I nodded my head toward her and took my spot, kicking my feet up on a footstool. Watching child-like innocence face the problems of a war-torn world with humor just... helped.
"It was one of the hostages. He asked me to save his mom." Kelly spoke up. "That's when I found that
man raping her. He didn't stop. Looked me right in the eye and laughed. Just said to let him finish up, and I could arrest him. That he would be out in a week anyway. It just made me so angry." Her hands trembled before she tilted back her beer and drained the rest. "Spitting on everything I wanted to fix as a hero, just like Assault."
That was the base of matters. There were just too many Empire capes. All the initiative went to the attacker, and the choice came to a valiant last stand that would cost the agents' lives to stop the breakout or retreating and letting the cape go free. Großer Schub didn't lie, having been arrested over a dozen times. Notorious for his vile acts, but he always surrendered.
"I just stood there! Like an idiot! If-if I acted… if I did anything…"
Worse than I thought. I placed a hand on Kelly's shoulder, letting her vent. She knew what went wrong and how to do better, saying something wasn't needed. On she went, describing her failures and raging at the Empire. This went all the way back around to killing the cape.
"Killing him felt good! Like I did something good! Did- does that make me a bad person?"
Such a loaded question. "Being relieved that he can't hurt anyone again isn't a bad thing." I wanted her to make up her mind, not have me dictate my thoughts as her own.
Kelly turned away from the TV and stared me down. "Does being happy that I killed him make me a bad person?"
It seemed like I wasn't able to get away from this question. "I killed many people last night. Does that make me a bad person?"
There wasn't an immediate answer, so she put some thought into what I said before speaking up. "Well, no."
"I was doing my job, just like you. We have our orders, and we follow them. How you carry them out depends on who you are. You care. Seeing something so horrible…" I shrugged, never blaming Kelly in the first place, as I would do much the same. The consequences be damned. Then, on another note of changing the subject to one she couldn't ignore, "You know, I was having dinner with Annette after meeting her daughter when I got called in."
Kelly kept her scowl firmly in place. "How old is her daughter?"
"Fourteen. Apparently, her birthday was months ago. I thought she was still thirteen." Birthdays slipped my mind; I would have to ask Annette and memorize hers and Taylor's.
"Fourteen… Why, why someone so…old? She could be your mom!"
I laughed, having never considered that. Fifteen wasn't unheard of for having a child. "If her daughter was my age, I think that would make it a touch more awkward."
"A touch!" The sheer offense at my statement.
The offended look she gave my fingers when I held them slightly apart was hilarious.
"She's
forty, Will! It'd be like me scoping out a daycare, looking for a future husband!"
I waved her off. "Bah, after you turn twenty-five, age matters less. I doubt I'll change much over the next twenty years, just like Annette. We are who we are, and nothing's going to change that unless something major happens. But you, Kelly, the world is your limit. Who you are in two years, five years, seven years, will be night and day." That's why I despised the current climate with the Wards and Protectorate. If it was up to me, Wards would last until twenty-five after going through the same courses I did.
"So if I were older..."
"If you were twenty and I weren't going out with Annette, then I'd think about it."
Kelly sighed. "Just a few years. You knew about my crush, didn't you?"
"You did show up to training in a crop top and shorts glued up your butt crack."
"Urgh, don't remind me." She hid her face in her hands, a recurring action whenever I embarrassed her.
"No, I don't think I will. Speaking of Taylor, she has posters of Armsmaster and Alexandria. I'm thinking of getting her some signed merch from a real hero." Neither of those two were worth looking up to, not for Taylor. Maybe she would be less traumatized without long-loved heroes showing their true colors.
"Who?" Kelly asked.
"Well, who else? Would you mind signing some for me?"
A radiant blush colored her cheeks. "I- I wouldn't mind." Yet her slumped posture straightened out, and a measure of pride showed through the worry and guilt.
Nothing important happened after that. I finished off the last beer, well into the second season of Avatar. Kelly passed out not long after we finished talking, leaning on my shoulder and drooling up a storm. And yet, I still didn't sleep, zoning out to the cartoon show and pondering life. Never thinking about much, just drifting from one topic to the next.
The sun shone through the curtains, and the TV continued, working from one episode to the next without input.
Then the front door unlocked with a click and scraping metal. With the reaction time of a demented snail, I turned my head just in time to see the door swing open.
…and Annette stepped in wearing a long tan coat with a small purse hanging on her shoulder.
Huh.
This was going to be interesting. Also, when did she get a key? I knew I gave her mine when she took care of me. Did she get it copied?
Annette paused a couple of steps in, studying Kelly and me, and the living room in general. The assorted empty beer bottles and snack bags caught her eye. Then she slammed the front door shut.
Kelly jerked awake, swinging her head around until she found Annette. Then she sprung to her feet, tripping over the side of the couch and running into the bathroom. I, on the other hand, remained frozen in my spot, not yet ready to think, and got a busy signal in my head when I tried.
Not a word was said. Annette put down her bag while draping her coat over the back of a chair, went over to the kitchen, and pulled out food while putting a pan on the stove. Just sitting here wasn't an option. I forced myself up and shook out the cobwebs.
When I entered the kitchen, Annette greeted me with a breath mint. Fair.
"Who's the girl?" She asked. Her voice remained rather normal and not strained. I knew if I came over to Annette's house and I found a guy sleeping on her shoulder, I would be a bit peeved.
"Kelly's a coworker who needed some support after last night. Things didn't go… great," I said.
Annette hummed.
"She's far too young," And then explained a bit more at her non-committal hum.
That earned me a side eye and an accusatory hum.
"You know it's different." She was just poking my buttons. We spent some long nights talking about the age subject.
Yet another hum, but this time she cracked a smile. "I know Will. You've made your preference widely known. I'm more curious about how someone so young works with you. You rarely talk about work."
"Well, she's actually my subordinate, and you're not worried?" I asked.
"Why would I be?" Annette swished her lustrous, curly, black hair as her glasses caught the light just right and with just a little shake of the rear. Followed by her throwing on some bacon, followed by cracking an egg into the pan. "I'm all that you need."
"Ah." I sounded like an idiot, but instead of standing off to the side, I worked my way in to help cook. This was my kitchen. She couldn't kick me out this time.
The shower kicked on as pipes rocked in the ceiling.
"Why are you here? And how did you get in?" I asked, setting aside the first course, which was just enough for an appetizer for me.
"We need to have a talk, and we were interrupted last night." A strange glint flickered past her eyes, almost like she knew more than she was letting on, with more than a touch of guilt flickering by before she turned away. "As for how I got in? Well, I wasn't always a model citizen. Some skills last a lifetime."
I gave her a swat. "Naughty."
The bathroom door opened, and a freshly washed Kelly stepped out looking a fair bit better than when she entered. I could see the disappointment radiating off her upon seeing Annette.
I cleared my throat into my fist. "Kelly, this is my girlfriend, Annette. Annette, this is Kelly, my coworker."
"I trust
my Will was a perfect gentleman?" Annette asked, smiling in sadistic delight.
Kelly prickled. "Yes… more than anyone could hope for. I can see why he attracted such an… experienced woman."
"Hm, it does take experience to handle someone of Will's caliber. Anything else would just be a waste. Sit. A growing girl needs a proper breakfast."
Yes, I was staying out of that. Kelly, wide-eyed, took her seat and was swiftly served a couple of fried eggs, bacon, and toast.
"Will? Sit."
"Yes, Ma'am!" That came out a little more sarcastic than I intended, but I knew I was fully in the wrong in this situation. Not that anything would've happened, and Annette knew that, but the optics were bad. Give and take. She decided to be pushy, and I gave way. A show of trust.
I think that was what I enjoyed most about Annette—the unspoken dynamic we developed. A performance in part, but one that required both parties to play. Should either of us fall out of touch with the other, we would crash and burn long before most couples would realize something was wrong.
Kelly snorted, making a whip sound. Then she quieted upon Annette's gaze shifting to her, retreating into shoveling down her food. I commiserated with her and started eating, knowing Annette stood inches behind my back.
The lightest touch caressed my jaw, sliding through my beard that I really needed to shave. She settled into kneading the back of my neck, working out tension I didn't know I had. I knew this was a power play against Kelly, but it was what it was, and I enjoyed the massage regardless. Like I said, it was a performance, and this was just another aspect.
I also enjoyed the display of possessiveness. Little actions like that told far more about how deep our relationship was becoming. The edge of guilt tried to surface but drowned under the sincere effort I put in for months. It also helped to know that Annette also went in under false pretenses.
Kelly clinked her fork against her empty plate, refusing to look in my direction. "Bye, Will! I'll call you later! Thanks for everything! Thank you for breakfast, Annette." And she ran away, desperately trying to put on her boots as quickly as she could.
Annette wasn't one to let her prey escape so easily. She ghosted around the table and came up behind Kelly without a sound. A simple hand on the shoulder froze Kelly worse than staring down a villain. "I rarely hear about Will's coworkers, much less meet one. So young, too. Why not stop by for dinner on Saturday? My daughter could use a wonderful influence like you."
I winced again as Annette compared Kelly to her fourteen-year-old daughter. Rarely were things unintentional with her; even the smallest gestures held meaning or projected her emotional state.
"Okay," Kelly squeaked.
Then Annette pulled her into a light hug, whispering something I couldn't hear before shooing Kelly out the door. I shook my head with a mouthful of food as the mysterious older woman persona slipped off Annette once the door closed.
She dragged a chair over to my side and snatched my fork away, starting to eat my food. Even my bacon I was saving for last!
"Suck it up, you baby. I'm eating for two." Annette casually remarked, shoving a full strip of bacon into her mouth.
I blinked. Then I opened my mouth and closed it.
"I know you can't talk about your job, and I doubt you're a data analyst. That's understandable. It is." Annette ran her left hand over my right arm, tracing the bruises that had gone through my armor.
The bruises weren't small, given how large the assorted armored plates covering agents were to distribute the force of impacts. The purple, swollen mass she traced covered a large part of my forearm—something that completely slipped my mind with her sudden appearance. I would've worn a long-sleeve shirt until I healed, but that option had long passed.
Guilt twisted her features for a moment. "But please tell me when you're going into danger."
I swallowed the lump in my throat. This was a possibility—I knew it since yesterday. Yet, being told so made it all so real. No longer was my stake in this life about me alone. What would've happened if I had died last night? Now I felt guilty for another reason. "I, uh, I will. Are you really? Aren't you-?"
"Old? In the middle of menopause? Technically, I wasn't officially, having gone ten months without a cycle before getting pregnant. An extremely rare edge case, but yes, I had an ultrasound and confirmed it. No tumor, no cysts. And no, I'm not telling Taylor until I get past the first term, considering my age."
"Huh."
"Yes, I do take the blame for being so whimsical and now paying the price of doing so." I would've believed her a bit more on the price being paid if she wasn't smiling off into the distance when saying so.
"What are we going to do now?" I asked, still not having slept for over a day, and I was having a hard time thinking through the repercussions.
Annette mopped up the rest of the yoke with a slice of toast and shoved it into her mouth. A quick dab of a napkin, and she started rooting around in her pocket. Something gold caught my eye, and a forming blush tinted her cheeks. "William McBride, will you marry me?" Annette asked, presenting me with a simple gold band.
I blinked.
Was this a fever dream? Did I get shot in the head last night, and this was my coma experience?
"I refuse to raise my child without their father. A second child was always a dream, and now it has come true. You, William, brought a spark of life back to me. Without you, I would hate to imagine the bitter woman I would've turned into. Thank you from the bottom of my heart, not just for what you brought me, but for what you have returned to Taylor. So please, will you marry me, Will?" At least that explained the smile regarding being pregnant.
Absent of my conscious control, I held up my left hand, and she slid the large ring onto my ring finger. "This is… quite the leap."
"It is."
"We need a bigger house."
"We do."
"When is the baby due?"
"Halfway through March."
"Do you have a date for getting married?"
"End of next month, September. I refuse to wear my wedding dress while being a land whale."
"So... yesterday, with the entire thing about throwing me at Taylor and making those promises?"
Annette's cheeks turned scarlet, and she brushed nonexistent locks of hair away before adjusting her glasses. "That came from some last-minute panicked research about widowed women with children remarrying. My anxiety got the better of me." Her muscles twitched, but she kept looking at me even when her embarrassment blazed.
What else could I do besides lean in and give her a kiss? "I told you I wasn't going to run away."
Then I pulled her into my lap. The chairs and table squealed against the tiled floor as I pushed them aside to make room for her. Once there, I combed a hand through her hair and rested my other against her lower stomach. She melted into me, pressing herself tight.
