Boarlander Cursed Bear by T. S. Joyce

Author:T. S. Joyce
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Wicked Willow Press
Published: 2016-03-30T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

What was this strange feeling in his chest? This annoying flapping that happened when Shae laughed or came back with a witty retort to one of the Boarlanders’ teasing.

They were giving her a hard time for choosing him, but it meant they were accepting her. If they ignored her, or gave her the cold shoulder, then Clinton would’ve been nervous. As it stood, Shae was like a damn snake-charmer, Boarlander edition.

He fuckin’ loved watching her slip into this notch that had been missing from the crew. He’d picked well. Good bear. At least the monster was good for something. Shae. She was the best part of him. The brightest.

Her giggle trailing off, she took another sip of trashcan punch from her red plastic cup and snuggled against his side. In a rush, she tensed and retreated, but he grabbed her arm and prevented her escape. She’d been doing that—forgetting to be careful.

“I’m okay,” he murmured against her ear. “I like you up against me.”

He and the boys had dragged up logs around the fire they’d made, and they were all leaning against them, relaxed, plates of half-eaten food in laps, cups all around, smiles on every face. Hell, maybe he was even smiling. He’d never given a single thought to what his face was doing until Shae had told him his smile “felt like home.” Home? Yeah, made sense to him. They had been each other’s everything when they were kids. Some part of her had clung to that. God, he was so lucky that she’d come back to him.

Clinton picked up his drink and looked inside. It was full, an orange slice floating at the top. Shockingly, he was sober. Why? Because Shae was doing something strange to him. She was making him want to be clearheaded in case she needed anything, in case she needed his protection, in case she didn’t like Drunk Clinton.

Shae swatted a bug off Emerson’s leg and said, “I just saved your life.”

“My hero,” Emerson swooned. “Oh!” Emerson grabbed Shae’s hand and pressed it against her belly. Clinton could see the languid movement of her baby from here, and he couldn’t help but smile when Shae lowered her lips to Emerson’s belly and said, “Hallooooo, baby bear cub.”

Bash chimed in. “I’m gonna put, like, thirty babies in her.”

“That is untrue,” Emerson said. “He’ll put maybe two, and then this baby-factory is closed. Being pregnant is hard.”

Across the fire, Beck snuggled closer to Mason, who cuddled a sleeping Air-Ryder against his chest. And the smile they gave each other was so tender, Clinton had to look away.

Someday, he would give a baby to Shae if she wanted to build a family with him. Far from now, when he was better and more stable. He would never admit it out loud, but he’d been watching Mason, taking notes, because someday he hoped to be the type of father he was to Air-Ryder.

He’d never dreamed of that until Shae had come back into his life. He was a broken vase, shattered on the floor, and she was his glue.

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