Say It Isn't So

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The End-Ish

CAIN

“Shit, that smells good.”

“Your mother's recipe babes,” Max calls from the kitchen, the same direction that the mouth watering smell is coming from. “How was work?”

“Shit.”

“Is that your word of the day?”

I chuckle, dropping my keys onto the side.

Work is shit. There is no other word for it. Still, less hours and all that.

“You’re probably just missing Harry,” Max teases from the stove.

Her hair is pulled up into a wild pile on the top of her head, her little grey joggers hang low on her waist as she leans forward, stirring the food.

My arms circle her waist, as I drop kisses onto her neck, allowing myself to inhale her deeply.

“I’m not at all jealous that he’s in Bali. I’d rather be here with you,” I admit, taking in the delicious contents of the pan my wife is stirring slowly.

“Bali though,” Max lifts her hand up to my cheek, kissing me tenderly.

“You, though.”

The pan is forgotten when she turns around, her arms lacing around my neck as she pulls me in close. We do this every night— just decompress from our day together.

I breathe her in, she breathes me in.

Oxygen.

We survive perfectly well this way.

“So you’re making chilli,” I peer into the pan over her shoulder. “With garlic. Yum.”

“Your mum says it’s the only way. Plus I’ve put in smoked paprika. She insisted.”

“How was your day?” I ask, reaching into the fridge for a cold beer.

God knows I need it.

“Hmm it was okay. Same shit, you know? Although Samuel was being a bit odd today.”

I lift my eyebrows as Max frowns, plucking two bags of frozen rice from the freezer, allowing me the perfect opportunity to admire her ass.

I need to move everything to the bottom drawer of the freezer.

“Isn’t he always odd?” I sigh, my stomach rumbling at the sight of the chilli being heaped onto plates.

Max blitzes the rice, spooning it onto our plates before carrying it into the lounge.

“Yeah, but he was talking to me, about serial killers.”

I arch an eyebrow as we sit down, and I try not to laugh.

“Maybe he’s trying to impress you with his knowledge?” I say innocently, forming a spoonful of white fluffy rice into my mouth.

“Yeah. Maybe,” Max pushes the food around her plate, before sighing.

“What’s wrong?” I frown, as she shrugs.

“I’m not hungry. I felt sick when I was cooking the mince, but I know it’s your favourite so—”

“You felt sick?” I swallow, dropping my fork to my plate with a clatter.

“Yeah, it’s raw meat though. No one likes it do they?”

I eye her warily, and notice she looks pale. My brain clicks into overdrive, and without thinking I'm firing questions at her.

“When was your last period?”

Max frowns, looking over at me with exasperation.

“That’s probably it. I’m due soon, I think.”

She picks up her plate, and pushes the fork around aimlessly.

“Maxie.”

She looks at me, biting her lip.

“Have you taken a test?”

“A test? What kind of—oh! No, I’m not even overdue Cain.”

Excitement curls through my stomach as I wolf down the food, barely acknowledging the insane flavours.

Max looks green at the gills, and I know I have two options.

Go and buy a pregnancy test straight away, or buy one in the morning.

Either way, a test is needed.

“Cain, why have you rushed that? Was it nice? You didn’t even say anything!” Max exclaims, as she takes in my face. “What?!”

“Max, I’ll go and get you a test.”

“Cain!”

“How late are you?” I demand, whipping my phone out to find the calendar.

“Cain, you’re being absurd. If I was pregnant I think I’d know, don’t you?” Max snorts, standing up to clear the plates.

Oh, this woman.

“Maxie, darling. Princess. Sweetheart.”

I follow her into the kitchen, my beer forgotten on the side.

“Yes?” She smirks, scraping her food into Tupperware.

I would definitely take that to work tomorrow.

“How late?”

I’m impatient now, and Max pauses, slipping her phone out of her bag to check, her brow furrowed. She’s pouting at the phone, her fingers swiping at the screen.

Be late.

“Two days. That’s nothing—”

“Can we get a test?”

I’m virtually hopping now, and Max looks bewildered.

“Cain they’re not cheap, they’re at least—”

“Max Harvey, I’m buying you about three pregnancy tests, and I don’t give a fuck how much they cost,” I say, picking up my car keys.

“I’ll be right back, sweetheart,” I grin, winking at her before I leave, my heart in my mouth.

Could she be pregnant?

MAX

Cain is pacing like a madman.

“How long?” He barks, marching up and down the small bathroom like an angry pigeon.

“Cain, calm—”

Holy fuck.

I gaze down at the stick in my hands, the tiny blue line coming into focus.

“Where’s the instructions?!” I whisper, as Cain takes the stick from my hands.

“I’ve read them three times, Max, this is a positive!” Cain is grinning so widely that I can’t help but mirror him.

“No, I don’t think that’s right. Where’s the Clearblue one?”

My heart is in my mouth now, and I’m starting to feel excitement uncurling in my stomach. Cain thrusts another one towards me, and I dip it into the wee sample I’d done earlier.

“Oh my fucking God,” I whisper, clamping my hand to my mouth.

2-3 weeks pregnant.

Cain sweeps me into his arms, whirling me around as I cry, tears of shock and happiness.

“A baby?” I sob, unable to contain my emotions. “But I don’t know anything about babies!”

Cain laughs, gripping me so tightly I have to beg for release.

“We‘ll learn, baby, together! Max, this is fucking awesome!”

I’m stunned.

I’m going to be a mummy?

Cain is walking around the room, his hands clasped over his eyes as he exhales loudly.

“A baby us, Maxie,” he turns to me, holding my face as he kisses my salty cheeks. “It’s probably a vegetarian, you know? Hence the raw meat thing,” he grimaces.

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” I chuckle, staring back down at the two tests in my hand.

“Are you okay? How do you feel?” Cain asks, holding my face tenderly.

I gaze up at him, his eyes filled with worry as his thumb strokes my cheek.

“Really happy, Cain. Like I’m carrying our child or something,” I half laugh, half cry. “I thought I was just ill.”

Cain lifts me up, and I squeal, gripping his neck as he kisses me.

“You’re on bed rest for the next nine months, beautiful,” he declares, easing me onto our bed gently. “And you’ve got to wear sexy underwear the entire time.”

“Cain,” I laugh, tugging him down to me. “Are you really happy?”

“Happy?” Cain repeats, his lips grazing mine. “I’m fucking ecstatic.”

His lips drop to my neck, the softness of his kisses making me arch in response.

Only we could find out we’re pregnant and celebrate with making love.

What better way to celebrate though?

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