Page 39 of No Knight (My Kind of Hero #3)

Matt

“Oh, look, the part-timer is back,” Fin taunts as I enter the meeting room the following Monday morning. Oliver glances up from the printouts in his hand, acknowledging me with a nod.

I took a few days’ personal leave—not that I feel I have to report in, but I haven’t seen the pair since the day after the meeting at Theta went tits up last week.

It’s been a while since I’ve taken time off, and I’m slightly surprised this pair didn’t send out a search party.

I’m glad that they didn’t, as they would’ve only intruded on my Ryan time.

I’m pleased to report she’s moved in. Well, into the basement apartment, which was originally intended as staff accommodation. It’s nice enough, but I’m working on getting her upstairs. Into my bed. Into my life. The whole shebang. Which is not quite how I framed it to Letty yesterday.

After Clodagh’s perfectly timed question—well, I thought it was kinda hilarious; there are no flies on that kid—I drew a look of gratitude, maybe even admiration, from Ryan as I explained the situation to my sister.

“We’re having a baby,” I announced. “And though me and Ryan are in this together, we’re not together.”

Ryan’s shoulders sagged with relief. Letty, meanwhile, slid me a squint-eyed look. None too attractive.

“And while you’re here, I might as well tell you that Ryan has agreed to move in with me so I can be part of the whole experience.”

Letty’s next look was incredulous—she looked at me as though I’d grown another head.

Clodagh’s input was kinder. “You’ll like it here, Ryan. Uncle Matty gives the best kind of hugs.”

And I like to think that I do.

I called my sister later and listened to her rant her concerns. When she was done, I reminded her that I’m thirty-eight, that I’ve amassed a wealth that most people couldn’t spend in a lifetime. And that achieving those two things didn’t happen by accident.

In other words, mama didn’t raise no fool. I know what I’m doing.

Now there’s just these shitehawks to deal with. And the rest of the family to tell, though there’s no great hurry as far as they’re concerned.

“Aw, babe,” I say in response to Fin’s flapping gums. “You missed me?” I pull out a chair at the head of the table and drop into it, then stretch out my legs. “Howya, Andrew.” I send Oliver’s assistant a short wave before he slips out the door and closes it behind him.

“ ?Qué es la crai c? ” Fin asks in a mixture of Spanish and Irish slang.

“The craic is grand,” I answer agreeably.

“ Muy bien. ”

“Well, I think it’s pretty good.”

The craic. Such an Irish concept. You can have good craic, and bad.

Savage craic, which is also good, or the craic might be ninety , which is the pinnacle of a good time spent.

What’s the craic is “How are you?” or “What’s going on?

” And if you’re described as great craic, that means you’re fun to be around.

If you want to go deeper, craic is prana and it’s chi.

The life force that governs us, that flows through us, that simply is.

Fuck, that got a bit deep.

“Well?”

I shrug: Dunno what you’re talking about . “Did I miss something?”

“You don’t answer your phone ... you don’t call.” Leaning back in his chair, Fin gives a careless flick of his wrist. “I was beginning to think you didn’t love us anymore.”

“Babe, you know I’ll always have time for you in my life.”

Fin flips me the finger, and Oliver gives a pained sigh.

Sitting up, I reach for the bottle of water we each have set in front of us, along with a portfolio including the meeting’s agenda. Oliver is a stickler for protocol. Ignoring the accompanying glass, I crack the lid and gulp it down.

It’s all good—this is typical Fin and me. I’m prepared to catch some shit for dropping off the face of the planet for a few days. Some things are just more important than making money.

“What is this I’m seeing?” From his seat at the middle of the table, Fin waggles his finger as though to indicate my face. “This is something new.”

“What?”

Fin sits straight and gives a gasp, like Oliver’s maiden aunt. Not that he has a maiden aunt, but if he did, she’d sound like that. “You’ve won her over, haven’t you?” Fin’s demand is narrow eyed.

“Well ...” I bite back a burgeoning grin. If only he knew.

“So that’s where you’ve been? You hydrate, my friend,” he says, tipping his own water bottle on its side before rolling it down the long art nouveau–era meeting table.

Oliver gives a pained wince at the sound.

“We’ll get you some electrolytes,” Fin adds as the bottle rolls off the edge and into my hands. “Call Andrew back,” he says, glancing Oliver’s way. “Let’s get this man a protein bar, stat.”

“Thanks for your concern,” I drawl with good humor. “But I’m all good.”

“Yeah, I can see that. You’re smiling like a lunatic.”

“That’s because I have news.”

“News other than you’ve won her over?” From the far end of the table, Oliver examines me over the rims of the dark glasses he doesn’t like to admit he needs.

“That the sight of you no longer makes her sick?” Fin puts in.

“Har-dee-fuckin’-har.”

“So when do we get to meet the unlucky lady?” Fin waggles his brows ridiculously.

“Soon, I reckon.”

The idea of waiting twelve weeks before announcing the pregnancy went out the window with my sister’s visit.

Thanks, Clo. Letty’s reaction was better than I’d expected, to be honest. She seemed pleased.

Or maybe pleased isn’t the right word. Vindicated?

Looking forward to me joining the parenting club?

I’m not sure. Though I am certain she has thoughts and opinions, she was kind enough to keep them to herself. For now.

“We should have dinner,” Fin continues. “I mean, as long as that sickness isn’t contagious.”

“Definitely not contagious.” I brush a finger against the bridge of my nose, my words seeming to end in a curl. “She was, ah, sick for another reason.”

“I imagine it was shock.” Oliver’s gaze returns to the papers in his hand.

“A bit of that. A bit of something else.”

“What something else?” Fin pulls a face—a suspicious twist to his expression. Then, “No. No fucking way!”

“I’m gonna be a dad.”

Oliver lowers his papers slowly this time. Fin, meanwhile, looks like his jaw just unlocked at the hinges.

“She’s pregnant?” Oliver calmly lays the documents on the table.

“Yeah.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thanks.” I turn Fin’s way. “You can shut your mouth now.”

“I am shook .”

“You’ve been hanging around with Ronny too much. But also, I know how that feels,” I add, rubbing my finger at the edge of my smile to temper it.

“But you’re okay about it. I mean, you look fucking happy.”

“Yeah, I am okay. And slightly terrified, naturally.” The terror comes from the shedload of pregnancy books I ordered, which has left me wondering if too much information is a thing.

Reading some chapters makes me feel all sorts of warm and fuzzy and smile like an eejit.

Other bits—and here comes the terror—leave me wondering if the human race would still be a thing if blokes were responsible for birthing babies.

Or maybe it would just end if it was left to me.

Women. The fairer sex, for sure. The stronger sex, no doubt.

And I don’t care what anyone says, the recent uptick of dipshit social media “We’re pregnant!

” announcements makes not one bit of sense.

Women bear the burden—generally speaking, and not to diminish anyone’s gender identity—they experience the pregnancy.

Growing a whole new-arsed human is a 100 percent solo activity.

Their partners might be lucky enough to be involved in the fun start, but to my mind, we’re entitled to zero of the kudos.

I’m all for sharing and mutual responsibilities. I’m committed to equal parenting, and of course I’ll support Ryan wherever and however I can. Where she’ll let me. But I’ll be sure to let her know that she deserves my endless gratitude for taking this one for the team.

“How far along?” Fin’s voice brings me out of my thoughts.

“Fourteen weeks.”

“A Manhattan October baby.”

I slice him a look. “That’s fucking weird.”

“That I know the last time you had sex? Agreed.”

“Whatever blows your hair back.”

Fin snorts. “If my internal joy was waiting on you getting your rocks off, I’d be miserable most of the time.”

I just haven’t been interested in anyone else thanks to this massive Ryan hangover I’ve been suffering. But it’s over now.

“And things are all right?” Oliver’s inquiry turns the conversation sensible. Thank the feckin’ Lord.

“Yeah, she’s okay? Happy, healthy, and shit?” Fin puts in.

My smile falls a touch. “She’s happy,” I answer tentatively. “But we’re not together.”

Oliver says nothing.

Fin says, “Oh, shit.”

“The official line is we’re in this together but we’re not together. Until I can change that.”

“Right.” Only Oliver speaks this time.

“It’s sudden, but things will improve.” I’m more than willing to do the work. To make her feel safe enough to let down those walls. Let her see in her own time how good this could be for us. For the three of us.

“So ... what are you gonna do?” Fin asks.

“Be there for her. Literally. She’s agreed to stay with me.”

“She’s moving in?” Fin asks with wide-eyed astonishment.

“Well, yeah. The timing isn’t great.” My hands open in a gesture of what the fuck . “Theta fired her. It kind of caught her off guard.”

“What the fuck? Because she blew chunks on their carpet?”

“On what grounds?” Oliver translates for him.

“Performance issues, though she disputes that strongly. But she also says there’s nothing to be done about it, thanks to her probation period.”

“That does muddy the waters,” Oliver says. “Unfair, but perfectly legal.”

“Legal maybe, but also fucking immoral.” Fin might be a dick sometimes, but he’s a good friend.

“The law is the law,” Oliver says. “And business is just that.”