America.
Now he was a dumbass with a mortgage, a dog who seemed to be a bit constipated, two tiny chaotic things, and another on the way. No one even let him kill people anymore.
It was a never-ending cycle of waking up in the morning and seeing their faces, taking care of them, going to work, coming home, and going to bed with his wife.
It was kind of fucking awesome.
Sure, his younger self would likely tell him he’d sold out and he was a pathetic version of himself, but his younger self had been stupid as shit. His younger self thought a great time was following a known terrorist around for three weeks so he could find the cell he worked for. His younger self had needed a freaking shower, some decent food, and a comfy bed.
And a dog who didn’t take his time with the poop.
“Come on, Bud. Pinch off, man. We’ve got shit to do today.” Well, he did anyway. He was sure Bud would have a full day of licking his private parts and waiting for the girls to drop food. Bud seemed forever optimistic that one of these days the girls or Charlie was going to drop a ham in front of him.
A butterfly landed on the bush next to Bud and that was when he went into protective mode. He barked, the deep sound threatening to anyone who didn’t know what a wuss he was, and he pulled hard at his leash.
Hard enough to make Ian stumble and damn near break his toe on the garden gnome Alex had left as a joke. Hard enough to send Ian crashing down to his knee, pain flaring and making him curse.
Bud twisted again, and Ian tripped over the riding ladybug thing Kala liked to push around the yard. He landed flat on his back, looking up at the sky.
Taken down by a freaking ladybug. And his back was spasming. The pain flared through him and he could feel his lower back seizing like a motherfucker.
Bud suddenly blocked out the sky, his big doggie face staring down.
“Don’t you dare.”
It was too late. Bud licked his face and Ian realized he shouldn’t have gotten up that morning. Nope. He should have stayed in bed and then he would be warm and happy and not having his face licked by a gargantuan mass of body odor and a tongue that licked its own ass from time to time.
God, if he didn’t die from breaking his spine he was going to catch some dog disease and waste away. Right here. Because he wasn’t sure he could move. “Bud, I need you to go get Charlie. Go on. Run and get her.” He let the leash drop. Bud simply sat down beside him. “Go get Charlie, boy. I think she’s got a ham for you. Go on.”
Bud laid his big head down on Ian’s chest.
Now he had a sleeping mutt and a garden gnome that was practically up his ass. He could feel the pointy cap thing attempting to violate him.
“Ian? Ian, I need you.”
Thank god. His wife would laugh her ass off, but at least she would be able to maybe help him up.
“Ian, I think the baby’s coming.”
Yep. It was that kind of day.
* * * *
“I wish you would let me call the ambulance.” He pulled out the small suitcase Charlie had told him would serve to carry everything she would need for her stay. One week later and it would have been packed and ready to go, but no. Baby boy didn’t want to wait for Mommy to be ready or Daddy to be able to move without agonizing back pain.
He must have slipped a disc or something. Damn he was getting old, but he was still Ian Taggart. He was the man who’d taken two bullets in Kabul and still managed to rescue his unit, gather the needed intel, and perform admirably when he needed to seduce his way out of a prison hospital. He wasn’t going to let a few muscle spasms hold him back.
Charlie shook her head. “It’s quicker to drive. You know how long they’ll take, and they won’t go to the right hospital. I want Presbyterian and I want Dr. Bates. The contractions are still nine minutes apart. We have time. My water hasn’t even broken yet. Don’t you dare forget to pack a couple of bras, Ian Taggart. This is not the club and I need those bras.”
He personally thought she looked better