All the Sky (38 page)

He didn’t want Cory working. Period. She wouldn’t quit, so he’d fired her. They’d been married two weeks and had had the first blowout of their marriage over it, but he didn’t give a shit about her independence or what the fuck ever. She wasn’t independent. She was his. And she was making his kid, so she was not going to deal with the endless bullshit of running a bar. She had her little online shop where she sold her jewelry. And she could do those shows with Isaac. That was enough. It was his job to take care of his family.

She was sleeping, the lamp on her nightstand still on, and her guitar on his side of the bed. He hadn’t seen that out in awhile—not since shortly after she’d started managing Valhalla. He liked to see it. Maybe she’d be easier about not working if it meant she could start playing music again—not that he’d be okay with her traipsing all over the region playing in dingy bars. But he still liked the idea that she’d picked up that pretty red guitar again. He thought about her singing to their kid and smiled.

He had more to lose than he ever had, and he no longer needed the thrill of the outlaw. But he no longer felt anxious, either. He felt resolute. He would keep his family. They would be safe, they would be happy, and they would be his.

Woe unto the man who tried to take them from him.

Carefully, he picked up the guitar and set it across the armchair. Then he stripped and slid into bed, coming up behind her and gently sliding an arm under her so that he could fold her tightly to him, one hand under her little nightgown, on her rounding belly.

She stirred and took a deep breath, stretching as she did so, her body rubbing along his until his already hardening cock swelled to its fullest state.

“Hey. You’re home.”

He kissed her shoulder. “Yeah, I am.”

He could feel that she was bare against him, sleeping without underwear. He flexed his hips, and his cock slid delectably along the cleft of her ass. She moaned and raised her leg, resting it back on his hip. And then he pushed into her.

Home.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

“It’s a shame I don’t have more, but we always used everything until it was tatters. And then anything I could I took to the church. People’ve always lived hard lives here. You do what you can for each other. That’s how I live. I tried to raise mine that way, too.” June stopped and rested her arms on the aged cardboard box she had not yet opened. Her eyes lost focus, and she turned to gaze out the window into the sun of an early spring afternoon.

Cory sat at the kitchen table in Havoc’s childhood home and waited for his mother to come back from her sad thoughts. She did, with a start, and then smiled down at Cory. “Well, like I was saying, I don’t have much from when Joe was a boy, but I have a few things, and if there’s anything here you think you’d like to have, it’d sure make me happy to pass some things down to the little boy you’ve got coming along.”

“I’d love to have something of Ha—Joe’s for the baby. That would be wonderful, June. Truly.”

With another sad smile, June pulled the folded flaps of the box open. The first thing that she pulled out was a crocheted, blue baby blanket, soft with use and faded with washing. She handed it to Cory. “I never did use this in anything else. I set it aside in case we had another boy. We never did, though. Just our girl, and we had to wait a long time…for her…” again, she faded out and lost focus.

Cory held the soft blanket to her chest, feeling some of June’s sadness roll over her. She imagined it must be devastating to lose a child to violence, and then to simply be told she was dead. To be told and be forced to simply accept that the box in the middle of the church, and then in the ground, held one’s child.

She hoped she’d never have to experience it for herself.

When June refocused again, she stared into the box but didn’t bring anything more out of it. Without looking at Cory or anywhere but the box, she said, “Joe’s father is a good man. It might be true he could have been a better father, but that isn’t because he doesn’t care.”

Cory didn’t know what to say. June looked at her. “It’s a hard life we live here. There’s not much room for kindness. Children here need to learn to live in a hard world that doesn’t make way for them. That’s all Don ever wanted for the children. To be strong.” She smiled suddenly, saving Cory from another awkward moment in which she had no response. “Oh, look here! I forgot I did this.” She pulled out a blue binder with a teddy bear on the front and the words
Baby’s Firsts
.

Now
that
Cory was definitely interested in. June sat down next to her and opened the book flat on the table. On the first page was the usual hospital photo, a baby in a white t-shirt, eyes shut tight, a head full of dark hair. On lines under the photo, in nearly perfect Palmer script, was written,
Joseph Daniel Mariano, May 3, 8lbs 14oz, 23 inches.

“Wow. He was huge.”

“Yep. Such a big boy. Gave me a time, I can tell you.” She laughed softly. “Hasn’t stopped since, really.”

They flipped through pages of the book—a lock of curly black hair taped to a page, a picture of Havoc in his christening gown, a picture of him in a high chair, his mouth open wide in a happy grin, food all over his face and in his hair. He started walking when he was ten months old. His first word, at about one year, was “no.” His second was “gimme.” Cory smiled. Of course.

The pages were blank after that. June flipped over a couple of blank pages, then fanned through the rest. “Oh, dear. Well, I guess by then he was keeping me on my toes. Once he got up on his feet, he never did stop.”

“I love this, though. Seeing…Joe so little and sweet. He’s such a big, tough guy now.”

“Yes, he is. But I know he’s still that sweet boy deep inside. Always in trouble, but such a tender heart. He was always bringing wounded birds and litters of orphaned bunnies around. He used to hide ‘em from his father, but he’d get up at all hours feeding those babies. Don always found out, and…but that never stopped Joe trying. He had such a time keeping out of his daddy’s way.”

Reading between the lines of June’s recollection, Cory’s heart ached. Poor Havoc.

June closed the book. “Well, I don’t want to keep you. Here. Why don’t you take the box? Keep what you like, take the rest to the church, maybe. And let me pack you up some snacks and things to take with you. I have a meatloaf leftover from last night. Joe loves that.”

When Cory left, she had a light box of Havoc’s childhood keepsakes and a fairly tall stack of big, old margarine tubs full of meatloaf, and sweet potato casserole, and cookies, and buttermilk biscuits. And half a peach pie.

And a deep and pressing need to find her man and hug him hard.

~oOo~

She found him sitting at the counter at Marie’s, with Badger and Isaac, eating pie and talking to Dave Bakke, Marie’s husband and the diner’s head cook. Dave noticed her first and smiled; the men turned to see.

Havoc looked concerned; Cory didn’t make a habit of hunting him down during the day. When she came up to him, he pulled her close, still sitting on the stool at the counter. “Hey, honey. Everything good?”

She moved between his legs and tucked her head against his neck, circling her arms around his back, her hands hooking over his shoulders.

“Cory, what’s wrong? The baby okay?”

She leaned back and looked him in the eye. “Nothing’s wrong. The baby’s fine. You’re amazing, and I love you.” Then she kissed his bearded cheek, stepped back, and walked out of the diner.

She was back at her new SUV and about to slide behind the wheel when he grabbed her arm and turned her to him. He was smiling. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Nothing. I saw your mom today. She gave me some stuff from when you were a baby. She told me some stories. I just needed to hold you.”

A hard light came into his eyes, and his smile faded. “What she tell you?”

She had not intended to make him relive old memories. “Nothing—just a couple of little things. It’s good. Made me love you more.” She put her hand on his face and was glad when he tipped his head, resting in her palm just slightly.

“Okay. You on your way home?”

“Yep. She gave me a big pile of leftovers and stuff, so I need to get them into the fridge. It’s a lot of food. Did you tell her you don’t like my cooking or something?”

He looked guilty for about half a second before he changed it to innocent and said, “No, no way.”

“Oh, my God, you did.” She gave him a playful slap. She knew she wasn’t much of a cook—boxes and jars and cans were her friends. Also the microwave. She was good with herbs and spices and could put together a decent meal, but she had no interest whatsoever in making anything from scratch.

Grabbing her hand as it hit his arm, he brought it to his lips. “You still love me?”

“I really, really do.”

~oOo~

A few days later, she was in the back yard, trying to make something of the knotted bramble that was supposed to be a rose garden. Since Havoc had fucking
fired
her from Valhalla, she’d decided to devote herself to making their house as awesome as she could.

Ooh, she’d been pissed when he’d forced her hand like that. He really could be a bully, not to mention bullheaded. Teaching him how to be a partner in a relationship was going to be a full-time job, apparently. Or learning when to pick her fights with him. Or both.

It hadn’t even occurred to her to be remotely upset when he’d bought this house without her input; she’d simply been gobsmacked by the gesture, so sweet and caring. And he’d brought Nolan into it, too, so it felt like a loving gesture her family had made. And it was a fantastic little house, the kind she’d have picked herself, if it had ever occurred to her that she’d someday be a homeowner.

But he’d followed that sweet gift with a pronouncement only days later, while they were still unpacking, that she was done working. What the fuck? At first, she’d laughed—until it had become clear that he’d meant it. And then she’d lost her head a little. Jesus, he’d bullied her
into
that job, only six months earlier, and there he was, bullying her out of it.

He could make her madder than anyone had ever made her in her life. Her general tendency when she was hurt or offended was to speak up for herself and then withdraw. With Havoc, she hung in, and it made her…well, violent, sort of. When he locked his feet down on something important, she often found herself pushing and hitting him, yelling like a madwoman. And of course, big brute that he was, he just stood there and took it, until he found his in to take her over. Infuriating.

He’d subdued her quickly, and gently, in the job fight, then lectured her about being careful of the baby, whom he seemed to think was fragile as spun glass. And that had evolved into what she thought might have been, in Havoc’s grudging, stilted way, a plea. To let him take care of his family, to let him do the one thing he felt confident he could do well for them. Provide.

If another man had made that plea, she might have felt manipulated. But Havoc had really meant it. He was terrified of screwing them up. He needed something he knew he would do right. And it wasn’t like she’d given up some amazing career. She’d mostly been pissed because he’d made the decision for her.

So now she was intentionally unemployed, spending her days fixing up the house he’d bought them and trying to make her little online shop an actual business. And playing music again. Truth be told—and she had no intention of telling it, at least not yet—she liked her life this way. She felt cared for and happy. Loved. So she turned her attention to making their home reflect that. On this warm April afternoon, that meant showing the rose garden that she was boss.

Cory didn’t have much gardening experience; she’d lived in rentals her entire life. To own a home and have a yard was a new experience, both wonderful and, already, kind of a pain in the ass. But Havoc was skilled with his hands, so he was able to do anything that needed doing around the house.

Except he was not remotely interested in gardening. Mowing, yes. Hedge trimming, okay. Digging stumps out, sure. Laying a new walkway, of course. But not gardening. So Cory had taken it upon herself to learn. The rose garden back here was older than Cory or Havoc, and she felt a responsibility to bring it back to life. Lilli, an avid gardener, had come over a few times to get her started. She’d taught her some good tips and given her seeds and plants and supplies to get her underway.

First step was taming the overgrown tangle. So now Cory was on her hands and knees, trying to prune everything the right way. And getting her hands and arms torn up in the process.

She wasn’t in the greatest of moods.

“What the fuck are you doin’, honey?”

She looked over her shoulder and saw Havoc striding from the back of the house, his brow furrowed. They lived in town, and not that far off Main Street, so it was typical to hear motorcycles roar by throughout the day, and she’d begun to tune them out. Sometimes she didn’t recognize Havoc’s bike pulling home.

“Pruning back the rose bushes. Don’t come in here. There are thorns everywhere.”

He ignored her and came in, bending down to pull her up. “You shouldn’t be crawling around on the ground.”

“Hav, it’s not the seventeenth century. Everybody knows that normal activities won’t hurt the baby. Shit, some women, like, do marathons when they’re eight months pregnant. I’m fine.”

He kept pulling, until she gave in and let him lead her onto the grass. “Those women are stupid bitches and not mine. Look at your arms.”

She snatched her hands out of his grip. “Barely scratches. I’ll wash up when I’m done. You need to chill out, Hav. The bean and I are fine. He’s been doing somersaults today. He feels great. Very peppy.”

That redirected Havoc’s attention. He grinned and put his hand on her belly. “My boy. Hey, Loki.”

Cory groaned. “Luke, you mean.” They’d learned that they were having a boy when she’d had a sonogram at her last appointment. Havoc had been thrilled. They’d already decided on a name for a boy—Lucas Joseph, a name Cory adored—but within scant minutes of seeing that little nub between the baby’s legs, Havoc had started calling him Loki. Like he’d had it queued up and ready to go.