Grit (Dirty #6) (9 page)

Sixteen

Rocky

I don’t have girlfriends. Actually, other than Link, Augie, and Joe, I don’t have any friends—male or female. Link is…whatever Link is. Joe doesn’t count because he’s my brother. And Augie is more an acquaintance I know through the other two. Because of this, I have nobody to talk with about my predicament.

Link and I need to have a conversation about it, but it would be nice to have someone outside of the situation to confide in.

Friendship. There’s another thing I didn’t realize I missed.

Last night was strange. We didn’t discuss the baby. No plans were made. Nothing resolved. Link made dinner in pensive silence while I stared down a bottle of vodka.

We ate, and then he led me to bed. I half expected him to leave, but he stripped down to his underwear and climbed in beside me. He stayed to his side, but his hand found mine in the dark.

Now, as I lie here thinking, I can hear him moving around in the kitchen.

I should go out there, face him. Have the talk. I know I should. I’m just not ready to do it. I don’t know what’s going on inside his head. He’s always so passive, but when he saw the positive test, he was
broken
. It doesn’t take a genius to understand.

We’ve never established what our relationship means. We’re not married, I don’t know if we’re even considered to be dating. You don’t have a child with someone you aren’t in a serious relationship with.

Also, I’m not Olivia. Link said a lot of really sweet things the other night, and I believe he meant them, but she was the love of his life. He’d still be with her today if she hadn’t been ripped from him so tragically.
She
was supposed to be the one having his baby.

Not me.

And when he and I first started this thing between us, he specifically asked me if I was on the pill. He wasn’t looking to get anyone pregnant. Yet here we are.

I have no idea how it happened. I
am
on the pill. And I’m habitual when it comes to taking it. Because
I
wasn’t looking to get pregnant. I’ve always heard the whole spiel about antibiotics interfering with the effectiveness of birth control was a myth, but now… Well, now I’m pregnant.

Link comes into the room with a steaming bowl in one hand and a plate in the other. I watch him set both on the nightstand before disappearing through the door again. When he comes back the second time, he has a glass of milk and another plate.

I sit up, pushing my back into the headboard, and rake the hair out of my face. “What’s all this?”

He shoots me a grin, the one that’s all straight white teeth and full lips. The one that makes me want to sink my nails into him and pull him on top of me. Damn, the small dimple in his right cheek is even showing. The man should smile more often. Like, always.

“Breakfast. I got up early and Googled the best prenatal foods.” He hands me the bowl and a napkin. “Oatmeal. Careful, it’s hot. Actually, here.” He takes it back, switching it out for one of the plates. “Why don’t you start with the eggs while this cools.”

I just stare at him. He always cooks me healthy shit. That’s nothing new. But since when am I incapable of eating hot food? I’m pregnant, not an invalid. And he Googled the best prenatal foods? Why would he do that?

He ignores the look I’m giving him, grabbing the other plate, and begins eating.

“I ran to the store. Your fridge is full. We’re having salmon, rice, and broccoli for lunch, and steak, sweet potatoes, and salad for dinner. I know you’re not a big fan of fish, but it’s good for you and the baby. We can find a way to season it that you’ll like. And if not, there are fish oil vitamins. I can pick some up.”

He glances at me, registering my puzzled expression before shifting back to his meal.

What is happening?

“I just want to make sure you’re both strong and healthy…and happy. Anything you want—anything you need, just tell me. I’ll make it happen.”

I place the plate on the comforter in front of me. “What are you saying?”

His gaze glides back to me, gray eyes focused. “I’m saying I want you to keep the baby.” He shakes his head, his brows creasing. “I’m saying I want
us
to keep the baby.”

“Us,” I repeat.

He keeps watching me, waiting for me to say more. It takes me a moment to work through it. Because I don’t know if I want to be catching cold in his deceased girlfriend’s shadow for the next eighteen years. And I definitely don’t want the baby to feel that way.

“Us,” I say again.

“You and me,” he confirms. “Together.”

“Together? What does that mean?”

“You and I. At the same time. In the same place. I was looking at houses online, too. I won’t get a whole lot for mine, but I have a decent savings. More than enough for a down payment. There’s one not far from here, still close to the gym. I was hoping you might want to check it out later this week.”

What the fuck is going on?

Oh, right, I’m pregnant and Link is a good man. He’s trying to do the right thing.

“You want to buy a house? And move in together? And raise the baby as…what? A couple?”

“Yes,” he says, the conviction in his voice unnerving. There’s no way he’s this sure. It’s impossible. I don’t even know how
I
feel.

“Too fast,” I utter. “This is too fast. I need time. We just found out last night. I haven’t been to the doctor. I haven’t even had the chance to make an appointment. And you’re shopping and house hunting and Googling prenatal food. How did you find time to do all that? It’s like nine in the morning.”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“I know you want to do the right thing, and I admire that about you. But seriously… I don’t want you that way.”

His eyes narrow, brows drawing together in an open mix of confusion and frustration. “What way?”

“
Forced.
”

Seconds tick by as he contemplates that. Perhaps
forced
wasn’t quite the best word. Obligated probably would have been better, but they are almost the same thing.

“I’ve been here all this time.
Willingly
. What makes you think I feel forced now?”

“Because that was before the baby bomb. Now you need to make all these plans. We weren’t moving in together before the baby.”

“I’m here every day and every single night. My toothbrush sits next to yours. My clothes are in the closet next to yours. I eat half my meals next to you. I sleep here next to you. I know we’ve never made an official announcement, and my mail goes to a different residency, but we
are
living together. I just thought it would be better to have a place with a second bedroom for the baby. But if you want to know the truth, it wouldn’t matter where either of us lived. I don’t give a shit about an address—
you’re my home
.”

What the hell am I supposed to say to that?

“Who are you?” I finally utter.

“This is me making sure I tell you all the things I want to say while I have the chance.”

While he has the chance. For most people, that would sound ominous, but coming from Link, it’s so much more meaningful than that.

He doesn’t say the three words I keep myself from saying to him each day, but it occurs to me in this exact moment that he doesn’t need to. There are a million ways to say I love you. And Link has been telling me in his own way.

Like: “
I don’t want to lose you
” or, “
I don’t want to make the same mistakes with you
” or, “
I think about how I don’t want anything more to ever happen to
you
” or,
“With every breath of my being, I do not want to fail you
.” And my favorite as of twenty seconds ago, “
You’re my home
.”

I set all the dishes on the nightstand and push the blankets to the side. I could tell him all the things I want to say—I could tell him that I’ve fallen so deeply in love with him, and not one second of it felt like falling. Or I could take a cue from him and show him.

I grip the collar of his t-shirt and tug him on top of me as I lie back. He comes with me easily, letting me wrap my arms and legs around his body. I press my lips to his, using the pressure of my kiss to open his mouth. I suck on his tongue, provoking a moan.

I pull back, licking and nibbling my way to his ear. “Okay,” I whisper. “We’ll check out the house.”

He draws back, eyes flicking over my face. I haul him back quickly.

“After.”

“After?”

“After you make me come.”

Seventeen

Link

Unable to sleep, I left Rocky in bed and took a drive. It didn’t occur to me until I saw the orange neon sign where I was actually headed. Now, here I am, sitting in a booth,
waiting
.

“How are you today?” Garrett asks as he approaches my table. I read his nametag to be sure it’s him, but I already know it is. My gaze moves over him, taking in the cool blue eyes peering back at me, the spiked blond hair, the pink stripes exertion has painted across his cheeks. I cringe looking at him, knowing he touched her—
hurt
her. Knowing he put his fucking cock inside her against her will.

I grind my teeth, my fingers circling around the napkin-wrapped silverware in front of me. I could slide the fork out and jam it into his jugular. He’s overweight, stomach hanging over the waist of his pants. I’m sure he’s slow. He’d never even see it coming. He’d be dead on the floor before he knew what happened.

A chill skips down my spine. My thumb presses on the teeth of the fork. All I’d have to do is slip it out an inch and swing.

I could do it.

“I’m good, Garrett,” I say. “How about you?”

“I’m doing great. Can I get you a drink?”

I tilt my head and pretend to look over the menu. The tip of my finger slides back and forth along the fork.

Garrett shuffles restlessly. He’s getting irritated with me for taking so long.
Good
. I watch his greasy black shoes shift weight from one side to the other.

“I’ll just have water,” I finally answer. “And how’s the grasshopper pie?”

“Minty,” he replies, laughing at his own joke.

I smile back.

Fuck you, Garrett
.

“I’ll take a slice.”

“Sure thing. Is that all for you then?”

Is that all? I pull the tab on the sticky paper holding my cutlery together and roll the napkin open. The knife would be better. It’s dull, but that just means it would hurt more. I’d easily be able to shove it in far enough to bleed him out.

I take a quick glance around the restaurant, noting the other patrons.

“That’ll be it.”

His eyes linger on me before he pivots on his heels, moving on to the next table. I’m sure I creeped him out. I hope to hell I did.

The first time I died, it was the result of eighteen stab wounds.

The doctors were successful in their mission to revive me. At the time, I wished they hadn’t. That’s putting it
mildly.
There were days I begged God to take me. Days I considered ending it myself. The thought of never reaching Heaven—of never seeing Olivia again—is the only reason I didn’t act on it.

The second time I died was when I received the news that the woman I loved more than anyone else in the world had not survived the attack. The bitterness is a daily struggle. Mourning is never-ending. Grief isn’t an emotion. It isn’t a time period. It isn’t a way to
heal
. It’s a battle. Vicious and brutal. There is no winner.
Everyone
loses.

There wasn’t a damn thing any doctor could do to bring me back from that. But then I met Rocky. And she somehow managed to make my heart beat again. She makes me want to live. To enjoy my second life. She makes me want…so many things I never thought I’d desire again.

I can feel the muscles in my jaw twitch to the rhythm of my pulse. I press my fingertips into my forehead and close my eyes. I close everything out. And in the darkness, I look for Olivia. I look for her to guide me. To tell me it’s okay to need someone else. To
want
someone else.

I need to know it’s all right to live without her.

For over four years now, the devil has followed me. He’s stayed on me tight like a shadow, reminding me I’m a dead man walking. I guess… I think we all are, though, right? That’s the process? Dying is a part of life.

But I’m not at peace with this. How can I be?

Rocky’s the reason I’m here. I don’t know how to handle this shit. These fucking
feelings
and these fucked-up thoughts.

I wasn’t able to protect Olivia, and she paid the price for that. I care for a woman who isn’t Olivia, and no matter how right it feels, at times it feels like betrayal. And I know…
I know
I’ll lose her someday too. Because death is eminent. Still, I obsess, needing to protect her from all the ugliness in the world.

I spend so much time speculating on why God would allow me to protect one and not the other. That shit spins around and around in my mind. Had I been able to save Olivia, I never would have known Rocky. She wouldn’t be having my child.

That’s the hardest part for me to understand. How one beautiful, sweet girl could be ripped from my life, ruining me? And then another gorgeous, fiery woman was sent to match the me that I’ve become and gift me with not just a new start, but a whole new life.

It’s cruel.
It’s so fucking cruel
. I’d do anything to get Olivia back
except
lose Rocky and the baby.

They are everything to me, and I have to keep them safe at all cost.

Garrett sets my glass of water down, stirring me from my thoughts. He slides the plate toward me, and I realize I’m still holding the knife in my hand. I release it, setting it beside me.

“Enjoy.”

I ignore him, picking up my fork and digging into the sweet mint chocolate pie. It’s good. It feels wrong to appreciate anything that came from him. I push it away and slip out of the booth, almost running into Garrett.

“Sorry, just bringing you the check.”

He holds it out to me, but as I take it, I grab his arm, wrenching him toward me. “If I ever find out that you put your hands on another woman against her will, I’ll fucking kill you.” His eyes widen in shock and his face reddens before it washes clean of all color.

“And it won’t be slow,” I growl. “I’ll chop your pudgy little dick off and make you eat it. Then, I’ll sit back and watch you bleed to death. Do you understand me?”

He nods, one quick jerk of his head.

“And take your profile off the dating website.” He stumbles back into a table as I release him. Heads turn, wondering what the commotion is about. I slap the check and some cash down beside him and head for the door.