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Mick grumbles up a storm, mostly about not wanting to be seen with her, and definitely not wanting to go shopping on his day off. I get it, I really do. But when it all comes down to it, there’s not much of a choice.
“She needs things we don’t have,” I say, my tone making it clear I’m being pragmatic. “And not all of it can be bought online. Well, it can, but I want to…” I stop talking when I realize I’m rambling.
“Just answer me one thing,” Mickey asks, his tone grave. I nod. “Is this for her or for you?”
He isn’t asking about the things, but the gesture itself. Shit, maybe going shopping today is a bad idea. It could give her the impression I’m on her side, which I’m not. Far fucking from it. My plans for today have everything to do with my guilt, and nothing to do with her.
Kinda.
“For me,” I admit.
Mickey studies me for so long I start to feel like an object on display, but then he finally grunts and nods which I take to be his way of agreeing.
“Thanks, man.” I clap him on the shoulder, knowing that’s the best I can hope for. It’s a small victory, but a necessary one. Because when it comes down to it, we’re all we’ve got, and that has to count for something.
The first rays of dawn are sneaking through the blinds when Gail shuffles into the kitchen, her presence like a storm cloud on a clear day. She’s in a pair of pajama bottoms that hang off her hips and an oversized hoodie that swallows her frame, looking every bit the lost girl she is.
She mumbles a morning greeting that hangs awkward in the air until I respond. “Morning.” My voice a gruff echo against the stainless steel appliances. Mickey doesn’t say a word, just turns his back on her, his posture rigid as if bracing for a hit. I can’t blame him; the anger sitting in his chest is a living thing, breathing fire into the room.
“Look, Gail,” I start, clenching my jaw to keep the frustration from spilling out. “We need to get you some stuff. For the pregnancy.” The words are pragmatic, but inside, I feel like I’m right in the eye of a damn hurricane.
“Shopping? Really?” Her voice wavers, a mix of irritation and resignation. “That’s not exactly how I pictured spending my day.”
“Welcome to reality,” I say, watching as she nervously toys with a strand of her hair. “You need stuff—pregnancy stuff—and we’re going to get it.” I do my best to ignore the skin on her stomach that becomes exposed as she stretches and yawns. Her mouth forms the perfect O she had at Cupid’s Court when I slid my cock between her lips, and…
“Okay,” she says, a softness in her voice that almost sounds like hope. Dammit, why does that tug at something inside me? She stands up straighter, her oversized hoodie hanging off one shoulder, revealing a hint of collarbone. “Now?”
When I nod, she turns and heads back upstairs, and I track her ascent, trying not to let my eyes linger on her round ass as it sways seductively with every step. It doesn’t help that I know just how fucking delicious she is.
The sound of resignation coming from Mickey brings me back to the present. I can read the distrust in his eyes, and I get it. I don’t trust Gail as far as I can throw her, which, given my build, might be a decent distance. But trust isn’t the currency we’re dealing in right now—it’s necessity.
“Let’s just get through today,” I mutter mostly to myself as I hear Gail’s footsteps fade upstairs.
Mickey scoffs again, his silver eyes meeting mine briefly before darting away. It’s clear he’s here physically, but mentally? He’s somewhere else. Probably in the past that’s fucked him up more than I think even he realized.
“I’m not going,” Mickey declares, his voice rough like gravel.
Shaking my head, I let him see my disappointment. “Just be here when we get back,” I say, not in the mood to argue.
I could point out that I don’t get the fucking big deal since he spends every night with her, inside her, but I don’t. He has to work through this shit himself. If I push him too much too soon, he’s likely to lose his shit completely.
Reaching for my cap, I slap it onto my head, pressing it down over my forehead. It’s not just about keeping a low profile—it’s armor, a way to shield myself from prying eyes and whispered judgments. Underneath it all, I’m just Soren Taylor, the guy with too many tattoos and a history of bad decisions, now trying to do right by a woman I don’t even trust.
Gail reappears, wearing something more presentable for public viewing, and I catch a glimpse of determination in her gaze. It’s like she’s gearing herself up for battle, or maybe it’s just a trip to the store. Either way, she nods at me, a silent agreement to follow my lead.
“Let’s go,” I say, opening the door to a day that promises nothing easy.
As we step into the cold, my phone buzzes in my pocket—a reminder of the list I compiled last night, an inventory of necessities for someone else’s future. I glance back once at the house, at the window where I know Mickey is watching from behind the curtains, his silhouette a ghost.
I flip him off as we drive away, and as I do so, I swear I see him smile. Huh, okay, so maybe he’s not as far gone as I suspected.
Soren
Since it’s still early, the roads aren’t as crowded as I know they’ll be later on. When a popular song is played on the radio, Gail’s eyes light up. “Ohh, I love this song,” she says excitedly.
Before I know what I’m doing, I abruptly switch off the music. “I hate it,” I growl. It’s a lie, but having fun with her feels like a betrayal to Mick.
“Everything okay?” Gail’s voice breaks through my reverie.
