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“Is something wrong, Slate?” Ashlyn asked between mouthfuls of her hot dog.
“Nope.” I pulled myself from my thoughts and offered the little girl a smile. “I was just thinking that I never did this with my parents, sat down and had a meal together.”
“Why not?”
“Ash,” Emma chided.
“It’s all right,” I assured her. “Because unlike your mommy, my parents weren’t interested in being parents. But I like it. This is nice.” There were less than a handful of times I actually sat and had a meal with my folks and even fewer of those times were when they were both sober. Usually it was a holiday or when Mom pretended she wanted to start over, wanted to actuallybea mom. Those times never lasted long and as time went on, those memories faded from my mind.
“It is nice,” she agreed. “Ketchup please,” she sang as she held up her hot dog. “Thank you!”
Emma watched me squiggle ketchup on the hot dog with a smile curving her lips, but I caught an expression in her eyes I couldn’t quite figure out. “What?”
“Nothing. You’re good with her. Do you have kids?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
I shrugged. “Haven’t met the right woman, I guess.” Or maybe I did but I wasn’t in the right headspace to get her contact information. It’s funny, the more time I spent with Emma, the more my memories of Vick were fading. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.
“You think the right woman is out there?”
“Hell, I hope so.” Otherwise what the f…” I paused, remembering there was a kid present and tried to engage my filter, “What was any of this for?
She gasped. “You’re a romantic.”
My smile was crooked as I leaned in. “Can’t live the outlaw life without being a bit of a romantic, can you?”
Her smile matched mine. “I guess not. Does that mean you’re single?”
I nodded, wondering where this line of questioning was going. “I am.”
“Commitment issues?”
A loud laugh burst out of me. “Not exactly but I’m not one to stick around if I know it’s not going anywhere. Besides all that, things with the MC have been crazy and no one has captured my interest lately.” I sighed and searched Emma’s face trying to figure out if she was flirting or just making conversation. “There was a woman a few years back who I really liked but I didn’t do anything about it and now it’s too late.” Vick had crossed my mind more than once over the years and lately she was there more often than not—or at least she had been, up until a few days ago.
Emma nodded slowly. Her gaze settled on my hands and crawled up my forearms and biceps before her gaze collided with mine. “It’s never too late,” she answered softly.
A small part of me hoped she was right.
Chapter 11
Emma
The second time I found myself sitting inside the police station with a square metal table between me and Sheriff Cross and the angry man they called Detective Massey, I found them far less friendly than the first time. It was clear to me that they were starting to suspect me of something,though I couldn’t quite figure out what. As far as I could tell there was nothing to suspect but I refused to focus on that and instead remembered Slate’s words to me.
Don’t do their job for them.
That was easier said than done but knowing that Ash was with him helped me relax as much as I could. Ash was happy and safe and that was what mattered to me. I was still wrestling with the idea of telling Slate he was her father, but everything just seemed so surreal right now and it was clear he had no recollection of me. Though seeing how he interacted with her made me think that if the worst came to the worst and the cops found out what I’d done, then she’d be safe with her father. In the meantime, I had one other thing on my side. Anger. White-hot anger that these men who had never come to help me were bending over backwards to find him.
They thought the oppressive silence would work on me, but they had no idea just how effectively Alex had wielded that particular tool. In the early days he would remain silent for hours, sometimes days when I displeased him. I learned to withstand the silence, and it served me well now.
“Mrs. Edwards,” Sheriff Cross began. He was a handsome older man with an exhausted look about him, but his eyes were kind.
“Roberts, actually. I didn’t change my last name when we married.” Too much information, I reprimanded myself.
Detective Massey flashed a phony smile at me. “That seems like a lot of freedom for a man described as controlling.”
