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“We always do, Prez,” I tell him before heading to my bike.

I don’t know how in the fuck I’m gonna explain to Beth that I killed the only direct lead we had to the man at the top. She’s gonna be disappointed, but I know she wouldn’t trade that lead for Jinx’s life. She’s not like that.

Chapter 15

Beth

Iwake up in Striker’s bed feeling warm and sated. I wasn’t exercising good judgment when I came to his room to tell him the truth about Josie and ended up asking him for just one night together. I probably shouldn’t have done that. Some small part of my mind thought if I could enjoy being with him one more time, maybe I could leave well enough alone. But the truth is I’ve fallen in love with him all over again. Maybe I never stopped loving him. It’s confusing. The one thing I’m certain about is, I don’t regret it.

Turning over in his bed, I try to parse it in my mind. I spent three long years feeling betrayed. I tried to convince myself that he wasn’t the man I thought he was. I even convinced myself that I’d moved on and gotten over him. But here I am, luxuriating in his bed, wallowing in bedsheets that smell like sex. I’m clearly not over him and probably never will be. Having sex with him didn’t get him out of my system. It just reminded me of a bunch more things I love about him.

I reach out and touch his pillow. It’s cold, so he must have left early. I don’t have to wonder where he is. He’s out there trying to find out who’s stalking me. He’s walking tall and being the protector he was always meant to be.

But what about me? What exactly am I, other than a liar? I guess I’m also a mother and the woman who’s enamored with Striker and reluctant to admit it to him. Asking for sex was easy compared to asking for another chance with him. Getting involved emotionally is risky. He could hurt me again. Deep down inside, I don’t think he will, though. I’m just a scaredy cat because the last time things went bad between us was devastating. I don’t ever want to feel that kind of pain again.

I make myself get up and check on Josie because she won’t think of looking for me in Striker’s room. I find her fast asleep, starfished across the little bed Striker bought for her. She’s cuddled up with her bunny. My heart squeezes when I remember how he helped me put her to bed, how easily she came into his arms when she was sleepy.

I go down and start the coffee because I need it to wake up fully. Sitting at his dining room table, I realize one thing has changed since we were together before. I have a daughter now. So, I don’t get to make reckless decisions anymore. Since the day that plastic stick showed two lines instead of one, I’ve been responsible for making decisions for two. Mothers have to be more careful.

But here’s the thing. What difference does it make to Josie whether we are in or out of a relationship? Striker still has the right to be in her life, so that piece doesn’t change either way. Striker has moved heaven and earth to prove he’s not the same man he was three years ago, so why am I still doubting? Maybe I’m running from the happiness I think we can find with each other because I’m afraid of being hurt or some other reason I’m not aware enough to name. Or I’ve had my walls up for so long I don’t know how to live any other way.

I came here with a plan. Bury my uncle, settle his estate, and then leave with my daughter before he ever found out she was his. That had been a selfish plan. I realize that now. He deserves to know and I’m going to do the right thing by telling him. There is no doubt about that piece.

He comes home a little after nine. I can tell the moment he walks through the door that something is wrong. He looks tired, his expression is closed off, and he barely makes eye contact with me. Instead, he walks over and pours himself a cup of coffee.

He drops down into his seat at the dining room table across from me.

“Is Josie okay?” he asks.

I’ve grown used to him asking about her out of habit. “She’s still asleep,” I tell him. That’s when I notice it, dried blood on the sleeves of his shirt and under his nails.

“Oh my God. Whose blood is that?” I ask, gesturing to his sleeves.

He pulls his hands back and puts them under the table. After a brief pause, he admits, “It’s Jinx’s blood.” Seeing my expression, he quickly adds, “He’s okay. But it could have been worse.”

For a moment, all I can think about is Nora, their sweet little baby and how tender and loving they are with each other. Jinx is such a big personality that it’s hard to imagine him hurt badly enough to bleed all over Striker’s clothes. He’s playful, irreverent and always running his mouth. Jinx loves to joke around and acts like he’s invincible. The idea of him injured and bleeding makes my heart hurt.

“You must’ve been terrified,” I say quietly.

Striker shrugs like it was nothing. “I didn’t have time to be scared,” he tells me. “Keene shot him and was gonna finish him off. When I saw Keene raise his gun, I reacted.”

“That doesn’t mean it didn’t affect you.”

His gaze jumps away, looking anywhere but at me.

“You watched your best friend almost get killed and had to take a life to protect him.”

“Yeah.”

There’s something about the way he says that one word that makes my heart hurt for him.

I reach across the table and cover his hand with mine. “I’m glad you intervened.”

“So am I,” he says solemnly.

He turns his hand over and laces his fingers through mine. For a few seconds, neither of us says anything.

Then I look down at the dried blood around his fingernails and realize how close this morning came to ending very differently.