Gavin (A Redemption Romance #3) (21 page)

The thing that sold me, was standing on the deck, overlooking the back yard. I could see it, a play set in the corner, kids’ toys strewn all around and Dawn lovingly watching over it all. Surprising me, she came up beside me on silent feet, put her arms around my waist and laid her head against my chest.

“What are you thinking?” She asked, a dreamy quality in her voice.

“Just imagining our future.” I told her honestly. We hadn’t talked about marriage and family, but those were definitely things I wanted, and she had at one time too, hopefully that hadn’t changed.

Dawn nodded her head against my chest, but didn’t speak.

Pressing my lips to the top of her head, I left them there, then turned so my cheek rested there. “I love you Dawn Elizabeth Adams, will you move in with me?”

Her arms tightened around me, I heard her breath hitch, but she stayed silent for what seemed like forever. Finally, just when I thought I was going to lose my mind, she spoke. “I will, and Gavin?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you too.”

Lifting her chin with one finger, I gazed into her eyes saw everything I could ever want, then I kissed her long and hard, sweetness, passion and promises all rolled up into one spectacular joining.

“You like it?” I asked.

“I do, but we should look at the bedrooms.”

“And the garage,” I told her, only half joking.

She was giggling as we walked back into the family room.

The douche as I could call him from there on, showed us the three smaller bedrooms and a bath, then into the master. It had an en-suite bathroom with two walk-in closets. Neither closet was huge, but they would definitely work. If I added in some additional hang bars and shelving into the larger one, I thought that Dawn might be able to fit most of her clothes.

Dawn seemed happy with all of it, taking extra time to look at the specialty shoe shelves in the larger of the two closets. She even took her heels off to make sure they would fit correctly.

Once we were finished with our perusal, we spoke with the douche for a few minutes, took a flyer the left. We needed to look at other houses too, we couldn’t buy the first one we’d seen. Also, I needed to double check crime rates in the vicinity, I knew the school district was a contender for the best in the area, so that was definitely in the plus column.

Over the next several weeks, we looked at so many other houses that they’d begun to run together in my mind. The first one we’d seen was what we compared all others to. It was interesting to me, the first girl, the only girl had been the one I’d compared all others to, as well; none of them measured up.

After five weeks, we made and offer. A few days later, it was accepted and we started the process. Once we’d started looking, I’d put my house on the market right way, knowing that Dawn and I could live in her house until we found the right place. It sold quickly, so we had a three months left on her lease.

Sarah’s house had sold as well, it seemed that we were all moving on from our old digs. I drove over one night after work to get the boxes for Dawn. It was strange driving down that street again. Standing on the porch, waiting for Sarah to answer, I remembered back to that day, eight years ago, when I stood right there, trying to find her, to talk to her, I’d known she was in there, I felt it, I could feel her, but it wasn’t our time, not yet. We had a lot of growing up still to do.

Sarah and I talked for a few minutes, I helped her move a few things into the garage and piled Dawn’s boxes in the back of my truck. The conversation was easy, and she seemed happy, lighter somehow. I’d never thought of her as being sad, but now, I could see it.

As I headed back to the house, my phone rang. I was in traffic, so I hit the button on the steering wheel to answer, without looking at the display.

“Dude,” a strangely slurring voice said over the line.

Fuck, that wasn’t Zach, glancing down at the phone’s screen, I confirmed it wasn’t, it was Trent.

“Trent?” I asked, checking, though I knew the voice of my best friend. I’d planned to call him later that night. He had requalification at the range today, so he’d gotten off early. I was pulled in on another case and had worked a little late. It was unusual for us to go the entire work day without seeing each other, but it did happen on occasion.

“Yeah, I think I need a ride.” He explained. His normally happy go-lucky voice sounding morose. I knew without a doubt that if he was drunk, alone, it could only have to do with one thing – a woman – and of course, not just any woman, this was about Amber. Something had happened between them, I knew it, though he’d never confirmed. Then, something bad had happened, he’d been MIA for a couple of weeks just before Nolan’s death, didn’t tell me shit, but took a few sick days from work, didn’t take any of my calls and wasn’t ever at home. I’d seen the way he’d looked at her back then, and I saw the way he looked at her now. I didn’t know how to help him, but he either needed to move the fuck on, or melt that woman’s ice cap.

Seriously concerned for my friend, I glanced at the clock and saw it wasn’t even nine o’clock yet. It was out of character for him to get drunk at all, let alone this early.

He told me where he was, and I promised that I’d be there soon. Calling Dawn, I explained the situation, which was brief, since I didn’t know anything. She told me to take my time, and I heard the worry in her voice as she said it. She was worried for him, warming my heart all over again. She could be fierce, she could be stubborn, but that woman was nothing if not compassionate and understanding. So many officers had women who would bitch at them, complaining about how the job made them feel. They'd whine about how the danger we faced, worried them; or when we needed to grab a beer, or sit and vent all the shit that swirled around the job, that most days was great, we could do some serious good, but some days were total shit, they’d bitch because their men wanted to spend an hour with friends; unloading that shit instead of bringing it home to her and the kids. I knew, from the way she’d handled every call out and this situation with Trent, that Dawn would never be like that.

There was no denying that the spouse of an officer had plenty of challenges, and I’d never demean that, it wasn’t easy to be alone so much, dealing with the fear of the job, the broken plans and broken promises, but I hoped that Dawn would soon be among the ranks of the deputy wife anyway. Maybe it was sadistic of me to ask the woman I loved to sign up for a life like that, but I knew it could be a good one, we’d make the best of what we had. She’d help me do that, I knew it, absolutely.

As I pulled into the bar parking lot, I glanced in the bed of the truck and eyed the boxes. I didn’t know what was in them, but didn’t want them stolen, so I took a few minutes to move them to the back seat, then went to find my drunken friend.

The thing was, Trent wasn’t much of a drinker. He’d have a beer with the guys, a whiskey from time to time, but he drank what he liked, for enjoyment. He hated feeling out of control, he didn’t even like to feel buzzed, so him being in this state now, gave me serious pause.

The interior was dark, it was a place I’d been before, though not often. It was a local’s only kind of place, dark and a little seedy. He wasn’t hard to spot, crazy tall, almost as tall as Reed with visible tattoos and bright blonde hair sticking out all over the place. His hair was so light, it almost glowed with the neon bar sign behind him. Now, he was slumped over, seemingly staring down at his clasped hands that were laid on the table.

“Hey,” I called as I got closer. Trent’s red rimmed, glazed over eyes met mine and he nodded. He slid off his bar stool; his gait was steady, so that told me he hadn’t gone too far beyond drunk, which was a relief. He followed me out and climbed in the passenger side of my truck.

Once I got him to his place, I sat on the couch, across from the armchair he’d fallen into upon entering the room, and waited. Trent wasn’t one to share, we were close, knew just about everything there was to know about the other, but feelings and whatever this was, he’d been keeping close. I understood that. I’d told him, years ago, about Dawn, but it had been a particularly low time in my life and I had needed someone to share it with.

“God damn it!” he shouted into the silent room. I didn’t react, just waited. He was on the verge, I knew it, but I wasn’t quite sure what he was on the verge of.

“Fuck, stop looking at me like that. I’m not on suicide watch.” I took a sharp intake of air, the jolt to my system that off the cuff comment delivered, almost had me looking away. Thankfully, I didn’t, because I watched as Trent’s face pale, once he realized what he’d said.

It had been several months since Nolan’s suicide, but the helpless feeling, the absolute fear of knowing your friend was struggling and not being able to do anything about it, then losing them, still cut deep.

“Shit, I’m – fuck, I didn’t mean to say that.” His words were clearer now, the alcohol was dissipating. I gave a chin lift, telling him I’d heard, that I understood, but I had no intention of moving, of leaving until he got this shit out.

He sat there, head back against the chair, staring up at the ceiling for what felt like hours, when he came to some decision, squared his shoulders, and looked at me once more.

“She won’t talk to me. It’s driving me crazy. We were good, you know, then-” he paused and dropped his head. His hands began to tremble, and I had absolutely no idea what
then
he was talking about. I’d known that he and Amber had something going on, but he was so tight lipped about it, I thought it was casual. Obviously, I’d been wrong.

“Fuck, I can’t, she won’t, I told her I’d give her a little more time, that she’d, but then, she’s shut down, I can’t get near her. She acts so casual, playful and funny, putting on this act with everyone, like everything is fine, but it isn’t. How could it be?” With the back of his fist, he hit the armrest of the chair, I could see the total frustration, the desperation in his every movement.

“What happened?” I asked quietly.

Shaking his head, then bringing both hands up, he scrubbed them over his face and back through his hair. I was surprised he didn’t pull it all out, he was yanking so hard.

“I can’t, I know I should, I want to tell you, but I can’t. She made me promise and I can’t break it. I’ve done enough,” he confessed, his hands clasped behind his neck, looking down at the floor.

“What can I do?”

“Nothing. I’m going to find a way. I’m more stubborn than she is, I think. I’ll wear her down. I just don’t know how much longer it’s going to take.”

We sat there for a long time, talking about nothing, I wanted to be there, to support him, but I knew from my own experience with Dawn that you had to wait until the right time. I hoped for his sake, that it wouldn’t take eight years like it had me; he might crack.

I didn’t make it back home until well after midnight, but as always, my Sweet Dawn left the light on for me. After I got ready for bed, I climbed in behind her, and pulled her soft, warm body into mine. As she adjusted and nestled back into my chest, I held her tight and prayed my friend would find this for himself, soon.

The following weekend, I walked into the spare bedroom and found Dawn knee deep in open boxes. Old pictures, cards and childhood mementos surrounded her, but what caught my attention was her. She sat in the midst of the chaos, holding something in her hand. Something special, I’d guess, because as she gazed at it longingly, her eyes were full of tears.

I walked toward her, tiptoeing around the clutter, then moved in behind her, wrapping myself around her back. I pulled her up onto my lap and looked at the old picture in her hand.

It was a man and a girl, her mother. I reminded myself that Sarah had been only eighteen when she’d become pregnant with Dawn. She looked so young, so like Dawn had the night of her birthday party.

The man was older, but not by much, a few years maybe. The color of the picture had faded with time, but it was clear enough. He was tall and very thin. His dark hair was a contrast to Sarah’s blonde, but the hazel eyes looking back at me were an exact match to Dawn’s.

As I studied the photo, taken at some kind of MC event, I noticed lots of people in the background. What stood out most, was the Dawning Death MC patch proudly displayed on his cut. A chill went down my spine. I knew that name, that MC was notorious in the south west, and not for doing good deeds.

The one-percent patch was above it, on his shoulder. Sarah’s back was to the camera, her face turned, looking over her shoulder at the camera. A wide, happy smile was clear on her face. On her back on her leather jacket was a property patch.

“Jesus Christ,” I muttered, almost without realizing it.

Dawn turned her gaze from the picture and up to look at me. She had a question in her eyes, but I wasn’t sure, not sure what to say. Sarah had been this guy’s old lady. I knew, from years of training, and vast knowledge of the local gangs and MC’s that an old lady in the biker world was almost the same thing as a wife in the civilian one.

I squinted my eyes to see the guy’s road name, Dawn’s father, fuck, this guy was Dawn’s father, Trace, Sarah’s patch said ‘Property of Trace.’

This picture raised a lot more questions than it answered. Sure, Dawn now had a picture of the man who helped to create her, but would that cause her more pain in the long run? Should I tell her what I knew of the club, and that I was pretty sure she and her mom had been better off outside of that life?