Grit (Dirty #6) (7 page)

Part Two

Life is a Journey

(Two roads diverged in the wood and I—I am still standing here, trying to decide which one to take.)

Eleven

Link

“Maybe she’s pregnant.”

My head snaps back, and though it was Autumn who said it, my eyes meet Joe’s. There is a torrent of emotions there, mild compared to the onslaught hitting me.

He looks like he wants to say something, but can’t quite locate the words. I’m in the same goddamn boat, and he isn’t whom I need to talk to about this anyway. There’s only one person who can answer my questions and I go after her.

She can’t be pregnant. She’s on the pill.

The pill she never forgets to take. I’ve
seen
her take it. Every day.

Did she take it the day we argued about the gun?

Missing one dose doesn’t negate all the other doses, does it?

That was just a few days ago. She couldn’t experience symptoms this early.

Maybe she’s just sick. People get sick all the time.

It’s probably just a stomach bug. I’ll take her home, run her a hot bath. Make some soup.

She’s not pregnant.

But what if she is?

What if she has my child growing inside of her right now?

Rocky wouldn’t drink alcohol if she were pregnant. She’s done some reckless things, but she wouldn’t put a baby at risk.

No, she wouldn’t do that.

Unless she doesn’t know yet.

I stop outside the bathroom, my hands locked on the back of my neck. My vision blurs as I stare hard at the door, waiting on her.

Just the idea that she might be carrying my child has my insides knotted.

I don’t even know how to
take care
of a baby.

She’s not pregnant.

She’s not
.

The bass is pounding in my head like a kick drum. I’m frozen in place, my back firm against the wall. A group of women push past me, entering the bathroom. I almost ask one of them to check on Rocky for me, but it’s too loud and they’re too quick.

I lean forward, dropping my elbows to my knees. Fuck,
I
feel sick.

The door slides open again and Rocky appears. I examine her face, hunting for any clues as to what’s wrong with her.

“You all right?”

“Better. I puked up the tequila. That will teach me to eat Combos for dinner.” She laughs awkwardly, tucking her dark hair behind her ear. “At least we can get away with taking off early now.”

I’m irritated that she ate gas station junk food for dinner. We each fended for ourselves tonight since I got ready at my place. I should have made sure she had a suitable meal. Her go-to bowl of cereal would have been healthier.

“You need to take better care of yourself.” I wrap my arm around her waist and guide her toward the stairs.

She rolls her eyes, dismissing my concern. “Okay,
Joe
.”

“If we’re both saying the same thing, maybe it’s time to listen to one of us,” I retort.

“Maybe everyone should mind their own business.”

“You are my business.” I sigh. We’re shouting a personal conversation in a packed club. This is not the time or the place for this. “Let’s just go. I’ll stop and pick you up something real to eat on the way home.”

“I should let my brother know I’m leaving.”

There’s no way in hell I’m going back over there with her. Not with the pregnancy question hanging in the air. “I’ll text him when we get to the car.”

***

After picking up the order I called in to the restaurant, Rocky falls asleep. The air in the car is thick with apprehension. I have a hundred different thoughts chasing each other in my head. Over and over, I go back to the main one. Is she carrying my child?

I pull into a spot in front of her apartment and shift the gear to park. My eyes focus on the rise and fall of her chest. I don’t want to wake her, but I’d like her to eat. My gaze lowers to her stomach. An overwhelming urge to lay my hand there hits out of nowhere. I fold my fingers, forming a fist, and resist the impulse.

Tucking the bag of food under my arm, I slide out, rounding the front to her side. I unhook her seatbelt and slip my hand under her leg. She startles awake, gasping, and swings blindly at me. A hand connects with my face and I feel her nails rake my cheek.

“Shit, sorry, shit,” she utters. Her hand cups my unshaven jaw, the gentleness of her action a contrast to her attack a second ago. “I didn’t mean to… You scared me. Are you okay?”

I gnash my teeth together, grinding them. This isn’t the first time she’s flinched or I’ve frightened her, but it hits harder tonight. I hate when she’s scared. And when she’s scared of me—even though I know it’s not really me she’s scared of—it kills me.

It fucking
guts
me.

“I’m fine. Let’s get you inside.”

Twelve

Rocky

I stretch my arms, skating my fingers over the headboard. Mornings have been challenging lately. I think it’s because Link’s nightmares keep me up so late I have a difficult time leaving the bed come daylight.

It would help if he woke me in the same way he used to. Coaxed me from my slumber with the hot pressure of his mouth. Ever since he saw the gun in my nightstand, I wake to cold sheets in an empty bed. I don’t think it’s a coincidence.

The scent of bacon frying is my only motivation today. Well, that and the promise of seeing Link’s sexy ass bent over the stove.

I pause at the entryway to my kitchen, my head resting against the doorjamb. It isn’t my first time seeing him shirtless—hell, it isn’t my second or third or fourth time either—but the scars on his back always cause a hard knot to form in my throat.

Eighteen.

A man stood over Link and plunged a flaying knife into his flesh
eighteen times
while three other men watched. I know it happened. Each and every scar is a reminder of the pain and suffering he endured.

Powerful proof of his strength and resilience.

But I can’t fathom how four human beings could do this.

People like Link and me, who have suffered physical and psychological trauma, we aren’t really ever
okay
. We aren’t
normal
. There are lasting effects. We can find happiness, seconds and minutes and hours of peace… However, the scars—inside and out—are always there, eating away at our sanity.

But what we can be, what we
need
to be, is a symbol of human fortitude for each other. A reminder that we made it despite all that. We’re still here.

Every horrible line marking Link’s back is beautiful to me.

I step forward and press my lips to them, one at a time, kissing each one.

If it were possible to kiss the memories away, I would do it. Gladly. I would invite him to make mine go away too.

That’s just not how it works.

“Good morning,” I whisper into his skin.

“Morning,” he husks. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired. Hungry. Horny.”

He chuckles, his back vibrating with the effort. “I can help you out with two of those.” He turns, placing a plate in my hand. It’s filled with eggs, bacon, and toast. “Food first, orgasms second.”

“Party pooper.”

“Speaking of which…” He pauses, sliding his thumb underneath my eye. It comes away smudged in black and I remember I was wearing makeup last night for the first time in…I don’t even know how long. I must look like a raccoon. “No more nausea?”

I set my plate on the table and answer as I head to the bathroom. “No. I feel good. I’m going to devour my breakfast.”

I turn on the water and peer in the mirror. Yep, I bear a striking resemblance to the small nocturnal mammal who likes to dumpster-dive out back. Link watches me from the doorway as I scrub my face clean.

“No dizziness?”

“A little last night when I got sick, but not now.”

“Any, uh, cramping or anything?”

I look at his reflection, confused. “Cramping? Like my period? I don’t get sick like that when I’m about to start. I think it was just the poor dinner choice.”

He presses his fingers to the back of his neck, massaging the muscles there like he’s in pain. “So it’s on time? Your cycle?”

I grab the towel, patting my face dry, and turn to look at him straight on. He’s kind of freaking me out. “I don’t mark it on the calendar, but I think so. My pill keeps me pretty regular.”

“So you aren’t sure?”

“Where is the third degree coming from?”

“I’m just asking.”

“I feel like you’re cross-examining me. And it’s not really your business, Link.” I maneuver around him, grabbing my robe on the way back to the kitchen to eat my breakfast before it gets cold.

“You keep saying that,” he rasps, keeping up with me.

I pull a chair out and sit heavily, draping the thin robe over my bare legs. His eyes move over my face, watching me with quiet examination.

“Why are you none of my business?”

The fork shakes in my hand. I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to have this conversation. We’ve put it off for so long. I’m not ready to burst the bubble we’ve been happily hiding in, but he seems determined to destroy it today.

“Why don’t you tell me why you consider me your business? Who am I to you? Your employee? Your student? Your fuck buddy?”

He cringes. He physically recoils from my questions. His teeth snap together and that muscle in his cheek quivers, Link’s telltale sign that he’s stressed. He drops his head, chin to chest, and I can hear him swallow. It’s the only sound in the apartment—other than the hammering of my heart.

“You’re more than that.”

“More than that,” I repeat flatly. “More than
what
? More than your
employee
? More than your
student
? More than your
fuck buddy
?”

He lifts his head, his steely gaze settling on my face once again. I wait. I wait for him to say something.

I drop the fork, the urge to burst into tears unexpectedly overwhelms me. “
What am I to you
?”

He shakes his head slowly. “You’re more than all of that,” he croaks. “Don’t I make you feel like more?”

My fingers feel clammy as I rub my forehead. He does. He does make me feel like more. But he also makes me feel like less. I don’t know how to explain that to him correctly. I take a deep breath and try anyway.

“When you look at me, I feel valued. Respected.
Safe
. When you call my name in the height of ecstasy, I know you’re in the moment with me. I feel a connection with you I’ve never felt with anyone else in my life, and there are times I think you feel it too. But then there are moments when you go quiet and pensive, and I know you’re thinking about
her
.”

The shutter falls, and for the briefest second, I see the surprise rush over his face. We’ve never broached this subject. Not really. I never dared. Olivia was, is, and always will be first. I’m second. I know my place. Doesn’t mean I like it. But he asked. He wanted to know, so I’m giving him what he wants.

“Physically, you’re with me, but in every other way, she constantly has you. Mentally, emotionally, you’re always slipping away with her. I don’t even have your subconscious. I sleep in bed with you, but you dream of her. In
those
moments, no, I don’t feel like more.”

He slides into the chair next to me, rotating my seat to face him. He rests his hands on my knees, the warmth of his fingers seeping through the fabric of my robe.

“I do think about Livie—you’re right. I think about what I lost. I think about the mistakes I made, the things I never got to say to her. I think about what happened that night, how I failed her. And then I think about how I don’t want to lose
you
. How I don’t want to make the same mistakes with
you
. About all the things I want to say before I don’t have the chance to say them to
you
. I think about how I don’t want anything more to ever happen to
you
, and how, with every breath of my being, I do not want to fail
you
.

“You’re the one I dream of at night. You’re the one I’m worrying about when I go quiet. You’re in damn near every fucking thought I have.”

That impulse to cry flares, but I’m too stunned to shed a tear. He split himself wide open, right in front of me. He said things I never thought I’d hear come out of his mouth.

“That’s why I consider you my business, Rocky. And you’re going to just have to get used to it.”