Gypsy King (Tin Gypsy, #1)(85)

And I’d been jealous. I wanted the laughter. The excitement. The kiss after my husband learned we were making a family.

“Say something,” I whispered. The silence was breaking my heart. At this point, I’d take yelling if that meant he’d speak.

His eyes drifted up from the floor, and it was then that I saw true fear.

Dash spun on his boot. He ripped open the door, not bothering to close it behind him as he rushed to his bike. The sound of his motorcycle engine didn’t linger because he was gone in a flash.

“Goddamn it.” I walked to the door, blinking away the tears as I closed it and flipped the lock. If he did come back, he’d have to ring the doorbell.

Eventually, he had to come back. Didn’t he? He wouldn’t leave me forever. Right? The idea of doing this alone, of not having Dash to lean on, made my entire body ache. Would we get through this? Together?

We had to. We were better together. Didn’t he see that? Sure, I could do this alone. But I didn’t want to. I wanted Dash.

He couldn’t avoid me forever. Us forever. We lived in the same town. We were having this baby whether he was ready for it or not. Because maybe he’d pegged himself as the fun uncle, but I’d be damned if I let my kid grow up not knowing his or her father.

I wouldn’t let Dash turn into Draven, missing out on his child’s life until it was too late.

Walking to the counter, I pounded a fist on the granite. “Damn him.”

We’d have words. And soon. Before this baby came, Dash was going to man up.

I’d make sure of it.

Determined not to sit here and wallow, I picked up my phone and sent Mom a text, telling her I’d be over for dinner after all; I was feeling better. She replied with a string of happy-face emojis and confetti.

I shut off the lights in my house, taking my purse and a bottle of wine for Mom—I wouldn’t need it for a solid year. Then I went to my parents’ house, enjoying some time with them alone and doing my best not to think about Dash and the baby.

When I got home, I was exhausted and ready to collapse. I was so tired, I barely had my eyes open as I shuffled inside.

The house was dark, but I didn’t need the lights on to find my way to the bedroom. I liked the dark because it hid the basket of laundry on the couch. It hid the glass Dash had left by the sink.

It also hid the figure, cloaked in black, who’d been waiting for me to get home.





Chapter Twenty-Three





Dash





“Morning.” Isaiah came into the garage, running a hand through his short hair. “You’ve been at it for a while. Stay all night?”

“Yep.” I slammed the door of the Mustang, a cleaning cloth in my hand.

After leaving Bryce’s place yesterday evening, I’d taken a long ride. Miles and miles had flown by as I’d tried to wrap my head around the bomb she’d dropped. She’d changed my world with one word. Turned the whole damn thing upside down.

Pregnant.

I couldn’t make that idea stick. We’d been careful. Condoms were required when I was with a woman, no exceptions. And though I would have loved to go bare with Bryce, there was a reason I’d kept us safe.

Some men were designed to be good fathers. Nick was one. But I’d done too many things, violent and vile things, to be a decent dad. No matter what Bryce said, how much I wanted to believe her, I wasn’t good.

I’d fuck up a kid of my own.

All my precautions, my strict rules for condoms, were pointless now.

Within months, I was going to be a father.

And it scared me to death. I didn’t know how to be a father. Look at the example I had to go by. A man who’d led murderers to his wife’s doorstep and kidnappers to his daughter-in-law’s bedroom.

I didn’t want to become my father. Which was a mindfuck since I’d spent thirty-five years following in his footsteps.

I’d joined his club. I’d sat in his chair. I’d taken over his garage when he’d retired. In thirty-five years, would my own kid look at me and wish he or she had forged their own path too?

After the long ride, I’d come back to the garage. It was dark, but Dad and Emmett had still been here, talking over Warrior names. I’d come in, not saying a word, and gotten to work on the Mustang.

Eventually, they’d realized I wasn’t here for talk and they’d left me alone.

The hours flew by as I’d finished the final tasks on the car. Then I’d detailed the inside. I’d do the same to the exterior next and call the client to arrange for pickup.

I needed this car out of my garage. I had this gut feeling that the night I’d fucked Bryce on this Mustang, I’d also gotten her pregnant.

“Got it finished?” Isaiah asked, running his hand over the hood.

“Almost. Sorry if I kept you up last night.” I hadn’t really thought much about Isaiah in his apartment above the garage as I’d been working. The guy had probably heard me crashing around down here all night.

“No worries. I don’t sleep much anyway.”

“Insomnia?”

He shook his head. “Prison.”

Isaiah hadn’t told me much about why he’d been locked up, only that he’d been convicted of manslaughter and spent three years in prison. I hadn’t asked for details. That was how it went here because that was how it had been in the club.