Grave Phantoms (Roaring Twenties #3)(87)

Winter blinked his mismatched eyes. Once. Twice. If Bo didn’t know any better, he’d think the man’s mind had gone to the same place Bo’s seemed to be, because he looked just as dazed as Bo felt. And after a long moment, Winter finally said, “Did you get her pregnant?”

“What? No. No,” he repeated, shaking his head. Hopefully not. “We’ve been . . . cautious. Every time.” Might as well get it all out in the open.

“Helvete,” Winter murmured.

“I’m sorry. Not for that. I’m not sorry at all for that,” he said a little too fiercely, and forced himself to show some humbleness. “But I am sorry we kept it from you. I know this is upsetting, and I know it’s probably not what you wanted for Astrid. You’ve trusted me with her, and I betrayed that trust. And I wish I could say that it will never happen again, and ask for forgiveness, but the truth is that I can’t do that.” He took a deep breath and finished. “So I’m moving out. And if you don’t want me working with you anymore, I understand. I’ll find other work. But I won’t give her up. I just won’t.”

“Christ alive,” Winter mumbled.

“It will be hard for her,” Bo said. “And I wish like hell I could change that. But she knows the risks. She’s not a child.”

No response.

“We want your blessing,” Bo said. “But I won’t beg for it.”

Winter flew toward him like an enraged bull. Bo faltered, body telling him to flee. But he stood his ground and braced for a punch in the face, praying that the man didn’t hit him hard enough to kill him. He’d survived the cursed pirate’s blows, but he wasn’t entirely sure he’d survive Winter’s.

Beefy arms shot toward him. Giant hands covered in sinews hovered in front of Bo’s throat. Choked to death, Bo thought, resigned. Poetic justice for what he’d done to Mad Hammett, he supposed. He stood his ground, even as Winter’s scarred face scowled at him with satanic rage.

A string of Swenglish curses left Winter’s mouth. Unfortunately, after living with Swedes for a third of his life, Bo knew what all of them meant.

“Bo,” Winter finally pleaded and dropped his heavy hands on Bo’s shoulders and squeezed but did not release. A pomaded lock of dark hair fell over a brow etched with lines. “I trusted you.”

“I know,” Bo murmured and met the man’s intense gaze. “But I am not ashamed. I love her. And I will take care of her.”

Winter sighed. “I trusted you,” he repeated, “because you are the most honorable person I know. There are a thousand men in this city who would use Astrid for her looks or her name or her money—and twice as many who would look down at her for those same reasons, too. Who would I trust with her happiness?”

Bo stilled. He was very confused. His body kept telling him to brace for violence, but his brain was misinterpreting what Winter was saying. What was he saying?

“I won’t even ask if you’re certain,” Winter continued. “I’ve seen how you look at each other for years. And the past weeks? Christ. I knew when she came back home, Bo. I’m no fool. And I won’t lecture you on the hardships you’d be facing. You and her. And if you had any children . . .”

“I know,” Bo said, swallowing hard.

“Yes,” Winter agreed softly. “I expect you know more than anyone. It’s not an easy choice.”

“And I haven’t come to it lightly. I know I can’t marry her. Not legally. But we aren’t the first couple to face this. If the laws aren’t fair, do you blindly obey them?”

Those were Winter’s father’s words, and Bo knew he was pushing things, throwing them back in Winter’s face; his hands squeezed hard enough to leave bruises on Bo’s shoulders . . . and then loosened. He turned and walked toward the windows. “You said you’d find other work. What would you do?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “You’d just leave me in a lurch, knowing damn well I need you?”

“You’d get by without me.”

“Would I? While you did what?”

Bo had thought about it. Quite a lot, actually. “I’d try to get work fishing. Maybe sell the Buick and buy a small boat. There’s more out there than crabs. Good money in tuna. Canneries opening up everywhere. There’s decent money to be had. Not bootlegging money, but it’s honorable work. And I read the news—Volstead won’t hold forever. Every day there’s more talk of repeal. What happens then?”

Winter crossed his arms over his chest. “You don’t think I know that? Forget repeal. It’s getting goddamn dangerous. Too many people killing each other over liquor. I got one baby and another one on the way. I think about it all the time. In fact, Aida and I were just talking. She’s . . .”

“What?”

Winter gave a dismissive shrug and then scratched the back of his neck. “I mentioned this before, but it’s getting worse. She’s been hearing the same message repeated in different séances for different people. Something bad is coming—something to do with the economy. Spirits are warning their relatives to pay off their debts and get their money out of the bank before the end of the year.”

Bo temporarily forgot his own troubles. He remembered Winter mentioning this back when the yacht first crashed into the pier. “You believe it?”