Dare To Run (The Sons of Steel Row #1)(65)

His jaw ticked. His impassive fa?ade had slipped away, and he grimaced as he walked past me. “Because we needed something, and he was willing to give it to us. That’s why.”

I followed him. “What did you need?”

“Money to pay my mom’s medical bills. And to pay our rent.” He grabbed a beer and popped it open. “And to put food in my little brother’s mouth. Listening to him cry every night because his belly hurt got really old really fast.”

I . . . I had nothing to say to that. I’d been expecting some snarky, smart-ass reply about how it was none of my damn business. Not that. “Oh.”

He took a swig of his beer. “Yeah.”

Not knowing what to say to that kind of honesty, I made myself busy serving pizza. He settled into the couch, grunting once as he adjusted himself, and crossed an ankle over his knee. I handed him pizza on a paper plate. “Here.”

“Thanks.” He set his beer down and took it. “You’re eating, too.”

It wasn’t a question. I answered anyway. “Yep.”

Once I’d gotten myself a slice and a beer, I settled in beside him. We ate in companionable silence, my mind on his earlier statement about joining the gang because he’d needed cash for his mother. I’d assumed he’d always been in that life, because that’s how gangs like the Sons of Steel Row worked. Blood.

But with him, that wasn’t the case. No, he’d joined to freaking feed his family. It only made me love him more, when I already loved him too much.

Especially considering he didn’t love me back.

“Typical,” I muttered under my breath.

He blinked at me. “What’s typical?”

“Uh . . .” I glanced at the pizza. “They didn’t use enough seasoning.”

“Tastes fine to me,” he said, clearly not buying my half-assed excuse, and finished his first slice. “I have oregano in the kitchen if you want it.”

“I’m fine.”

He cocked a brow. “The one phrase in the English language that never means what it should.”

I shrugged but didn’t answer. “Did you have a nice nap?”

“Yeah. I was out.” He scratched his head. “What did you do while I slept?”

Slept with you, then crawled away like it never happened. “Not much.” I motioned to the ledgers on the table, my cheeks hot. “Marco brought these up for me so I could stay home with you tonight. He’s covering the bar for me. I don’t want you to be alone in case . . . you know. You start bleeding again or something.”

His brow furrowed. “Oh, right. You were supposed to work tonight.”

“Yeah. I called off tomorrow, too.”

He let out a breath and stared out the window again, from the couch. “Probably a good idea. I don’t want you out there yet. I want to make sure I can protect you, and my arm still hurts like a bitch.”

“But you can go do your job, which is inherently more dangerous than mine.” I rolled my eyes. “That makes total sense.”

“Heidi . . .”

“Yeah. I know. You don’t have a choice.” I eyed the bandage wrapped around his arm. His skin was pale and looked a little clammy, but I kept my hands firmly in my lap. My pizza sat mostly untouched. “You scared me today.”

“I know.” He didn’t pretend to misunderstand, but took a sip of beer. His Adam’s apple bobbed, and his hard biceps flexed as he lowered the bottle. “This is my life, darlin’. Why do you think I’m single all the time? No one wants to put up with this life. No one I’d want to be with, anyway.”

“And here I thought it was because you didn’t want to be tied down,” I said quickly, not liking the idea of him being shot all the time. It might be reality, but it didn’t have to be mine. “That you were too much of a devastatingly handsome rogue to settle down with one woman.”

His lips quirked, and he turned to me, scooting a little closer. His thigh touched mine. “That, too, of course.”

“What if you met the right woman? One you liked, who liked you, and didn’t mind the life you led?” I asked, my breathing picking up speed. “Would that change your stance?”

He hesitated, his gaze skittering from mine. He swallowed another gulp of beer. “No. It’s my life, but it’s not going to be anyone else’s. I refuse to do that to someone.”

Sadness hit me, but I wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t as if I thought I could be that woman. I wasn’t. He didn’t want me to be. Heck, I wasn’t even sure if I wanted me to be. Sure, I loved him, but could I handle the reality of him being shot at for the rest of our lives? Probably not. But it didn’t matter, because I would never get the chance. “Gotcha.”

“What about you?” He stretched his good arm over the back of the couch, resting it over me. His cold beer pressed against my shirt. “Why haven’t you settled down and made a few little Heidis?”

“Yeah.” I snorted. “Not gonna happen.”

He stilled. “Why not?”

“Gee, I wonder why not? Maybe because I grew up on the streets, for starters.”

He cocked his head. “Yeah? And?”

“And I’d make a horrible mother.”