Reaper's Fall (Reapers MC, #5)(84)

I snorted.

“This crap for real?”

“Apparently. He wants to come see you. Pic got in his face, said we’d reach out to you first. Doesn’t want you treated like some kind of sideshow freak, you know? But it could be money—Mel’s not exactly rolling in it. You start pulling money in, that’ll make a big difference.”

“Do it,” I said shortly.

“Do what?” Mel asked, coming up to us. Izzy was wide awake and alert, and she’d been changed into fresh clothes.

“There’s a guy who wants to put on an art show with some of my work,” I told her. Her eyes widened.

“That’s great news.”

“Maybe. I’m not gonna get too excited until we see how it plays out. Can I hold Izzy again?”

“Sure,” she said. I reached out for the baby, the back of my hand brushing the lower side of her boob. Her eyes flew to mine, and she blinked rapidly. Tears? No, not quite, but her eyes were red and definitely sad. I pulled Izzy close, leaning down to take in her soft, baby smell.

It hit me that after today, I might never experience that smell again. Christ. This was so much worse than I’d ever imagined life could get . . . felt like my guts were being ripped out, every second with her precious and perfect and speeding faster than should be possible.

“Puck, can you give us a minute?” I asked him. He nodded, ambling toward the vending machines. Melanie sat down across the table. I’d been hoping she’d sit next to me, but no luck.

“I already apologized in my letters,” I started. She held up a hand.

“This is hard enough without listening to your justifications,” she said, her voice carefully blank. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“I’m going to be a good daddy.”

“You can’t be,” she replied harshly. “You’re not there and you won’t be for another year and a half.”

Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to stay calm.

“I realize that,” I said slowly. “But once I get back, that’s going to change.”

“We’ll see.”

“No, I mean it. I’m going to be there for both of you. I promise.”

She looked at me steadily, then glanced around the room. Other families sat at tables, other fathers holding their kids, playing games with them or coloring. Reading stories together.

“How many of them have made those same promises?” she asked, her voice sad. Fuck.

“Words can’t fix this—I get that. But once I’m out, you’ll see for yourself. I’m going to take care of you and Izzy.”

She looked away for long minutes. The baby gurgled again, then stretched her little body, kicking out with her legs. Then Izzy smiled at me and the whole world disappeared.

Yeah, sounds stupid, but it’s the f*ckin’ truth.

“I’ll take care of you,” I whispered, leaning down to kiss her soft cheek. “I promise. Your mama doesn’t believe me yet, but I’ll show her. I’ll show both of you. Daddy’s here, baby girl.”

“For now,” Melanie muttered. I didn’t say anything—after all, what the hell could I say?

She was right.


MELANIE

Izzy started crying when we finally pulled away from the prison. The visit had been four hours long, but it felt like forty minutes. That’s how fast it was over. I couldn’t blame her for it either—I felt like crying, too.

“She doing okay?” Puck asked, one big hand draped over the top of the steering wheel.

“Fine,” I said. “Although she’ll probably want to eat soon.”

“I’m hungry, too. We can pull off and grab something on the way back to the hotel. Unless you want to do something while we’re down here? Got some time to kill this afternoon.”

“What, like go sightseeing?”

“If you want.”

I considered the idea, but the thought of doing touristy things with Painter’s best friend and a newborn didn’t exactly strike me as fun. “No, let’s just go to the hotel. Izzy could use a nap and I’d like some space.”

“You got it.”

He turned on the radio and we settled in for the drive. The look on Painter’s face as we left haunted me. I wanted to hate him for what he’d done, but the pain he’d suffered when he handed Izzy back to me was real.

He loved her.

I wasn’t sure that he would—he didn’t want kids. He’d chosen prison over our daughter. Not that he’d sat down and checked a box marked “prison” instead of “fatherhood” on a test, but he’d known damned well that his parole officer was out for blood when he left the state.

But he truly loved Izzy. I’d seen it.

“I’m going to start sending him pictures,” I told Puck abruptly. He shot me a quick glance, then nodded.

“He’d probably like that.”

And that was it.

I liked Puck, I decided. He was big and scary, with a nasty scar across his face and all the social skills of an ax murderer, but he knew when to keep his mouth shut.

“Thanks. Thanks for bringing us down here.”

He glanced toward me again.

“Anytime, Mel. Anytime.”