This Is Love, Baby (War & Peace #2)(23)
The anger melts from his face as his chin quivers and pain seems to rip apart his features. He lets out a garbled sound and gathers me into his arms. “Baby,” he says in a hoarse whisper against my hair as he strokes my back. “I’m so sorry. I just wanted to protect you from the authorities. They think you’re involved in his murder and I couldn’t let them take you away from me. Not again. I can’t lose you now after everything. You’re my girl and I love you. Things may not be the way they were before but I promise you we can fix this. I’m here until the very end for you, Baylee. Please tell me you can see this.”
He’s still babbling and only one word sticks out.
Murder.
Murder.
Murder.
I mean, I knew he was dead, my War. But for some reason, I still held onto a shred of hope he’d somehow survived. Deep down in the dark depths of my heart, I wanted to believe he’d lived. Yet he hadn’t. My War was completely over.
“Oh, God,” I sob and collapse in his arms.
He kisses my hair over and over again as he tries to soothe me. I inhale his familiarity and let it bring comfort to me. I’m a shuddering mess and all I can do is clutch onto his T-shirt to keep from hitting the gravel.
“Baylee,” he says in a thick voice, his own tears wetting my hair, “I swear to God I will love you and take care of you. Let me help you remember what we had. Remember our love.”
Love.
Love.
Love.
Another sob rips through me and he holds me tighter. The grief and stress from the past few days overwhelms me, rendering me weak. He seems to sense my breakdown because he slips an arm beneath me and picks me up. I curl up against his chest while he carries me back to the truck. Once he opens the door and sets me on the seat, his red, tearstained eyes are washing over me. His fingers find my chin and he lifts it so our eyes meet.
“I’m sorry for keeping that from you,” he tells me, his brows bunching together. “I’ll take you to the diner. We’ll just be careful.” He reaches under the seat and pulls out his baseball cap. I watch his determined, handsome face as he places it on my head and tucks my hair inside of it. “There, now you’re a boy.”
I try to force a smile but my lip ends up quivering it away.
“Hey,” he says, his green eyes glittering with the playfulness I know, “let’s go get you a strawberry milkshake before you beat my ass with my baseball bat. You get mean when you’re hungry. Hunger is not a pretty look on you.”
This time I do smile and it’s genuine because his own grin is so infectious. Just like old times.
“I’m sorry for flipping out,” I murmur, my voice squeaking a bit as I swipe at my wet cheeks with the back of my hands. “I don’t mean to keep taking it out on you. Thank you for all you’re doing to help me through this.”
He leans in and kisses me softly on the corner of my mouth. “We’re in this together, babe. Until the very end.”
“Will that be all?” the waitress questions, her eyes lingering on Brandon. A familiar, yet ridiculous pang of jealousy, grates at my nerves at her blatant ogling of him.
“No,” I clip out, making sure to keep my face hidden beneath the baseball cap, “I need to order a chicken finger special to-go.”
She scribbles on her note pad and then scurries away. When I lift my eyes to Brandon, he’s frowning.
We’d had a fairly quiet dinner until this point. He’d been looking over his shoulder every five seconds while I tried not to think about my mom’s death or my dad’s disappearance. And especially not what happened to War. Every time I did, my heart would ache and tears would well in my eyes. It was easier just to focus on my greasy fries and milk shake. To distance myself from the all-consuming pain.
“What?”
“Did you order that for,” he spits out the next part as if he’s disgusted, “him?”
I lift my chin and nod. “I’m trying to draw information out of him. I know there’s more he’s not telling me about my dad. Maybe if I’m nice he’ll give it to me and then we can go find him.”
He rolls his eyes and curses under his breath as if I’m just a stupid girl who knows nothing. I’m once again irritated by his moody behavior.
“What?” I demand.
Shrugging his shoulders, he stares off into the crowded restaurant. “It’s not going to work, babe. Gabe’s a liar. He’ll manipulate you into letting him go. Then, he’ll hurt you again,” his voice drops to a whisper. “We need to get rid of him.”
I study his features. The clenching jaw. The way his nostrils flare with anger. How his narrowed eyes scrutinize me. I don’t know this man. The boy who hugged me earlier and cried into my hair when he thought I was leaving him, I know him. This guy though, the *, I can’t even begin to understand who he is and I certainly don’t like him a bit.
“I don’t want it to be easy on him, believe me. But he needs to pay for what happened to me and what he did to those I love. I want him to think about what he’s done every day in a tiny prison cell for the rest of his life. Once we get what we need from him, we’ll call the police.” My voice is firm and unwavering. I’ve thought a lot about this. Brandon and I are just two young adults. We’re not killers. I won’t let him kill for me and I certainly want to be a good parent to my future child. Murdering someone, even the devil, is a bad start to motherhood.