Chapter 23 Nina
NINA
“So, how’s it going at the strip club?” Keshia asks, taking a long sip of her green smoothie.
We’re sitting at the new juice bar the gym installed this week, claiming a small round table while Austin finishes up in the children’s room.
“It’s...” I pause, searching for the right word. “Complicated.”
Keshia raises an eyebrow. She’s been covering extra yoga classes for a teacher on vacation, so this is the first real chance we’ve had to talk since I went back to work. And there’s a lot to unpack.
“Complicated how?”
“Things with Alessio are in a weird place.” I lower my voice even though most of the other customers are leaving with their drinks. “We’ve been...”
Keshia leans forward, abandoning her smoothie entirely. “Last I heard, you were keeping things casual.”
Casual. Right.
But there’s nothing casual about the way he looks at me when he thinks I’m not paying attention. Nothing casual about what happened in his car last night. The memory hits hard, vivid, as if I’m still there…
“You like shaking this tight ass of yours on stage in a thong, Temptress?” His voice is pure gravel as his hands clamp on my hips, dragging me into place in the backseat of his SUV. “Do you know how fucking hard you make me while you spin around that pole?”
The windows fog, the car rocks, and I’m bent over the leather seat in nothing but my heels and the thong he couldn’t wait to shove aside.
His grip bites into my skin, holding me open, relentless.
He’s been like a man possessed lately, pulling me into dark corners and empty offices like he can’t stand the thought of other men looking at me.
“Alessio!” I cry out when his finger presses where I’ve never been touched before. The shock is sharp, overwhelming, my whole body jerking against him.
“One day I’ll take your ass,” he growls, rough with hunger. “You’ll take everything I give you.”
The thought should terrify me. Instead, pleasure tears through me, blinding and jagged, stars bursting behind my eyes as I come hard against him.
“Nina?” Keshia’s voice cuts through the memory. “You’re doing that thing where you zone out and look like you’re having impure thoughts.”
Heat crawls up my neck. “We’re sleeping together.”
“At work?”
“Among other places.” I clear my throat. “But that’s not the confusing part.”
“What is?”
I swirl my straw through the green juice, trying to find words for the whiplash that is Alessio DeLuca. “He’s acting like... like he cares. Walking me to my car, bringing me coffee, getting possessive when customers get too friendly. But he still insists we’re casual.”
“Men are idiots.”
“This goes beyond standard male stupidity.” I lean back in my chair. “This is PhD-level emotional constipation.”
Keshia laughs, but her expression grows serious. “Nina, I have to ask. Are you sure getting involved with him is smart?”
There it is. The question I’ve been avoiding.
“Smart?” I let out a bitter laugh. “Kesh, I’m a single mom stripping to pay for my kid’s heart medication. Smart flew out the window months ago.”
“You know what I mean.” She reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. “Eric nearly destroyed you. What if Alessio turns out to be just as bad? What if he really is involved with the mafia like you said?”
The mention of Eric sends a shiver through me. Not because I miss him—God, no—but because she’s right to worry. My track record with men is about as impressive as my credit score.
But Alessio isn’t Eric. That much I know.
“He’s not going to hurt me.” I surprise even myself with how certain I sound.
“How can you be sure?”
Because when Eric was angry, he used his fists. When Alessio gets angry, he gets possessive and protective and fucks me until I can’t remember my own name. Because Eric made me feel small and worthless, while Alessio makes me feel like I could conquer the world.
Because even when Alessio’s being an emotionally unavailable ass, there’s something in his eyes that tells me I matter to him.
“I just am.”
Keshia doesn’t look convinced, but she drops it. For now.
“What about Austin?” she asks instead. “Are you going to tell Alessio he’s the father?”
My stomach drops to my shoes. This is the question that keeps me awake at night, the one I can’t answer no matter how many times I turn it over in my head.
“I don’t know yet.” I crumple my empty cup, buying time.
“He’s been... different lately. Protective.
Sweet, even, when he thinks I’m not paying attention.
But being good at whatever this is between us doesn’t automatically make someone father material.
I need to know if he’d even want to be a dad before I blow up his world. ”
“Fair point.” Keshia stands and tosses her cup in the trash. “It’s your night off, right?”
“Yep.”
Which means I won’t see Alessio tonight. The thought leaves me feeling oddly empty. I actually have the urge to text him, suggest we meet up somewhere that isn’t his office or the backseat of his car.
I want to see him. Not just for the sex—though that’s admittedly incredible—but because I miss him when he’s not around. Miss his sarcastic comments and the way he looks at me like I’m the only person in the room.
Oh, God.
My feelings are way more serious than I realized. I knew I liked him, knew I was disappointed every time he reminded me we were keeping things casual. But this? This feels like something deeper. Something that could actually hurt when it inevitably falls apart.
I’m falling for him. Actually, genuinely falling for a man who’s made it crystal clear that casual is all he’s offering.
This is going to end badly.
Keshia and I are walking toward the children’s room when one of the gym employees comes rushing out, eyes scanning the area frantically. When she spots me, relief floods her face.
Then I see the panic underneath it.
My blood turns to ice.
“Ms. Walker!” She hurries toward us, and everything inside me goes cold. “Please, you need to come quickly. It’s your son.”
I’m moving before she finishes the sentence, my heart hammering against my ribs. The children’s room feels like it’s a mile away even though it’s only twenty feet. Time stretches and contracts, and all I can think is not again, please not again.
Austin is sitting in a chair against the wall, another employee kneeling beside him. The fluorescent lights make his skin look even paler, almost translucent, and his small hands tremble in his lap. When he sees me, his eyes fill with tears.
“Mommy...”
I drop to my knees in front of him, my hands immediately going to his cheeks. His skin is clammy and cold.
“What happened?” I ask the employee, but my eyes never leave Austin’s face.
“The kids were playing Duck, Duck, Goose. Austin was running around the circle, laughing and having fun. Then he just... stumbled. Like his legs gave out. He said he felt dizzy.”
Dizzy. Shortness of breath. Pale skin.
His heart.
“I called 911,” Keshia says from behind me.
Good. At least one of us is thinking clearly.
“We need to go to Mountainview,” I tell the paramedics when they arrive, somehow keeping my voice level. “They have the pediatric cardiology unit.”
They nod, already loading Austin onto a gurney. The straps look too big against his thin arms, swallowing him up. He looks so small, so fragile. Six years old and already intimate with hospitals and medicine and fear.
This isn’t how childhood is supposed to go.
The ambulance ride is a blur of beeping monitors and Austin’s scared eyes. Keshia holds my hand while I hold his, and I try to project calm I don’t feel.
Dr. Murphy is waiting when we arrive. The same cardiologist who delivered Austin’s original diagnosis, which feels like both a blessing and a curse. At least she knows his case.
She examines him quickly, efficiently, ordering an IV and medication that brings his heart rate down and puts color back in his cheeks. Within an hour, he’s sitting up in bed eating pudding like nothing happened.
But I know better. This isn’t nothing.
“Ms. Walker, can I speak with you privately?”
The words I’ve been dreading.
I kiss Austin’s forehead and follow Dr. Murphy down the hall to a small consultation room. There’s a couch, a chair, and a box of tissues on the table.
The tissues are never a good sign.
“I’m going to be direct with you,” Dr. Murphy says, settling into the chair. “The medication isn’t controlling Austin’s symptoms the way we hoped. His condition is progressing.”
My hands clench in my lap. “What does that mean?”
“It means we need to discuss surgery.”
The word echoes in my head like a death sentence. Surgery. My six-year-old son, his chest cut open on a table.
“How dangerous is it?” I ask, proud that my voice doesn’t shake.
Her hesitation tells me everything I need to know.
“Any heart surgery carries risks. But if his valve keeps deteriorating, we won’t have a choice.”
I nod, filing away every word. Later, I’ll research everything she’s told me. I’ll become an expert on pediatric heart surgery and valve replacement and whatever else I need to know to advocate for my son.
Right now, I just need to hold it together.
“What can I do to help him avoid surgery?”
“Minimize stress. Make sure he doesn’t miss any medication doses. But Ms. Walker...” She leans forward, her expression gentle but serious. “You need to prepare for the possibility that it might not be enough.”
I swallow hard because speaking feels impossible.
When I get back to Austin’s room, he’s showing Keshia his pudding cup art—apparently he’s made a smiley face in the chocolate.
“Look, Mommy! It’s happy pudding.”
I smile and ruffle his hair. “It’s perfect, baby.”
He is. My son is absolutely perfect.
And I’ll be damned if I let anything happen to him.
Not on my watch.