Chapter 11
Eleven
Briar
I’m doing the dishes.
All six of the cups and the fork that Frankie used to scoop up some of the leftover anchovy guts—barf—after she ate two slices of pizza.
God, of course I have a kid who likes anchovies.
Blech.
But that’s not what has me furiously scrubbing the tines of the fork, trying to erase each and every bit of that anchovy gunk.
It’s that I just sat around on my back patio, eating pizza, laughing with the girls and Frankie, the boys and Colt during Sunday Dinner.
Freaking Sunday Dinner.
Something I created because I wanted Frankie to have what Dash and I didn’t—a family that comes together on the regular.
It’s not every Sunday.
But it’s a lot of them.
And I felt like it was critically important, especially because she didn’t have a dad.
But now—
A throat clears and I whip around to see Colt leaning against the wall.
“You should be in bed,” I murmur.
He looks exhausted, and just the day before, he was bleeding in the sheets of his motel room.
Now, he’s been out of bed all afternoon and evening, the explosive surprise of his return from the dead transforming into hanging out with the guys and getting caught up on some of what he missed.
There’s too much for him to be really up to speed, and he may never get there, considering all he’s missed, but he got some highlights tonight.
And then Frankie roped him into Connect Four.
He let her win precisely once—because most of her victims (yes, victims) learn that she’s a shark within that first match. And then he, even though he brought out the big guns, he still lost to her four more times, taking her out only once.
But even though he got destroyed in a board game by a four-year-old, he seemed unbothered.
No, he seemed like he was having the time of his life.
Like he was soaking up every moment.
And…more guilt.
“I’m not tired yet,” he says.
I turn back to the sink, to washing that fork, scrubbing like a maniac. “You were barely able to walk yesterday. You need to rest.”
“I think the whole sleeping like the dead for eighteen hours topped me up, baby.”
My heart lurches at his soft baby but I don’t stop cleaning.
Or pretending to because the fork is sparkling.
“Baby,” I hear.
But this time it’s not from across the room.
It’s from right next to me.
Millimeters from my ear.
And he’s stepping close, his chest against my back, hands resting on my shoulders for a moment before they slide down the outsides of my arms, covering my hands…and wrestling the fork from my grip.
“You got it, Thorny,” he murmurs once it’s free and on the drying rack. Then he’s reaching forward, turning off the water.
Which means I’m surrounded by him.
Held close to him.
God, it’s been so long.
And I’ve missed him so much.
And—
He shifts, pushing off me and turning so that he’s leaning back against the edge of the counter.
Still close.
Just…not holding me.
And am I a shit person if I say that I miss it?
He clears his throat again, and I realize that I’m staring. Thank God Banks and Royal took their women home.
Thank God that Frankie demanded her Uncle Royal do his bedtime routine so that my little girl is asleep.
Thank God—
“Briar,” he says, and his tone is filled with warning.
“What?” I ask, the warmth I was feeling at being held close to him fading. Annoyance taking its place.
His brows flick up, clearly feeling that annoyance…and lobbing some of his own back in my direction when he asks, “Something you want to tell me?”
My throat goes tight.
Because I know exactly what he’s talking about.
Exactly what he must have picked up on.
Frankie’s hair.
Frankie’s eyes.
Frankie’s penchant for freaking anchovies.
So, I don’t make him work for it.
“I didn’t know I was pregnant until I was almost thirteen weeks along,” I whisper and watch as his entire body goes rigid.
“I…there was never any doubt that I’d keep it, keep her.
” My eyes close and I remember that appointment with my obstetrician, seeing the black and white image on the ultrasound machine.
The tiny baby.
That fluttering heartbeat.
“We made her,” I say, looking up into his deep blue eyes. “She came from a night that meant so much to me, from a man who meant the world to me, so no, there was never any doubt I would have her.”
“Meant?” he asks, and I shut my eyes, clenching them tightly together, wishing that things were different.
That so many things were different.
“Colt,” I whisper, and he must hear the pain in my voice because he’s quiet for a long moment.
Then he asks, “What happened then?”
“I tried to get in touch with you,” I tell him. “I left a message. I left messages.”
He touches my cheek and my lids peel back, the regret on his face heavy. “I’m sorry, baby.”
I nod, acknowledging that, but having to get the rest of this out. “I didn’t hear anything—not for months—and th-then…you were dead.”
He sighs then takes my hand, kissing the back of it.
Another apology in his eyes, but he doesn’t say it out loud. Instead, he asks, “Do the guys know? Is that why Dash and Atlas want to kill me?”
“No,” I say. “They don’t know. I never told anyone who Frankie’s dad was.”
“They let you get away with that?”
“I don’t know if you remember”—my words are light—“but I can be a bit stubborn.”
“A bit?” he teases, and I gently swat at him.
Then sigh.
And give him the rest of it.
“After a while everyone stopped asking,” I say. “So no, my brother and Atlas, how pissed they both are at you…that’s all on you.”
He chuckles. “Unfortunately, I was worried that might be the case.” Then his expression gentles, and he touches my cheek again. “You did a great job with her, Thorny. She’s amazing.”
My lungs hitch, and my heart squeezes and…
God, he’s missed so much.
And I’ve missed him.
And I’ve wished that he was here to meet Frankie too many times to count.
“She’s funny and whip smart and beautiful and I’m so sorry that you had to do it all alone—”
“I wasn’t alone,” I whisper.
He stills, and I want to take the words back when pain ripples across his face, but before I can, he tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear. “The family you’ve built is beautiful, baby, but I’m still so fucking sorry you’ve borne the truth alone for all these years.”
“I’m not,” I tell him. “That was our night, and it meant everything. I didn’t want to share it with anyone.”
His eyes blaze into mine.
Then he cups my jaw and leans close, his words brushing over my lips. “That night meant everything to me too.”
That’s all I’ve ever wanted to hear.
All I’ve ever needed.
But when he bends to close the distance between our mouths, I put my hand up to stop him.
I want nothing more than to taste him again.
But I can’t.
Not right now.
Not when—
“I’m with West now.”