Prodigy Moretti
On the way to Novi’s crib, I silenced the alarm and checked the notifications. The alarm had been tripped while in HOME mode because the front door had been opened without disarming during the grace period.
Once I made it to Novi’s place, she didn’t answer the doorbell. The property was too quiet, and the front door was actually closed and secured. I didn’t trust that shit, considering her situation, so, I keyed in the code and pushed the front door open.
“Novi,” I called out, but got no reply.
I moved through the house with my hand on my gun, checking the kitchen, living room, guest rooms, laundry room, and every bathroom. Her purse was there. Her phone charger was still plugged in. A half-empty bottle of water sat on the nightstand beside the bed.
But she was gone.
I went through the backyard, checked the side gate, then came back through the house and locked up. I got in my car and started driving the neighborhood, one block at a time, scanning sidewalks, alleys, parked cars, and corners.
Three blocks over, I saw her. She was walking with her arms wrapped around herself, head down, and tears streaming down her face. Her blonde hair was messy, and her body was folded in on itself from grief.
I pulled over and hopped out.
She saw me coming and didn’t even try to hide her pain. Since the last time I’d been here, I’d been so focused on finding Renzo and Roman. My mind had been so wrapped up in that shit that I hadn’t made it back to check on her in a few days.
The last time I sat with Novi, I had enjoyed it. I had enjoyed making her laugh, even though the whole reason I’d done it was to take her mind off this exact bullshit.
I knew distraction had only bought her a few quiet hours. It hadn’t saved her from the pain waiting on her when I left.
Once she was in arms reach, I didn’t say anything, I just wrapped my arms around her, and Novi broke.
Her whole body gave out against mine, and the sound that came out of her didn’t even sound human.
It was pain with nowhere to go. I held her while she sobbed into my shirt.
My arms locked around her, giving her something solid to fall apart against.
I couldn’t imagine what this had been doing to her.
She had to hide while grieving. She couldn’t go home and sleep in her own bed.
She couldn’t sit with Kash’s things without looking over her shoulder.
She couldn’t mourn him the way women were supposed to mourn the men they loved, surrounded by family, friends, food, noise, and people reminding them to breathe.
She was grieving alone.
“I’m so mad at him,” she cried.
I held her closer.
“I’m so fucking mad at him!”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t!” She shoved at me, then hit me with both fists against the front of my shirt. “He left me! He left me here! He didn’t tell me he was in trouble! He didn’t tell me anything!”
I let her continue to hit me and vent.
“He knew!” she hollered. “He knew something was wrong, and he still didn’t tell me! He made me think we had time!”
Her fists hit my ribs, stomach, and arms, and I took each one.
“He’s not here!” she screamed. “He’s not here for me! He’s not here for our baby! I’m carrying his child, and he’s gone! He’s gone, and I hate him for it!”
When her voice started to crack, I pulled her back into me. Her arms gave out, and she let me hold her. That was when it got hard to focus on only comforting her. Novi felt too good pressed against me, and I hated myself for noticing it while she was falling apart.
She had on a workout set with flip-flops, something she had probably thrown on before walking out the house in tears, but it still had no business looking that good on her.
The little shorts hugged her hips and made her ass sit up in a way that tested every bit of self-control I had.
Her soft stomach pressed against mine, and the top held her breasts up full and pretty against me.
I tried to keep my thoughts respectful, but my dick noticed what my mind was trying to ignore.
She was warm, soft, and curvy. That combination did something to me I didn’t want to focus on because she was also broken.
I hated seeing tears on her face. I hated hearing her cry so hard she could barely breathe.
I hated that she probably felt weak when all I saw was a woman still standing after grief had tried to take her down.
I cared when I shouldn’t have. I cared while she cried over another man, while she carried another man’s baby, while I stood there knowing I was supposed to protect her, not want her.
But I did both.
“I hate him,” she whispered, crying harder. “I hate him for doing this.”
“I know.” That was all I had, because nothing I could say could fix dead. Nothing I could say could bring Kash back, make her less scared, or explain why the man she loved had left her with a baby he would never get to hold.
So, I stood on that sidewalk and held her while she cried so hard that her body shook. And when her knees started to fold, I caught her before she hit the ground.