“That piece of shit is lucky he died in that fire,” Striker growls. His face is a hurricane of anger. “I shoulda killed him when I first saw him.”
“Mark is dead,” I repeat dully. It doesn’t feel real. It doesn’t feel like anything. Maybe I’m still in shock. Shouldn’t I feel… sad? Relieved? Angry? Something?
A strange beeping interrupts my thoughts. Isabel glances down at a device clipped to her waist.
“I’ve got to go,” she announces, then says to Striker, “Promise me you won’t let any more people than this in at a time?”
“Don’t worry. They’ll have to get through me,” Striker says.
Isabel gives me a little wave and slips out the door, closing it behind her.
“We should probably get going and let someone else have a turn,” Cady pipes up. “Ember, we just wanted to see you and make sure you were okay.”
“I really appreciate you being here,” I say sincerely. And I do. Having Tank and Cady here right now makes them feel less like clients, and more like friends.
“Hey,” Striker says, clearing his throat. “Before you guys take off, I have a couple things I wanna talk to you two about. Something I something else I just found out. And, uh…” He glances at me. “It seems to me like all four of us should be here for this conversation.”
Tank frowns. “Okay. “What’s up?”
“Well, see, here’s the thing,” Striker begins, running a hand over his head. “Tank, when you told me your paternity test came back negative for Wren, I was as shocked as anyone. I thought for sure you were being crazy, worrying that you weren’t her dad. But then, when it turned out you weren’t, I dunno… I couldn’t think of anything I could do to help you. Except for one thing. Which seemed like a long shot, but since it was still a possibility, I decided to do it anyway.”
Striker’s eyes meet mine.
Then, all at once, it clicks in my mind what he’s about to say.
“I went over to that same lab, to take the test myself.” He pauses. “They just called me an hour or so ago with the results. Turns out, it was positive.”
For a second, it feels like all the air has been sucked out of the room.
“You…” Cady’s eyes fill with tears. “You’re Wren’s father?”
“I’m Wren’s biological father,” Striker corrects. “But I’m good with being Uncle Striker. I’m gonna sign over parental rights to you guys.”
Cady starts to weep. Tank puts his arm around her, but he’s gaping at Striker.
“Are you serious, brother?” he croaks. His eyes are shining, and I can see he’s trying to hold himself together.
Striker shrugs. “Of course I am.”
Cady breaks away from Tank, and runs over to throw her arms around him.
“We’ll tell her the truth just as soon as she’s old enough to understand, Striker,” she sobs. “I promise.”
Striker puts a comforting arm around her. “You’re her parents,” he murmurs, then turns to Tank. “The truth is, brother, I may be the father, but you’re Wren’s dad.”
“Holy shit,” Tank says, his voice breaking. He goes over to Striker as well, and gives him a tight hug, clapping him on the back. “Thank you, brother.”
They stay like that for a moment, and then Striker hands a still-weeping Cady off to Tank.
“I better get her home,” Tank croaks, then clears his throat. “Thanks again, brother.”
“You tell Bird hello from her Uncle Striker,” Striker says. “And could you do me a favor? When you go out there, tell everyone else not to come in just yet. I’ll go out and get the next visitors in a little bit.” He turns to me. “I need to talk to Ember for a minute first.”
Tank leads Cady away. Striker waits until the door closes behind them, then comes over and sits beside me on the bed.
“That was a good thing you did,” I sniffle, wiping at my eyes.
“It was the right thing,” he corrects. “How you feelin’?”
I let out a breath. “Exhausted. Overwhelmed. Maybe in shock, a little bit. I can’t believe Mark is dead,” I say, shaking my head. “It’s just so… awful. Surreal.” I raise my hand to my mouth. “Oh, God, does Margot know yet?”
Striker grunts a yes. “I told her when I called her to take Bert.”
“Oh, of course.” I swallow. “How was she?”
“Shocked, but fine. She was really glad to know you were okay.”
“I wonder if she’s called his parents yet,” I fret. “Should I be doing that? Technically I’m still his wife…”
“Sshhh…” Striker brings a finger to my lips. “You don’t need to worry about any of that right now. I’ll talk to Margot and ask her if she’ll call them, if she hasn’t already.”
“Okay.” Sighing, I lean back against the pillows, and glance at the door, then at him. “So, what did you want to talk to me about?”
Striker locks eyes with me. For a second, he doesn’t say anything, just takes my hand. He clears his throat.
“First, I need to apologize to you, Ember,” he says. “For the fight we had. I was out of line, and I knew it at the time.”
Now it’s my turn to be near tears. “Thank you,” I say hoarsely.
“You don’t need to thank me, babe,” Striker replies. “I was too damn pigheaded to say it to you at the time. Or even to myself. That’s somethin’ I’m gonna work on, though.” He hesitates. “And second, I want to apologize because as a result of my damn stubbornness, I wasn’t around to protect you from Mark last night. If I’d been there, that fire never would have happened.”
As I stare at his handsome face, I can’t help but marvel at how different Striker is from Mark. Here is this big, strong man, unafraid to admit he was wrong. Unafraid to say he’s sorry.
To me, that only makes him stronger.
“We don’t know if that’s true,” I counter. “Mark was a desperate man. We don’t know what else he would have tried, or when, if this had failed.”
“Still, the fact is, I wasn’t there,” Striker says gruffly. “The one thing I was supposed to be doing during all of this was protecting you.”
My stomach drops a little at his words. “Tank asked you to protect me from Cady’s ex,” I mumble, pushing away my disappointment. “You thought you were protecting me from the Lords’ mess. As it turned out, you saved me from mine instead.”
“I’m not talking about what Tank asked me to do,” he says. “I’m talking about us.”
I look up at him. “Us?”
“Yeah.” He moves closer. “At least, I hope there’s an us.”
He lifts my hand to his lips. It makes a mad flutter start in my chest. I’m afraid to move, afraid to speak.
“Ember, I’m not crazy enough to think I deserve you.” He chuckles. “Most people who saw us together would think you were slummin’ it pretty hard. Hell, I’d agree with them. But I was a damn mess when I met you. You make me want to be a better man. And I think we could make a damn good couple, if you’re willing to give me a chance.” He kisses my palm. “I’ve got a long history of being a fuck-up. But I promise to always cop to it when I’m wrong. Eventually, anyway.” His eyes twinkle. “And I promise to never, ever buy you flowers.”