“I told you I went to Christine’s grave and was drinking the night before I got shot,” I start, pausing to gauge her reaction. Her eyes move towards my shoulder and I watch as she flinches.
“I was still fucked up when your father called and ordered me to a paper factory downtown,” I continue as her eyes jump back to mine. “We were meeting with the Sinaloa cartel, hoping to iron out a deal that would keep Bas’ old lady and her kid safe.”
Confusion mars her features as she holds up a hand and stops me from saying any more.
“Blackie why are you telling me any of this?”
Frustrated, I sigh and drop my hands to the edge of the coffee table. My jaw locks as I grip it. Why am I telling her any of this? I guess the reason I’m telling her this is because for her to understand where we are, she needs to know how we got here.
“Just let me talk,” I plead, flexing my fingers against the edge of the wooden table. Blowing out a breath, she rolls her eyes and leans her back against the cushions of the couch.
“Go ahead but I’m not really sure what any of this has to do with the two fucking cops camped outside our home.”
Ignoring her impatience, I grit my teeth and continue.
“Things went south and gunfire broke out. One of the guys went to shoot your father and I jumped in front of him. The bullet hit me and before I went down, I dropped my gun.”
The annoyance fades from her features as her eyes widen.
“Hold on,” she stammers, pushing off the couch, her eyes narrowing into tiny slits. “Someone goes to shoot my father and you what—become a human shield?”
Confused by her sudden outburst, I cross my arms against my chest and shrug my shoulders.
“Why are you pretending like this is news? It’s my fucking job to protect your father.”
Visibly angry, she stands up and looks down at me.
“Excuse me for thinking things might change now that you’re going to be a father.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“I don’t know, Blackie, maybe I’m overreacting, but there’s gotta be a time and place where you think about your child and being a father instead of jumping in front of a bullet and making yourself a target for anyone.”
I open my mouth to argue but she shakes her head and pokes a finger against my good shoulder.
“No, I’m not finished,” she sneers, her eyes ablaze with unbridled fury. “Don’t give me that bullshit excuse that it’s your job. Your job should no longer consist of this cop and robbers nonsense. Your first priority, your first fucking thought, should be me and this baby, not being a fucking human shield.”
Rising from the coffee table, I stand over her, balling my fists, ready to fucking explode. This wasn’t how I imagined this conversation going. I don’t know if that makes me an asshole or what, but I didn’t expect her to turn on me before I even admitted my faults.
Not cowering under my glare, she crosses her arms against her chest and cocks her chin towards the window.
“Is that why these cops are outside? They here to take you away from me?”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I spat. “If you would just fucking let met get two words in, I’ll tell you what the fuck is going on here,” I growl, my patience gone.
Uncrossing her arms, she spreads them wide and arches an eyebrow.
“By all means, go ahead. Put me out of my misery,” she sneers.
Dragging in a deep breath, I sidestep her, putting some space between us. With my back towards her, I continue.
“After the bullet got me, before I went down, I dropped my gun. The cops found it, along with two dead bodies and a Mexican rat who told them it was us. The witness is garbage and any good lawyer will discredit him, but the gun has my prints all over it.”
“Jesus Christ, Blackie,” she snaps, causing me to turn on my heel. My dark eyes find hers and through the shadow of anger, I see the disappointment flicker in her irises. “You can’t go away. I…I need you here,” she stammers, her voice losing its steely edge.
And there it is.
The change in tide.
Her bravado wilts and the anger she possessed falters, allowing room for her maker. With a deep line of concern etched between her brows, fear registers in her eyes. As the man who has held her hand in the dark and carried her through her bouts of depression, I’m familiar with the signs and right about now, she’s realizing she married a man who succeeds at nothing but hurting her. Seeing her eyes fill with tears, I stride towards her and grab her hands.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I tell her hoarsely. Confused, she blinks.
“I don’t understand,” she murmurs.
“I can’t be both, Lacey, I can’t be the man you deserve and the vice president of the club especially with a case against me. I gave in my patch because I had every intention of turning myself in and fighting the charges. I thought while I stood trial, I could get sober and dedicate my time to you and the baby.”
“Blackie, we’re talking about murder. If a jury finds you guilty, you’re going to jail for a long fucking time. You won’t see our baby. You’ll miss everything, her whole fucking childhood—”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I repeat, cutting her off. Bringing our joined hands to my lips, I brush a kiss across her knuckles before dropping them between us. “I just wanted you to know I would’ve taken responsibility for my actions, but your father has different plans for us.”
“My father,” she repeats, pulling her hands away. A sarcastic laugh bubbles past her lips as she takes a step backward. “I should’ve known—”
“Lace, let me finish,” I interrupt, raising my voice slightly. The last thing I need is for her to hand me my ass before I get to the point. “He took a deal…”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I’m not going anywhere but your father is,” I say with a quiet emphasis, watching as my words sink in. Shock crosses her features as she stares at me. When she doesn’t speak, I continue by explaining the details surrounding the deal won’t be configured until he meets with the district attorney tomorrow.
Her shoulders slump as she crosses her arms and turns away. Keeping my eyes on her, I watch as she shakes her head—probably in disbelief.
“How long can he go away for?” she asks finally, in a broken whisper.
“I’m not sure,” I answer honestly.
Combing her fingers through her hair, she walks towards the window and glances aimlessly through the slotted blinds. Neither of us say anything for a moment and the longer the silence drags out between us the farther she drifts into her head. Not willing to lose her to her mind, I play the same old record. When in doubt, apologize.
“I’m sorry.”
If I had a dollar for all the times I’ve uttered those two fucking words I’d be a millionaire.
“What exactly are you sorry for Blackie?” she questions, glancing at me.
Shrugging my shoulders, I answer truthfully.
“Everything. If I had to list all the reasons we’d be old and withered by the time I was finished.”
She nods, looking back out the window.
“Kind of like my father will be the next time he sees the light of day.”