“Don’t worry,” I said. “You’ll get married one of these days.”
She looked right at me and raised both eyebrows. “When?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. Soon, I bet.”
She let out a sigh, and then plopped her forehead down on the edge of the countertop. “I better.”
Michelle had always been a voice in my life, but not necessarily a voice of reason. As she sat with her head down on the counter, I allowed her comments about Michael being in the mob to sink in.
Within a few minutes, I wondered just how much of what she said would end up being true. Children were far out on the horizon, so it wasn’t anything I needed to worry about now.
I had plenty of time to discuss any concerns I had with Michael.
Plenty of time.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Michael
Cap stepped through the front door, onto his porch, and pressed his hands to his hips. “Since fuckin’ when does Michael Tripp drive a truck? You’re a Beamer man.”
I glanced over my shoulder. “Nice fucker, huh?”
His eyes remained fixed on the truck. “That’s a goddamned Ford Raptor. A man can do some serious off-roading and shit with that bad boy. Black, too. Damn, Tripp. Spend some of that wedding money?”
“They should only come in one color, as far as I’m concerned.”
“Couldn’t agree more.” He stepped off the porch and began walking toward the truck. “Son of a bitch, that fucker’s nice. When I hit it big, I’m gonna get me a new truck.”
“How long have you had—”
“Betty? Shit, I’ve had that truck since long before I met you. Fucker sat in storage while I was at war. Me and my truck have a long history, but it ain’t because I like her. Can’t afford to replace her. Two hundred thousand miles and counting.”
“Go for a ride?” I asked.
“Any chance of driving?”
“Heads up,” I shouted as I tossed him the keys.
He caught the keys and grinned. “Can I drive it like it’s mine?”
I shrugged. “Absolutely.”
“Get in. I’ll show you how to drive one of these fuckers.”
The truck was Ford’s answer to serious off-roading. Built with the ability to jump the sand dunes in the Mojave Desert without any other modifications, it was the Ferrari of trucks if there ever was one.
I got in the passenger side, and Cap hopped in the driver’s seat. After starting the engine, he put the truck in drive.
“What the fuck are you doing? Aren’t you going to back up?” I asked.
He shook his head and hit the gas. “Nope.”
I should have known.
The truck lurched forward, and just before hitting the garage, Cap swerved hard to the left. The truck shot through the yard, fishtailed, and launched over the curb and into the street.
“With this fucker,” Cap said, “you don’t even need roads. You make your own.”
The twin-turbo engine whined as Cap floored the gas. Before we hit the end of the block, we were going faster than the legal speed limit on the freeway, I was sure.
I grabbed my seatbelt, and struggled to fasten it. “How fucking fast are you—”
He glanced down. “Right now, one-ten. We ain’t done, though. Not even close.”
He glanced left, and then right. Without stopping at the stop sign, he took the corner so fast the truck was on two wheels, screeching the tires across the pavement as we all but tipped over.
“Jesus, Cap. Slow the fuck down.”
“The suspension on this fucker is incredible,” he said as he struggled to steer the truck around the corner. “Read about it on the Net.”
I realized it was his dream truck, but I had no idea he’d drive it like he was in an off-road race.
After flying down the sparsely traveled street that intersected the street he lived on, we came upon the entrance to the highway. Cap, still traveling over sixty miles an hour, swerved to the right.
Between the on-ramp and the highway above, a landscaped hill, filled with small decorative shrubbery, seemed to be where he was pointing the truck.
The turbos whined, and the truck’s power pinned me to the seat.
“Cap.”
Pointed directly at the grassy hill, he sped up even faster. “Cap.”
With his eyes glued straight ahead, the corner of his mouth curled up. “Cap!”
Wham!
We hit the leading edge of the hill, shot up it, and the blue sky was all that I could see.
We hit the crest of the hill as fast as the truck would go. “Jesus, Cap!”
The truck was airborne, headed toward the highway that was now below us. After a short feeling of weightlessness, it landed on all four wheels.
The tires screeched.
He swerved right, and then left.
By the grace of God, we had landed behind one vehicle and in front of another.
I turned to the left and shot him a scowl. “Slow this motherfucker down. I’m dead fucking serious.”
He merged into the fast lane and slowed to eighty miles an hour.
My heart was in my throat, and my asshole had tightened so much my vision was blurred.
Nonchalantly, he reached for the radio’s controls. “Nice fucking truck.”
“You can do that from the steering wheel,” I said. “So you can keep your fucking eyes on the road.”
He looked at the steering wheel, and seemed surprised by the controls on it. “Good idea. Those engineers are always thinkin’, you know it?”
I laughed. “Yeah.”
“Where we headed?”
“Go to my place,” I said. “I need something.”
“You got it.”
“And, no more off-roading. I’m not fucking around. I about puked.”
“It’s fun. You should try it.”
“I’d rather not.”
“It’s what this fucker was built for. If you ain’t gonna use it, you should have bought a fuckin’ Cadillac.”
“I’ll remember that next time.”
“So, how’s married life?”
I repositioned myself in the seat and relaxed. “It’s good.”
“I’m thinkin’ one of these days, not too far down the road, I’m gonna ask Michelle.”
“Ask her what?”
“To get hitched.”
I grinned and nodded my head. Cap being married was something that had been incomprehensible for as long as I’d known him, but now it didn’t seem too farfetched.
“She’s good for you.”
“Damned sure is,” he said. “She’s a good woman.
“Won’t have a wedding like yours, though.”
“Why not?”
“Can’t afford it. Shit, that fucker probably cost a hundred grand.”
I shrugged. “Probably.”
“Too rich for my blood. Soon as I can afford to get her a ring that’s nice enough to let her know how I feel, I’m popping the question, though.”
“Hard to believe how much things have changed in the last few years, isn’t it?”
He let out a laugh. “Wasn’t that long ago, and we were cussing Agrioli. Hell, you had Lucky shoot his son. Then, we had to go and rescue that fucker. Shit, when you think about all the stuff that’s happened, sounds like one of them Hollywood movies, huh?”
“An unbelievable one.”
“Another day in the life of Cap and Tripp.”
“Tripp and Cap.”
“That’s what I said.”
“You said Cap and Tripp.”
“What’s the difference?”
“My name comes first.”
“My name ought to. I’m always looking after your ass. Takin’ care of ya, and shit.”
“Is that right?”
He nodded. “Damned fact.
“Well, here we are,” he said as he pulled into the driveway. “What do you have to grab?”
“My car,” I said. “Terra and I are going shopping.”
He shot me a confused look. “What do you want me to do with this truck?”
I opened the door, got out, and grinned. “Do whatever you want with it. It’s yours. The title is in the glove box. Good job on that gun deal, brother.”
His eyes went wide. “You serious?”
“Dead serious.”
“You’re giving me this fucker?”
“Yep.”
“For real?”
“Yep.”
“Agrioli already paid me, brother.”
“Agrioli said you could get a bonus. Consider this part of it.”
“Part of it?”
“Yeah,” I said. “The rest of it’s in the duffel bag in the back.”
“Rest of it?”
“Yeah. The rest of it. Agrioli said I could pay a bonus to the capo. You know, as the business owner of Tripp, LLC.”
“So, you paid me over and above what he paid me?”
“Yep.”
“And he’s okay with that?”
“He encouraged it.”
“Holy shit. I don’t know what to say, Tripp. Thanks. I mean it. This is too much.”
Seeing the smile on his face was all the assurance I needed to know I’d done the right thing. Cap was a minimalist, and he’d live in his two-bedroom shack and drive his old truck forever if no one prompted him to change.
“I’ll call you this evening,” I said. “Enjoy it.”
“I will.”
I closed the door, tapped the top of the cab, and stepped to the side.
Cap revved the engine. I peered through the windshield at him. His mouth twisted into a mischievous grin.
Don’t you dare.
He steered to the left, hit the gas, and shot through my well-manicured lawn, spraying my perfectly green grass all over me.
As he launched the truck over the curb and into the street, he honked the horn.
“Who was that!” Terra shouted from the porch.
I shook my head and laughed. “Cap.”
“Did he get a new truck?”
“Yeah. He did.”
“Why’d he drive it through our yard?”
“I don’t know, babe. You never know with him.”
“Are we leaving now, or do you have to fix the yard?”
“The yard can wait,” I said. “Let’s go shopping.”
“Where’s your car?”
“At the Ford dealership.”
“Why is it there?”
“Long story,” I said.
And, when Cap found the two and a half million dollars I left him, it would be a long story with a very happy ending.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Terra
I carried the bowl of pasta to the table, placed it in the center of the table, and then sat down.
Michael gave me a look of confusion. “Why are you sitting over there?”
“I just wanted something different.”
“You always sit beside me.”
“I just want to sit over here tonight.”
He reached for the bowl of pasta, pushed it toward me, and nodded. “Okay.”
I put some pasta on my plate and then slid the bowl across the table.
“Is that all you’re going to get?”
A child-sized portion of food sat in the center of my plate.
“For now,” I said. “I’ll start with this.”
He reached for the salad bowl. “Salad?”
I stared at my plate. “Not yet.”
“Bread?”
“No. I’m good for now.”
“You look sick,” he said.
I felt like I was going to barf.
“You really do. Are you okay?”
I inhaled a short breath. My nerves were going to get the best of me if I didn’t tell him, but I was afraid to speak freely.
Michelle’s claims of Michael’s life remaining the same, regardless of where we were in our life, weighed heavily on me, and as much as I wanted to dismiss them as being nonsense, I couldn’t.
I needed to know.
I needed to hear it from Michael.
I twisted my fork into the pasta. “I’m, um.”
“What’s wrong, babe?”
I tried to find a way to say it. “Um.”
“Communication is key, Terra. Say whatever it is that—”
I looked up. “I’m pregnant.”
If the pregnancy wasn’t planned, I’m sure every woman, regardless of how long she’s been married, dreads telling her husband that she’s pregnant. The fear of rejection, disappointment, or denial was enough in itself to make me second-guess telling him, but I knew I had to.
Seeing the look on his face when I said it removed all doubt.
Instantly.
“Really?” He jumped from his seat and looked back at me with wide eyes and an ear-to-ear grin. “Are you sure?”
As if I wasn’t already, I was filled with emotion. “I went to the doctor today.”
He rocked back and forth nervously on the balls of his feet. “Like. Pregnant? For sure?”
I bit my lower lip and nodded. “Uh-huh.”
“You need to eat,” he blurted. “To keep him healthy. Or her. It could be a her. Or maybe. It could be twins. Couldn’t it? Twins, isn’t that something to think of? Twins? Do you need anything? A glass of wine? No, not wine. Water. You can’t have wine. Just water. Well, maybe juice. Yeah, you could have juice. No wine, though. He didn’t. Do you know what? Did they tell you if it’s a boy or a girl? We need to go tell your parents. Let’s eat, and then we can go tell them. You need to eat—”
“Take a breath, Michael. I’m barely pregnant. It’s just—”
“Barely, like maybe you’re not? Oh God. Don’t tell me that. I’m on cloud nine, babe. Please. What do you mean, barely?”
“Sit down!”
He plopped himself down in the seat beside me, and let out a sigh.
“I’m one hundred percent pregnant,” I said. “As pregnant as I can be. I meant I’m only three and a half weeks pregnant.”
“Three and a half weeks? That means—was—”
I started to cry. “Yeah. Conceived on our wedding night.”
Our rush to get everything in order for our wedding left us with not much time, and very little desire to have sex. Our wedding night limo disaster was the only time we’d had sex in weeks, and based on the date of my last period, the doctor pinpointed the conception to the very night of our wedding.
“Leave the food,” he said with a wave. “We’ve got to go tell your parents. Our parents. Your parents. My in-laws. We need to tell them. We can eat on the way. We can eat there. We need—”
“Michael!”
It was cute seeing him come unraveled over the news, but if he didn’t slow down, he was going to have a heart attack.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m just excited.”
He stood and walked to my side. “Stand up.”
I took his hand and stood.
He looked me in the eyes, smiled, and kissed me. The kiss was different. It was passionate, but not aggressive. It was reassuring, but not soft or sympathetic.
It was perfect.
Our lips parted.
His eyes met mine. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
�
�Leave the food?” he asked.
I looked at the table. Considering his level of excitement, it seemed like the only thing to do.
“Sure.”
“Call in advance, or surprise?”
“My dad hates surprises,” I said.
He grinned. “Surprise it is, then.”
Chapter Forty
Michael
If there was one thing out of life that I truly wanted, being a father was it. Along with it, of course, would come marriage and a wonderful wife, but my dream was to be the father to my child that my father wasn’t.
Growing up without parents is a feeling that words can’t describe. There’s no way to convey to the layman what it is like to grow up without the love and care that a parent provides.
My focus, upon hearing that we were pregnant, changed.
Completely.
I could only hope that Anthony supported me when I told him my intention.
In time, I supposed I’d find out.
For now, however, the news was going to be nothing but joyous.
We sat in the driveway facing Anthony’s home. I killed the engine and looked at Terra. “How are we going to do this?”
Terra shrugged. “Do you want to tell them, or should I?”
We were driving my old BMW, because it was in the driveway. The fact that we were in it made something possible.
“I’ve got an idea.”
“What?”
“Remember what I told you about your dad saying we should race?”
“The cars?”
“Yeah.”
“Let’s tell him we were racing, and that we wrecked them. Into one another. After we get him all depressed because of that, we spring the news on him. It’ll make the joy of us being pregnant all that much better.”
She shook her head. “You’re like a little boy. Fine, let’s do it. But, there’s only one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“We’re not pregnant. I am.”
“We’re doing this together,” I said. “So, we’re pregnant.”
“Get fat with me, then,” she said in a sarcastic tone.
The thought of me being fat was laughable. “Just follow my lead on this thing, okay?”
“About the cars?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay.” She gazed out the window, inhaled a deep breath, and then looked at me. “Ready?”
The Good Boss Page 15
