If it’s up to me, it’ll be the rest of our lives, but I know she’s not ready to hear that right now. She may never be ready to hear those words, and it’s a bridge I’ll cross if we ever come to it. For now, I’ll take this gift she’s given me and I will impress the fuck outta this woman.
She won’t know what hit her. In a really good way.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Renegade
“It’s been a slow fucking day,” Tank yawns as the two of us sit in our patrol car, clocking speed on a side street off of a main thoroughfare. The town’s had complaints about speeding being a problem in this residential area, but so far we’ve seen nothing.
There’s no lie in his statement. It’s been one of the slowest days in recent memory for me. After the past week though I’m enjoying it. Every time I’m with him, I have a rush of guilt and I’m scared I’ll blow the cover on the baby. This is one thing Whitney and I haven’t really talked about, and I plan on bringing it up at our first dinner tonight.
I smile slightly, thinking about the dinner we’ll be having tonight. She said she’d like to cook on Tuesdays, leaving me with Thursdays. Off and on we’ve texted a little, trying to figure out if there’s anything either of us absolutely hate, anything we both love. It’s been mundane conversation, but to know I’m on her mind, even that way, is worth it.
“It has, I’m ready to put this nine hours behind us,” I grab my cell phone, and check the time. Two more hours to go.
“Wanna come over and grill out tonight? I got some steaks at the butcher the other day.”
Damn, I love steaks from the butcher Tank goes to, but Whitney’s way more important. “Sorry man, I have plans.”
“What’s her name?” He asks as he takes a look at me.
“Why do you think it’s a woman?”
“Only a woman can put a stupid smile like that on your face.”
I squirm, knowing if he keeps this up, I’ll probably break. I’m weak when it comes to my best friend, he knows me better than anyone else in the world. “Get outta here with that bullshit. I’ll open my vault, but only if you’re gonna open your vault about Blaze,” I mention the name of the paramedic who helped us when he got stabbed in the palm.
Immediately I know there won’t be any kind of vaults being opened today. “I’d rather not,” he grabs a piece of gum, sticking it in his mouth, chewing so hard I’m sure his jaw is going to dislocate.
My phone vibrates in my hand, and I quickly check it, excited to see a text from Whitney.
W: I hope you like roast. I saw it at the grocery and my mouth watered.
She’s had some cravings lately, telling me there are some things she has to have when she realizes she wants it. I get the feeling this is one of those cravings. Looking to my left, I make sure Tank’s focused on clocking the drivers on the road in front of us, as I type a reply.
R: That sounds amazing, I haven’t had anything home cooked in a very long time. At least nothing I haven’t cooked myself.
W: Great! See you then!
I put the phone back in my pocket, trying to wipe the grin off my face before I’m met with the judgement on Tank’s.
“Who was that?”
I know I can’t tell him, but I want to. I’ve never been great at keeping things from the people I care about. Not having him in the loop, not having him to go to is hard. He’s my best friend, and I want him to be a part of this. “I’ll let you know soon.”
He makes a sound – something that’s a cross between a mumble and a grunt. “She must be hot stuff, you never keep your women a secret.”
“It’s because I know they won’t be sticking around.”
“You think this one will be?”
For at least eighteen years…is on the tip of my tongue, but if I put it out there in the open he’s going to want to know the whole story. Instead, I give him a smile, turning my gaze back to the street in front of us. “How’s your hand?” I change the subject.
“Sore, but I can drive now, obviously,” he gestures to the driver’s seat he’s sitting in.
“I’m surprised they’re letting you drive to be honest,” as far as I know he hasn’t been back to the doctor, but lately we aren’t up in each other’s business as we normally are.
He offers me a grin. I’m about to say something when a pickup flies by us in nothing but a streak of black. “Holy shit, how fast was he going?”
Tank checks his radar. “Clocked it runnin’ at eighty-five.”
“In a motherfuckin’ thirty-five. Kids play out here,” I’m pissed.
Tank puts the car in gear, flips the lights, and I hang on for dear life. The truck’s already almost out of our line of vision. He steps on the gas, and I can feel the police package in our Dodge Charger respond, eating up the miles as we chase down the asshole with the lead foot.
I’m busy calling in our position and the description of the vehicle, while Tank is navigating the intersections, watching for bystanders. School just let out and we’re about to cross into a school zone.
Thumbing the radio, I speak calmly and clearly. “Dispatch, be advised we’re traveling at a high rate of speed toward Laurel Springs Elementary, can you notify them to clear that crosswalk?”
My hearts beating out of my chest as we advance on the truck. We’re close enough now I can see the license plate. Calling in the number, I wait for dispatch to get back to me.
“I’m coming back with a 2009 Ford F150 registered to Merle Strather.”
Tank and I glance at each other. There’s no way in hell Merle’s drivin’ this truck. “10-4.”
I put the radio down. “Gotta be his grandson.”
Tank groans and so do I. We’ve had run-ins with this kid before. For an eighteen-year-old punk, he’s got the smartest mouth I’ve ever heard in my life. Totally could have been me had I not found the military.
Finally we’re on the bumper of the truck. He can see our lights, I know he can, because I can see him glance at us in his rearview. I push my arm to the side of the road. “Pull the fuck over!”
Approaching the elementary school, I see they’ve cleared the crosswalk and key my radio. “Passing Laurel Springs Elementary – still traveling south high rate of speed. Continue or disengage?”
We’re coming into a very crowded and congested part of the city. Kids are getting out of school, parents are coming to get them, teenagers just left the high school – which is where this shithead just left from. “We can deliver the ticket to the residence. We can see the registrant’s grandson, Brooks Strather, driving the vehicle.”
Holden’s voice comes over the radio. He also doubles his time up when we aren’t busting up moonshine stills. “Let it go guys, we’ll have the closest uniforms deliver the ticket. What did you clock him at?”
“Eighty-five in a thirty-five.”
“Disengage, no reason for someone to get killed because he’s got a lead foot. C’mon back with your reports.”
Tank bangs on the steering wheel with his good hand. He absolutely hates to give something up when he knows the other person is in the wrong.
“Fuckin’ pisses me off. He could have killed somebody, and we just gotta let him go. That whole family is off the rails.”
“They always have been. Now the law’s just cracking down and catching up, they’ll keep doing stupid shit. We give them enough rope, they’ll hang themselves.”
He glances over at me. “At what cost? Before someone gets hurt?”
These are both questions I don’t know the answers to and instead of feeding him a line of bullshit, I just sit with my mind in my own thoughts. Dinner with Whitney is all I’m looking forward to, and it’s the one thing I can focus on without feeling like a failure.
* * *
I debated for fifteen minutes while I was at the grocery picking up some fresh bread, if I should get her flowers. I mean debated like I’ve never debated anything before in my life. I wondered if it would make me seem desperate. But then again, I’ve al
ready been there and done that. I wondered if she would read too much into it, then realize there is no reading too much into it – we’re having a damn baby. I decide she deserves the flowers, regardless of where we are in our own relationship right now. Grabbing the wildflower bouquet, because it seems much less serious than the roses, I hoof it to the checkout lane and throw them both down on the conveyor belt before I change my mind.
Letting out a deep breath, I realize I’m fucking nervous. What do we talk about? What kind of a conversation do we have? Any other time we’ve been together we’ve had either family or the awkward situation of our night of passion as a buffer. How do we become two people forming a relationship? All of a sudden I get it; this is what she’s been worried about, what’s been weighing so heavily on her mind. Why she can’t seem to get on board with me truly wanting to be a part of the baby’s life.
It’s clear now, crystal fucking clear and I get it. It’s why she sees me as too young to be able to deal with this, why she doesn’t think we can be a couple. It’s okay though, because now that I’m aware of the problem, I can fix it.
The whole way to her house I think of the man I need to be. Try to put myself in her shoes and figure out what’s expected of me. It’s hard because her family was my example growing up, and they were the quintessential loving family straight out of a fucking sitcom. I realize quickly that’s what I want, but I have to make sure she’s there and ready for it too. If I rush this, I hurt everybody involved.
Pulling into Whitney’s driveway, I give myself a pep talk, tell my pounding heart it’s going to fine, and wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans. I’ve done shit scarier, tougher, and more life-threatening than this before, but as I knock on her door, I wonder just how much these dinners are going to change my life.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Whitney
I’ve been anxious since I heard his truck pull in the driveway. It’s not overly loud, but loud enough. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t have one of those annoying mufflers like Trevor put on his. Like all of the things they share in life, they both have a love for big trucks. Both blacked out with chrome, but Ryan’s is lifted a little higher to accommodate his height. Trevor makes jokes about how Ryan has little man syndrome, but I know better. A flash of heat runs through my body as I think about his size. God, I miss the feeling he gave me as he thrust into me that night, the welcome weight of him laying on top of me, the way our eyes locked when he made me come. Damn, it’s hot in here now.
Fanning my hand in front of my face, I try to cool my wayward thoughts. This past week has been awful. If I didn’t know better, I’d think I’m a teenage boy. After looking it up on the internet though, I know I’m good. This is completely normal, no matter how unnatural it feels.
Putting my palms to my cheeks, I pace in front of the door as I wait for him to knock. Opening it before he gets there would be a total rookie move on my part. I’m the older one here, the supposedly more experienced one, and I should be able to keep my crap together. The knock I’ve been waiting for finally comes, so I take a deep breath and wait at least thirty seconds before I say “coming”. That’s right, Whitney, act like you haven’t been waiting on him to get here.
The image I’m greeted with is absolutely mouthwatering. Starting from the bottom, I let my gaze eat him up, for lack of a better term. His feet are encased in leather boots, maybe motorcycle (definitely not cowboy), leading into dark jeans that don’t fit snuggly but they aren’t lose either (he can move in them), up past a gray and black open flannel shirt that’s rolled up to his elbows, and a white undershirt shows off the dark tan he has. He must not have had time to shave because he’s sporting the tiniest little bit of stubble. I shiver, remembering how it felt against my neck the morning we woke up together. I would love to feel it again. I want to make it a reality, but I don’t know how to go about propositioning him. His hair is adorably mussed, like he spent the entire ride over here running his hands through it.
“These are for you,” he thrusts the bouquet of wildflowers in his hand at me. “And this is for us,” his other hand holds a loaf of fresh bread.
I’d completely missed he was holding them, the only thing I could focus on was the corded strength of his forearm. “Thank you,” when I grab them our fingertips touch and the spark is back, the one that burned so bright the night we were together. The flame so strong it sucks out the oxygen in the room, and both of us gasp.
I’m the first one to pull away. “C’mon in,” I motion him inside. “I’ll put these in some water and then we can eat, dinner’s ready.”
“It smells delicious,” he comes in, shutting the door behind him. “You look gorgeous by the way, Princess.”
That nickname he’s given me takes up a space in my heart that I never thought would be big enough for anyone again. It’d closed and a lock had been placed around it, tightly squeezing the joy out of most things when I’d been with my ex-husband. Ryan though, just the sound of his voice chips away some of the stone. I can’t tell if it’s the southern lilt so much like mine, or if it’s the slightly teasing tone he uses with me. No one ever teases me. As soon as they see me, they see debutante and assume I can’t have a little fun.
“Thanks, I wore it because it’s so hot today,” I look down at my pale pink sundress, noticing for the first time that I may, in fact, look a little like a princess.
“Damn, I know. Tank and I were bitching about the heat. We had to check the calendar and make sure it’s May, not August. Wearing our vests and all our gear is miserable.”
A feeling of dread comes over me, and I stop a moment to put my hand over my heart. “Promise me both of you will wear those vests from now on without complaining. You both have something to live for, and two people who want you to come home at the end of a shift.”
His eyes soften and a smile spreads across his face. “Believe me, I’ll do everything I can to get home unscathed and so will Tank. I just have to make sure he doesn’t kill me when he finds out the truth.”
“I’m going to tell him,” I assure Ryan. “It just hasn’t come up yet.”
“I don’t want you to tell him without me there. If he gets upset, he needs to get upset with both of us, and you shouldn’t have to deal with it on your own.”
This man says all the right words at all the right times. It makes me nervous – maybe he’s better than I deserve. I’ve been willing to write him off at every turn because of his age – almost refused him a chance to let him get to know his child. I’m seeing I was wrong in presuming I know him. In the end, maybe he’s more mature and better equipped to handle our situation than me.
Renegade
My stomach growls loudly, causing me to put my hand over it and a blush to cover my cheeks. “Sorry.”
She giggles, grabbing our two drinks as she makes her way over to the dining room table. “I’m glad I’m feeding the beast.”
In my jeans, my cock twitches. She has no idea which beast wants to come out and play. Whitney Trumbolt has always been a beautiful woman, but she has no clue how hot she looks in the dress she’s wearing tonight. Pale pink lace shimmers over her body, the length skims just above her knee, and her fuck me shoes? Shit, I don’t know how she keeps wearing them, but my cock appreciates the effort. I never understood what people meant about a glow when women were pregnant, but tonight I get it. She’s absolutely radiant, and if I didn’t know better, I would think she was glowing. My eyes rake over her body one more time, hoping she doesn’t see me as I get my plate full of potatoes, carrots, pot roast, and the bread I brought. With my hand on the ladle, halfway between pulling it out of the crockpot and putting it on my plate, I stall. She’s taken my drink over to the table and bent over, facing me, giving me a view down the front of her dress, only obscured by a pink lace bra. Her tits are bigger than they had been, not by much, but by enough they are trying to free themselves from their prison. My fingers itch to let them loose.
“Did you need something else?” she asks as she s
ees me looking over at her.
You sprawled out on the kitchen table with your dress around your waist, panties pushed to the side, and me with my pants down far enough to get my cock out. That’s exactly what I need. I have to remind myself she’s talking about food. “Nope, got everything right here.”
With a few fortifying breaths, I gather myself together and walk over to the table, pulling her seat out for her. “You go ahead and sit down. If there’s anything else you need, let me know and I’ll grab it.”
“Thanks,” she smiles up at me, and it’s enough to make my stomach flutter. “I have it all,” she gestures to the plate in front of her.
As we sit down, I realize how fucking awkward I feel right now. I’ve seen this woman naked, I made a meal out of what’s between her legs, but I’ve never had so much as a real conversation with her. Not really – not when there’s an age difference like there is between her and Tank.
“I hope you like it.”
The soft words are spoken in a way that makes me think she’s nervous, like it matters what I think. Maybe she wants to please me. Again, the word please does things to me. I’ve gotta get this shit under control. Maybe next time before I come over, I need to jack it in the shower at least twice. Taking a bite of the food in front of me, I moan as the flavors hit my tongue. It’s an explosion of amazingly seasoned and cooked meat, much better than the microwave shit I do most of the time. It’s hard to cook for just one person and not have enough to feed an army – so I normally buy single serve that cooks up fast. “Damn, you can cook a meal.”
“You like it? I seasoned it a different way than I normally do. Something I found on Pinterest.”
“Fucking amazing,” are the only words I can get out before I go back in for another bite. It’s been hours since I last ate, and the amount of working out I do, I usually like to eat every few hours.
We’re quiet for the next few minutes. I’m shoving food down my throat, and she seems lost in her own thoughts. When my stomach is no longer clawing at itself in hunger, I set my fork down and chew slower, grabbing a piece of the bread.
Renegade (Moonshine Task Force Book 1) Page 9
