Page 150 of The Dominator

We pulled into the driveway of an industrial plaza and then behind to a gated mini storage place. Tommy’s cell blooped and he looked at it.

“Fuck. Luciana’s in labor.”

“Should we go to the hospital?” I asked.

He shook his head. “No. Ed’ll text me with news.”

Tommy stopped at the storage place, a big, long alleyway of orange garage doors. He replied to his text then got out, leaving the car running, opened one of the orange doors and shut the door behind him. Then he came back out with a black backpack slung over one shoulder.

He drove us the rest of the way to the farm and when we got there we headed up the stairs in the barn and dropped our bags and I flopped into bed. It was 4:20 AM. I wasn’t sure I could sleep, though. He wasn’t sleeping. He sat at the table thumbing away on his phone, drinking a beer, the backpack on the floor beside him. I didn’t wanna know what was in it, though I could guess.

I lay there for a long time watching him and eventually he got in beside me and pulled me to him.

* * *

He woke me up. “Baby, let’s go get coffee.”

I groaned, then asked, “Is the baby here yet?”

“No. Get up; I have to talk to you.”

I sat up, “What time is it?”

“8:15.”

“Argh, didn’t we just fall asleep?”

“Tia.”

The seriousness of his tone snapped me out of my sleepy, grumpy haze. I got to my feet and reached for a pair of yoga pants in the bag I’d packed, which was lying open on the floor beside the bed.

He continued. “Luc isn’t in labor. That was a fake text. Someone was trying to coax me to the hospital.”

“What?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s going on?”

He shook his head. “I need coffee. Let’s go please, I’ll explain. This place needs a fucking coffee pot. We’ll get coffee and then you get supplies in for us to do us a week or so here.” He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration and picked up his keys.

I grabbed an elastic from my purse, threw a hoodie on, and tied my hair up in a ponytail as I ran into the bathroom, quickly peed, washed my hands, quickly brushed my teeth, swished some mouthwash, and splashed water on my face, then met him down at the jeep.

“What took you?” he snarled.

“I had to pee, honey, holy shit; relax.” I put my seatbelt on.

He made a growly sound and backed out of the barn.

* * *

Twenty minutes later he had coffee in him and he sat in the Jeep in the local country department store while I went in, his credit card in hand, and bought a coffee maker, a toaster oven that had two hot plate burners on top, plus a broom and a mop and bucket.

He was talking on his phone, well mostly listening and “Yeah, yeah” ‘ing as he drove me across the street to the grocery store. I went in and per his directions bought enough food to feed us for a week.

When I got back out, he got off the phone and we loaded the groceries into the back and then he drove us back to the farm. He blasted Metallica all the way back. It was loud, and he drove too fast, bordering on reckless. By the time we got back, I was feeling kind of grumpy, too.

He helped me get the groceries up the stairs and then he mumbled he’d be “back in a few” as he left, dialing while going down the stairs.

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