Page 37 of Dangerous Devotion

I’m taking two online classes now, and it’s easy to get the work done in the afternoon once I’m awake. I’ve got a routine, and as long as I stick to it and keep busy, I don’t have time to think about Jack.

I got a text from him saying he missed me, and he hoped I was alright. I didn’t answer because I’m not alright. He got stabbed. I had to stop the bleeding and worry about whether the puncture was close to any vital organs. That isn’t something I can live with in a relationship where there’s a baby to look after.

I know it’s selfish to keep wishing we could be together. He’s not going to quit the Mob, even if that were a thing that is possible in real life, just so I don’t have to worry. He’s the same man I started dating. The only thing that changed is my perspective.

I’m not a sad sack barmaid desperate to pay off her dad’s debt and indulging in a little self-care in the form of screwing the hottest, most dangerous man I’ve ever met. Now I’m an expectant mother and nursing student who works nights and makes the safest of safe choices at all times. Because there’s somebody way more important than me and my momentary happiness in play now.

I can’t tell Jack, can’t explain that I’m pregnant and had to walk away from him to avoid the danger. Because Jack Marino would claim this child, probably insist on putting a ring on my finger and I’d be a Mob wife. Not just the TikTok aesthetic, the real deal. With bodyguards, bulletproof glass, and the unrelenting terror of someone snatching our child.

I cry all day on Monday because I admit to myself that I don’t love Jack as much as I want to be free of the risk to our baby. It makes me feel small and hateful, like I didn’t appreciate the big, amazing thing it was to have such a man fall in love with me. Part of me knows he’d be an incredible dad, but it’s not Jack I’m afraid of. It’s his enemies.

If I’m robbing our child of a loving father, can anything make up for that? I’m buying our safety and anonymity at such a cost. I’ll have to live with this decision for the rest of my life, and I’ll always regret the way I left things with Jack. But the risk is too great—I can’t tell him the truth. That I love him, but I can’t be with him. I just can’t live with myself if I stay with him for my own happiness and choose to put this baby’s life at risk. God help me, I’m miserable either way.

My entire personality has become ‘I miss Jack.’ When I saw Caylee for coffee after I got off work one morning, she said I seem sad.

“Are you upset about that bar guy?” she asks so innocently.

“Nah, he was just for fun. And when it quit being fun, I stopped,” I say.

“Good for you!” she says, “Get the O’s and dump the bros!”

“Is that a thing people say?” I ask, flummoxed.

“Let’s make it a thing!” she crows with laughter. “I think I’m gonna pass this time around, thanks to those notes you gave me.”

“You better. I know you’ve got it in you. You should try the online stuff like I’m doing. It’s got lab simulations and stuff. The clinical experience is in a few weeks, and I’m excited for that.”

“You are the only person who would ever be excited to be up at the ass crack of dawn to meet whatever old bitch nurse they’re gonna pair you up with so you can start taking notes and scrubbing bed pans.”

“I used to work as a CNA remember? I cleaned my share of bed pans, and the urine hats too.”

“Yeah, I won’t be taking a job like that anytime soon. Maybe if it works out with Jameson, I won’t have to work at all.”

“Ooh, is it that serious already?” I ask.

“Not really, but I want it to be. He took me in the VIP section of a club the other night, the one I texted you the picture of.”

“That was so pretty. It looked like it was all red velvet and candles.”

“And bottle service and only about ten people allowed back there at a time.”

“Wow,” I say, trying to stay bright and excited for her.

“I sat on his lap, and we drank and listened to the music and people watched. It was so romantic.”

“Sounds like it,” I said, hoping for her sake that this wasn’t the best part of the relationship.

“I don’t know if I lost count of my shots or what, but I was so wild that night!” she giggles a little nervous. I drink my tea and wait for her to go on. “I totally went down on him in the VIP room. Is that bad or what?”

“There were other people there?” I ask, my voice a little high. She nods.

“I know, I don’t know what got into me, but it was just a sexy night, and I felt all loose and warm—and when he asked me for it, I thought, why not?”

I nod a little like I’m trying to be encouraging, “As long as it was what you want to do, go for it. Was it fun?”

“It was WILD,” she says again, her cheerfulness feeling a little forced.

“Okay,” I say, “Did you feel uncomfortable about it after?”

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