Page 45 of Dangerous Devotion

“Sorry,” I mumble, so tired in my bones that I want to weep. I remember what happened. She thinks it looked romantic. It was my personal hell, and I don’t mean the captivity and shootings. I mean the look on Jack’s face when he discovered my secret pregnancy.

“You’re forgiven if I get all the details.” She sounds excited.

“Just a minute,” I say and stumble to the bathroom where my knees give way and I throw up. “Let me call you back.”

I sit on the floor, scroll through local news footage of the ‘apparent bystander carried from unit by unidentified man after shootout at a local storage facility leaving two dead’ that ‘appeared to be an isolated incident related to a domestic dispute with one suspect in custody.’

Eight seconds of video plays on a loop, Jack kicks open the door, strides out with me cradled in his arms, my face hidden. I can see why Caylee thinks it’s the sexiest alpha male move she’s ever seen. When I watch it, all I see is what came afterward. How I lost him.

I go to work, move through my duties like a machine, dissociated and desolate. I go through the motions of eating, showering, working, going back to bed. I wake with my alarm and drag myself to the kitchen. My dad waits there, and I know it’s meant to be my reckoning where I have to confess that I had an affair with the head of the Marino crime family and I’m pregnant. I don’t have the stomach for it, for acting ashamed. Because I remember finding my dad beat half to death in this same kitchen and cleaning him up, cleaning up his mess both physically and financially for months. I don’t even sit down.

“You have some explaining to do, Serena,” he says.

“If you saw the news or even remember being kidnapped you’ve figured it out by now,” I say.

“Don’t you think I deserve an explanation? An apology?” he says with an entitled look around his mouth.

“Not really,” I say. “I’m sorry you got kidnapped, but I didn’t cause that. I don’t have the energy to go over old wrongs with you—the times I’ve bailed you out, stitched you up, paid your debts and all I gave up to do that. Things have to change. I texted you info on gambling addiction groups locally. You pick one and go to every meeting and get clean. I’m working full time and going to school. I want my LPN done before the baby comes so I can support myself and my child. I’m going to save up a couple more months and then get a little place of my own so I can prepare for the baby. If you want me out sooner because you don’t like the terms, I’ll leave. Otherwise, that’s the plan.”

I get a glass of water and drink, waiting for his response. His shoulders sag and he looks older, smaller somehow. I feel the familiar tug of obligation, how I should smooth this over, tell him I’m sorry, just don’t get mad at me. But I hold myself still and wait, because I have a child to think of. Time to quit acting like a kid afraid of her dad’s rejection.

“You make all the rules now? After—” he begins. I shake my head.

“No thanks. I’ve heard this before, the guilt trip about you raising me. Yeah, you did. I appreciate the roof over my head, Dad, but I don’t owe you the rest of my life. I sacrificed college, my apartment, and my own life because I felt guilty. That’s over.”

“Why isn’t the father paying for your expenses and stuff for the kid?” he says.

“Don’t worry about it,” I say, and I feel so detached, so cold, but assured of what I’m doing. I walk away and keep moving forward.

26

JACK

It takes a couple of days, working eighteen-hour days, doing everything to keep the anger pushed down and the hurt buried seven hundred miles deep. If I stop for a minute, remorse throttles me. I let my pride—she didn’t trust me; she kept a secret—call the shots.

The woman I love is carrying our child, and I shouted at her and walked away from her, spent days hiding in my work to avoid the truth. If she didn’t know I could keep her safe, if she didn’t trust me with the biggest news, she must’ve been terrified. Which means I didn’t show her. She had to face this alone and then got kidnapped and terrorized. I made an ass of myself, and she deserves better.

Outside the convenience store where she works, I wait in the car. When she walks out at the end of her shift, I roll down the window.

“Serena,” I say, and she looks up, shock written on her face. “Will you get in, talk with me?”

As soon as she takes a step toward the car, I get out and hold the door for her. She looks up at me, uncertain, eyes wide and lips trembling. I take in the tired circles under her eyes, the messy ponytail and the sweet curve of her belly. I want to touch it, stroke it and kiss her lips, but I have truth to tell first.

While the driver pulls away from the curb, I turn to her and take her hand. She lets me, looks down at our hands and swallows hard.

“I owe you an apology,” I begin, and her eyes flick up to mine in disbelief. “I should’ve proved to you that you could trust me to keep you safe, that you can tell me anything. I’m sorry you had to face this alone. You had the weight of the world on you. You must’ve been terrified, even before you got kidnapped by that asshole. I should have kept a guard on you. I’ll show you that I can be part of our baby’s life, that I’ll do everything in my power to protect my family.”

Serena rolls her lips under, eyes bright with tears. “I’m sorry, Jack. I should’ve told you right away. I was scared. Hell, I’m scared now. But the second you came through that door, and I was soaking wet and scared out of my mind, I knew you’d always come for us and protect us. I’m sorry I didn’t see it sooner.”

“I walked out on you, Serena. I never will again, so help me God. I will make sure you know how much I love you, how cherished and protected you are, every day for the rest of our lives if you’ll have me.”

She throws her arms around me and sobs into my shoulder. I hold her close, rub her back in slow circles and let her cry. She’s held all this inside, the fear and sadness. The pain of her tears scalds me, but I’m overjoyed to be the man who gets to comfort her and be her safe harbor.

“Let me make this up to you,” I whisper into her hair. She looks up, bright, teary, trusting eyes on me. I kiss her, and it feels like coming home. I rock my mouth over hers, tasting her, teasing her until her sweet kiss becomes something fiery as she grips my shoulders. Tenderly, I stroke her cheek and the curve of her ear, her neck and trail my fingers down to her breasts. I caress her there and lap up her little moan before I put both my hands on her belly. I break the kiss, tip my forehead against hers.

“I need to ask you something,” I say huskily.

“Yes—” she says, her full lips still parted, eyes glazed with desire. I smile at her reaction.

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