Page 145 of Deceit

It’s then that his face transforms into the norm—pissed, irritated, and not wanting to be bothered with the man in front of him.

The man currently residing in my life.

“Yeah,” I tell him.

Then I take a chance, one that might go hidden because I do it with all the guys in B723. It wouldn’t come across as unnormal to anyone but Bishop.

I step forward and wrap my arms around Bishop’s torso, crushing him to my frame.

My cheek lies on his warm chest and I release a held exhale, not expecting anything in return from him.

However, Bishop returns the gesture, the pads of his fingers digging lightly into my back. His chin rests on top of my head as he inhales my hair, enveloping me into a cocoon of us.

“Thank you for coming,” I mutter, then release him before it does get weird.

Before I can't.

Alexander holds out his hand to say goodnight, but Bishop refuses to take it. He can’t after that night he found him at my place. He won’t because he’s not that forgiving to anyone that’s not within our realm of clique.

Instead, he salutes him with his fingers across his forehead, giving me one final glance before taking off.

“Was it something I said to him?” Alexander asks as we watch him stride out.

I shake my head. “He is the hardest guy to get to like you. It took me six years.”

“Well, that’s….comforting.”

Lacing his fingers with mine, we walk out together as two people who are about to parents.

It’s the last time it’s ever like this for us—calm, content, and clear.

“Do you know what this fucking means?” Marty sneers in my face, twisting the fabric of my t-shirt harder. His body tremors ever so slightly that only I can feel it because I’m his human beating bag if he should so need it.

“I know,” I reply, watching Marty’s eyes overcast in pure panic.

“Marty.” Mills shows up next to both of us, his tone mild. “You’re gonna need to go in with—“

“Shut the fuck up,” he snaps, his head whirling in his direction. “She deserves better than me. I’m not going to do anything but fuck this kid up.”

I roll my eyes—yeah, I know—but I can’t help it.

Marty has been on this kick about how he’s going to be a shit dad because he killed his sister’s father and all this other happy horseshit. He’ll do fine, I don’t know how many more times we need to tell him that but he hasn’t listened. I’m about to pummel his ass to sink the message in.

“You want your wife to have this baby alone so you can have a mini panic attack out here?” I’m pushing him to where this could go one of two ways; he can grow a pair of balls and go back into that hospital room where they are prepping Stormi to have their first child, or he’s gonna beat my ass.

Marty’s expression turns deadly. “Motherfucker, I will—“

“Marty.” The man in question stops everything he was about to say, and his face lightens when he registers the voice.

Mine tenses.

It’s Emmy.

I step to the side, allowing Marty the initial view of her because he needs it more than anyone else.

Immediately, he advances, needing the one woman who makes everything better. One we’ve all relied on in some way or another.

I slowly pivot to find Emmy hugging Marty and gently rubbing his back in comfort. She’s speaking lowly, laser-focused on him and him only because she knows as well as anyone else that he needs all her words of encouragement and bravery.

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