Page 65 of Filthy Devil

“You ready to go home, Dad?” he asks.

I think about his words. There is more to his question than he’s saying. Pineville isn’t my home anymore, but maybe it could be. I’m not sure if I could go back there and not be president of my own club. I’m a leader. I’ve been a leader for my entire adult life.

“For now, I’m ready to go to this home,” I say, leaving it open.

James doesn’t say anything. She opens her door, then tugs my own open. She holds out her hand for me, and I slip my palm into hers, even if it makes me seem weak. Squeezing her hand, I walk beside her like an old man. Because right now, that’s what I am.

King calls out for Shawn as soon as we walk through the front door. The first thing I notice when we walk into the living room is the smell. I know for a fact that my house didn’t smell like Fruit Loops cereal when I left it a few weeks ago.

Shawn walks into the room with a smile on her face that widens when she notices the coffee in King’s hand. She rushes toward him, giving him a kiss on the lips as she reaches for the cup. Then her eyes swing to meet mine.

“The house smells like Fruit Loops because I bought an all-natural beeswax candle from this organic company that makes amazing candles. This is their Fruit Loop one, and it’s my favorite.”

I chuckle with a moan. “Whatever you want to do, babe, you do it. I think you’ve stayed here more than I have.”

James gently tugs on my arm, guiding me over to a leather recliner. It was the first thing I bought when I moved here. I grunt, pinching my eyes closed as I sink down into the cushion.

“Are you okay? What do you need?” James asks.

Lifting my hand, I wave her away. “I’m good, sweetheart. Go and get settled in the bedroom.”

She dips her chin and takes a step backward, but she doesn’t go very far. Instead, she clears her throat and sinks her teeth into her bottom lip, watching me from beneath her lashes. I open my mouth to ask her what’s wrong when two tiny tornados come buzzing into the room, each holding a matchbox car and each clearly racing toward the finish line.

I smile at the sight of them, then flick my attention up to James, who is looking at them and smiling as well. I can’t read her expression, but when she flicks her gaze to meet mine, there is something working behind her eyes.

“You want your own?” I ask, speaking of the conversation we had earlier about kids.

Her eyes search my face, and I watch her, waiting for her answer but already knowing it. I’m sure that sounds crazy as fuck since I don’t know her very well, but I can tell she’s made a decision.

“A whole houseful,” she whispers.

Yeah, that’s exactly what I fucking thought. She seems scared to fucking death, her body trembling slightly as she watches me.

“Then a whole houseful is what I’ll aim to give you, sweetheart. As long as you know that I won’t be here to hold their children.”

Tears fill her eyes, but they don’t fall. Instead, she makes her way toward me and then stops right in front of me. I feel her fingers touch my forearm. Then she lets out a heavy sigh before she speaks.

“I never want to hear you say anything like that ever again, Nashville,” she grinds out. I don’t know how she figured out my full first name, but I must admit, in her anger, it’s hot as hell. “We make babies together, and you better be there until they’re married and have babies of their own. Right by my side.”

I don’t tell her that the reality of that is probably never going to happen. Instead, I give her a smile. She bends slightly and touches her lips to mine. Our decision made. Even if we both know that I won’t be there to see my grandchildren come into the world, we’re going to have a whole houseful of happiness.

“A whole fucking houseful,” I murmur.

JAMES

Nash goesto bed to rest after his painkillers kick in, and I’m left alone with Elvis, Shawn, and the two boys. The boys are busy occupying themselves, switching between games on their iPads and playing cars with one another.

But Elvis and Shawn aren’t busy. In fact, they decide to get to know me better. And in that getting to know me, they start asking me questions that I don’t really want to answer. However, I notice that they don’t ask me anything about my birth mother or father.

“So you know who my real parents are?” I ask.

Elvis smirks, leaning back in the dining room chair. His blue eyes, which are so similar to his father's, search mine. Then he jerks his chin in a single nod. “Yeah,” he says, “I do. I didn’t know they were your parents until recently, but I knew who they were.”

“Then you know that this is probably a mistake, me and Nash,” I murmur.

This causes Elvis’s smirk to vanish. I don’t focus on that. Instead, I continue speaking, mainly because I can’t stop. I don’t want him to think that I’m going to use and lose Nash.

I’m not.

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