Page 52 of Mountain Daddy

She's afraid of me.

She should be.

“That was work,” I tell her. “This is different.”

“How is it different?”

“Because this is about you.”

The words hang between us like a lit fuse. Her breathing quickens. Pupils dilate.

Even afraid, she wants me. I can smell it. The same heat that's been burning between us since Table 9.

“I can't.” Her voice is barely a whisper. “I can't get involved with you.”

“Why not?”

“Because people around you die.” The words come out harsh. Raw. “And I have a son to raise.”

Her son.

My son.

The truth sits between us like a grenade with the pin pulled.

“He's a good kid,” I say carefully. “Smart.”

“He is.” Pride creeps into her voice. “He's everything to me.”

“Must be hard. Raising him alone.”

Her face hardens. “I manage.”

“I'm sure you do. But it doesn't have to be that way.”

“What are you saying?”

I finish my coffee. Set the cup down and let my eyes meet hers.

“Who's the daddy?”

14

LILLY

The question hangs between us.

Heavy.

Hot.

Like smoke curling from a house fire.

Who’s the daddy?

My mouth opens. Closes. Nothing. No sound. No lie. No truth. My brain is scrambling.

Then— “Shit, Lilly! I was up writing late last night.”

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