Page 122 of Truck Stop Titan

“I’ve got scissors in my handbag.” Lettie sat next to her son and rifled through her very large bag.

“Oh, this is ridiculous,” Tito piped in. He handed his car keys to Tuuli, who had remained quiet and calm through all of the chaos, then scooped Lucia up by one arm, Rocky by the other, and made his way toward their waiting vehicles.

“Found them,” Lettie shouted, chasing after Tito.

Aida patted Tucker on the shoulder, said, “Good job, cowboy,” then followed Lettie.

Tucker chuckled and chased after his wife.

Tuuli shrugged her shoulders, laughed, then asked, “You need a ride?”

“No. I’ll head back with my crew.” I threw my arms around her small frame.

“We’ll see you at the hospital?” she asked, hugging me back.

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

I waited for Tuuli to join her husband, then jogged around the outside of the track, finding Mim still on her bike, and Dane kneeling, her head in his hands, their foreheads pressed together. He wore a smile that not even the astronauts could miss, and Mim had her eyes closed, absorbing his words.

As I approached, a tear slithered down her cheek, then another, then she buried her face in his neck and fell against him, sliding off her bike and falling into his welcoming arms. Those were tears of joy, and those tears, that moment, belonged to Mim and Dane. A father/daughter moment worthy of a Hallmark movie, and I fell deeper in love with both them.

# # #

Dane

After seeing Moriah and Mim to the maternity ward, I retreated to the waiting room, unsure if I’d be welcome in Tango and Slade’s private quarters. I paced. Then I ducked outside for some fresh air and room to burn off energy. A cigarette would’ve eased some tension, but I’d promised my girls I’d quit, and I had, hence the pacing.

A warm breeze made a lazy trip across the terrace, cooling my sweaty skin, a temporary relief from the late afternoon sun. I rubbed the ache in my temple, and opted to stand, rather than sit, afraid I’d pass the fuck out if allowed a moment to relax.

I hadn’t slept a wink all night.

Not sure why the thought of Blondie in pain made me so uncomfortable, but I sure as shit wouldn’t have wanted to be in Tango’s shoes for those twelve hours of labor. Had it been me watching Moriah suffer through childbirth? Safe to say, some undeserving object, or person, would’ve fallen victim to my fists.

Baby Raquel was born five hours ago. Mom and child both happy and healthy. No doubt, that little nugget would be a looker, spoiled rotten, and shielded from all the ugly in the world. She was Pretty Boy’s kid after all, and despite my feelings about Rossi, there was no denying, the man took care of his own.

“Reynolds.” A heavy hand landed on my shoulder.

So much for mymetime.

“Moretti,” I grunted, offering my hand.

“Hey,” came from Tuck, followed by a fist bump. “What’s up, man?”

“Needed air.”

“Cute kid.” Moretti sighed, roughing a hand through his hair before resting his elbows on the railing and scanning the lot below. “Hope she looks like her mama.”

“Hope she has Slade’s blue eyes.” That came from Tuck, who stood with his hands in his pockets and his gaze to the sky.

“Won’t matter her eye color, she’s gonna be a heartbreaker,” I threw in.

“She won’t be breaking any hearts, ’cause that little angel isn’t leaving the house until she’s thirty.” Tango strode through the door, dark circles under his eyes, cheesy smile on his face, and not one fucking hair out of place. God damn pretty boy.

“Yeah. Good luck with that, cousin,” Moretti teased.

“Congratulations.” I threw him a chin nod, then gestured to his head. “That a gray hair already?”

Tito pulled four Cubans out of his front pocket.

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