His words sink in. He loves me. He wants both of us. I grip his shirt with my fingers and shift to search his features for any doubt, but there is none. He lets me see it all. The pain, the confusion, the love—
He loves me. Us.
"I love you," I whisper.
He's suddenly serious. "You're not going to the wedding with the shadow."
I can't help but burst out laughing. Pulling him close until our noses touch, I challenge, "What are you gonna do about it?"
"You're going to be on my arm." And his mouth descends on mine once more.
We stayin the employee lounge until Mags comes to find me. She opens the door, takes one look, and closes it again. Before it clicks shut, we hear her say, "Fucking finally."
Embarrassment makes my cheeks burn, and I cover them with my palms. We are sitting on the couch, my legs draped over Wes's lap and his hands on my belly, rubbing circles.
I peer through my fingers. "What are we going to do now?" I'm not fooling myself into believing we will simply live happily ever after.
Wes draws in a long inhale, peeling one hand from my face and interlacing our fingers. "We take one day at a time. We date. I have questions."
Questions?
"What questions?" My mouth is suddenly too dry, and I swipe my tongue over my lips. It's of no use.
"Well…" He hesitates for a second. "Have you heard from Gray?"
Is he asking me this so he can hand the information over to Lilly and Rhys?
"I haven't spoken to him in weeks." Not a lie; it's been over three weeks since his last call.
"Do you have a way of contacting him?"
I narrow my eyes. "No. He always calls from a different number. Why are you asking?"
His expression hardens. "I don't want him around my child. He needs to be behind bars."
"I see," is all I manage to say. I'd been so focused on Wes and me that I hadn't considered Gray at all.
"Is that going to be a problem?" He watches me closely.
Is it?
"No." I don't have to think about it. Francis Turner was my father; Gray is a man I never had a relationship with. He has done unspeakable things, and he has to be held accountable for them—no matter what he's done for me these past few years.
"Are you sure?" Wes is not convinced.
I place my hand over his on my stomach. "I'm sure. If I knew where he was, I would tell you. He does need to pay for his crimes." Another thought slams into me, and my heart begins to race. My nails dig into the top of Wes's hand. "Promise me something."
Wes slants his head.
"If I get arrested for killing E, you need to promise me that you'll take care of our baby." I feel sick. "Promise me you'll keep her safe," I plead. I don't want to leave her—or Wes.
"You will not go to jail," he says with so much determination I want to believe him.
"I killed a man."
"You stopped a brutal rape. You are not going to jail." The way his mouth snaps closed, it's clear this conversation is over, which is confirmed by his following sentence. "I'm going to pick you up for lunch tomorrow."
"Lunch?" Is he serious? We just talked about—