Page 116 of Come Back To Me

Jack shakes his head.

My body slumps. “That was you. At the hearing.”

He nods.

He could have protected me. Could have stopped The Saint and got me out sooner. But he didn’t.

Words failing, I slowly turn my head to look at him.

“I know you’re pissed off, but I couldn’t risk you knowing about me too soon.” His words hang heavy as he turns facing forward, staring out the window. “If it means anything, The Saint paid for what he did to you.”

I huff with a slight shake of my head. “What did you do? And what about Luke?”

“I took care of it like I told you.”

“Meaning?” I gawp.

“Meaning, The Saint’s no longer in charge and your friend is safe.”

I rub my beard, a slither of relief moving alongside more questions I want answered. I guess he really does have some pull. Slowly, I look back at Jack. He’s looking at me.

“We have one shot to get this right, Deano. The guns beingshipped, they’re a front for the real business. The ambush set things back, but it won’t stop it. The next runhasto be the last.”

“What is,it?” I ask.

“Tomorrow. Please, trust me. You see it with your own eyes, you won’t question the cost.”

Dread. That’s all I can feel. The desire to avoid something. I keep my eyes on Jack. What could be so bad? What could have him so hell-bent on annihilation? My hand lifts towards the handle. “And my trial?”

“Forgotten.”

Just like that?

Jack looks at me. “Are you with me, Deano?”

I climb out, the bag of my belongings he returned in my hand. “I guess we’ll find out tomorrow.” I don’t look as I close the door then hear Jack drive away.

Stepping inside the house, I take advantage of the only thing I can control in this moment. I kick off my boots, the simple task leaving me trembling with a familiar happiness. I gently place my things on the table then take a minute to myself, revelling the fact that I’m home and no longer in blood covered clothes. The lump in my throat I manage to swallow, holding my head to the ceiling. I let out the biggest breath.Fuck. This is overwhelming.

The situation surrounding my coming back is rattling my head. My gut’s telling me to stop. To walk out of the house before we see each other and are unable to let each other go. But my heart? My heart’s vibrating of its own accord. It doesn’t give two shits about the circumstances. Couldn’t care less for ramifications or details. It can feel the person it’s connected to close by.

I haven’t even seen Mads yet, but the smell of the house—hersmell, it wakes my senses. Where is she? I suck in more air, making myself dizzy as I draw it into my lungs.

Slipping my cut off my shoulders, I chuck it over the backof the sofa as I walk into the kitchen. She’s not there. Turning immediately back around, I’m forced to double take at the leather now laid slumped on the floor. Must have slipped. I stare at it, then slowly move to pick it up, holding it in my hands. I dust a finger over the trim, contemplating a life without it.

The low rumble of Mads snoring upstairs has me turning my head. My girl. Sleeping. I smile then hang my cut on the hook, taking note of the mess on the floor by the door. Things have slipped.

I tread lightly, the stairs creaking in their usual places, but I hear no disturbance in her snore. With every step I take, her smell, the sound of her… it’s intoxicating. I’m getting high off of her, simply by stepping closer.

At the door, I forget how to breathe. The tip of my finger touches the wood, and I slowly push it open, my eyes finding her through the dark of the room. Her chest slowly rises and falls showing off her swelling breasts. They’ve changed. Bigger. Fuller. Long brown hair fans across the sheets. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so beautiful.

Tears. They don’t fall, but they fill my eyes, blocking my vision. She’s radiant. Her beauty evident. I lean against the door frame, shifting my hands to my pockets. Her body has changed so much since I last saw her, reflecting that she’s growing my child.

I love it. And I love her unconditionally.

With a slight moan, she must sense my presence. “Travis?”

Or not.

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