Page 42 of Carver (Satan’s Angels MC #8)

Bronte

I have to tell him.

It’s too late to undo what I’ve done. The land has already been sold. The papers were signed last week, the money deposited into Dom’s account a few days after that, his share of the business with Dravin and Kael paid for.

It’s not that Dom regrets it. He doesn’t. He was never pressured to sell. He didn’t do it because he had to. He did it because he thought it was right.

I did what I did for the same reasons. It was the right thing to do, or at least I felt it was, but the guilt of having to lie to Dom again has turned into anxiety and it’s grown so bad that it’s hard to eat and nearly impossible to sleep.

I’m struggling with this the same way I struggled with telling him about Ellie. I’m never going to be sure if I made the right call about not letting him be a part of the pregnancy until after, when all I had to offer were memories and videos.

I talked to my parents this morning and let them know that I was going to tell Dom about his land. They’ve been supportive of everything I’ve done. They assured me that they’d done it just for me and for Dom, and if I needed to tell him, then that was the right thing to do.

I’ve waited all day, until I can’t wait any longer.

We’re going to Raiden and Ella’s house for dinner. Tyrant, Lark, and their daughter, Penny, are all going to be there. The meeting is about prospecting, but it was kind of them to include the whole family in their invitation.

Dinner is at six, and we’ll probably be there for a while, so I made sure that I put Elowen down for a nap.

We’re leaving in an hour. In thirty minutes, I’ll wake her up and get her ready.

I’ve already curled my hair into waves and done some sun-kissed inspired makeup.

I wish the sun would come out. For the past week, it’s pretty much been a lot of rainy gloom.

I dressed summery too, in a soft pink floral dress, but I paired it with a fluffy pink cardigan for warmth.

I’m down in the kitchen, quietly assembling Ellie’s bag of snacks, extra diapers, and a change of clothes to take with us. We were told we didn’t have to bring anything, but there was no way that I could show up empty handed. I made my family’s favorite oatmeal chocolate chip cookies.

Dominic is super quiet creeping down the stairs after getting changed in our room. My heart is already beating fast, but now it picks up, racing so fast that I need to shed the cardigan on the back of a kitchen chair, so I don’t sweat through it.

He went to Tarynn’s salon yesterday for a haircut. It’s shorter than it’s been in a long time. She told him she could give him something preppy, or one of the ever-popular styles that recent period TV shows have made famous, but barbers have perfected for a century.

He picked the fade. Dom always looks dazzling. Hands down, he’s always going to be the most attractive man in any room to me. He takes my breath away, even in a black t-shirt and jeans.

When Dom asked me last week what I thought about him prospecting, and what my family would think, I could honestly tell him that I could honestly say that I’d never met such a rare group of beautiful, selfless, wonderful people in my life, and I’d be proud for us to be a part of that.

“You look… wow.” I trail off on a whistle.

He rolls his eyes, but one corner of his mouth tips up, and then he gives me that full on tilted grin that I absolutely adore. “That’s supposed to be my line. Where did you get that dress?”

“I’ve had it for years. You’ve seen it at least eighty times.”

He stalks into the kitchen and wraps his arms around me, dropping a kiss on my forehead before kissing my lips. “It’s a damn beautiful dress,” he sighs. “Magical too, since every time you wear it is like the first time. You’d render any man utterly breathless.”

“I was just thinking the same about you.”

I’ve been playing out this conversation in my head, just like I used to do when I thought about telling Dom about Ellie. My whole body is hot, but my stomach is sour, spinning and churning with apprehension.

“Are you okay?” His eyes change, growing darker and more assessing. They sweep over me, checking for injury or illness and missing nothing. “Are you having second thoughts about tonight? If you are, we don’t have to go. I’ll call Tyrant and tell him that I need more time.”

“Oh god. No. It’s not about tonight or about the club.” My throat is dry and sticky, making swallowing just about impossible. “Can I talk to you about something?”

“Is your family okay? Is it Ginny?”

“They’re fine. Ginny is- uh- not doing anything more un-Ginny than she was last week.”

“If you want to talk to me right before we have to wake up Ellie to leave, then it’s important and serious. What’s going on?”

He’s tender, not accusatory or defensive.

He reads my hesitation for exactly what it is.

Me trying to find the right words. He fills up the kettle and puts it on the stove, then pulls out a chair at the table for me.

It strikes me that it’s what my mom does when we need to have a tough conversation.

Tea. Homemade cookies. Sitting at the table or on the couch close together.

Dom pulls out the chair from the side and turns it to face me. He presses his palms together and tucks them between his knees.

Logically, I know that there’s very few things I could do that would make him angry with me for longer than a few hours or a day, but it’s still hard to get the words out.

I’m not one of those people who believes in pretending problems don’t exist. Not talking about something makes it worse.

I believe in breathing, honesty, and growing together.

I say that, but I know how hypocritical it is to do something like this for a second time.

The kettle hisses, but it hasn’t started whistling yet.

I force down another hard swallow and look straight into Dom’s gorgeous face.

“The numbered company that bought your land? It was one my parents created. They have lots of extra cash. I talked to them at Ellie’s party.

I wanted them to buy your land and do it secretly.

They just wanted to know why. I- it was because I thought that you might wish that you hadn’t sold it one day.

You wouldn’t have been able to ever get it back if it went to a stranger.

At least this way, they’ll clear off whatever I okay, and they’ll lease the land out for someone else to farm, since it’s quite far from their own land. ”

The kettle whistle-puffs and Dom leaps up. He shuts the burner off and makes two mugs of black tea. He adds cream to both and brings them back to the table. We both remain transfixed by the curdling steam for a few minutes.

He breaks the silence first. “I’m not sure what to say.”

That’s fair. I know what I need to say. “I’m sorry.

” My eyes well with tears. Crying is the last thing I want to do.

It’s unfair to just burst into tears. Not that I’d do it for sympathy, but I hate even giving that impression.

“I did this with good intentions.” I wave my hand in front of my eyes, blinking rapidly.

“Not because I think that you don’t know what you want. ”

Dom stays silent. He does nod, watching me carefully.

“I would be devastated if my family land was sold and years down the road, I wanted it back. I know you have bad memories there. I know it was beyond hard for you. But it’s still your land.

I wanted to give you more time to think about it.

Years, if that’s what’s needed. My parents could sell it at any time.

In the end, they’ll never be out what they invested, and as they rent the land out for farming, it will pay for itself. ”

“But it still gave us the money in the short run,” he reasons.

I shake my head, then nod. “Yes, but that’s not why I did it. If we needed money, I could have just gone to them. I know you wouldn’t have wanted me to, but in the end, if I insisted, I know you would have agreed. You’d never let your pride interfere with achieving our dreams.”

“I wish you would have told me,” he says mildly. “I might have agreed with you.”

Even though he’s not mad, that’s all it takes for the tears to spill over. I’m always crying. Freaking always. Happy tears, regret tears, sad tears, tears of joy, proud tears, motherhood tears, tears of love.

“Bronte, Bronte, whoa!” Dom leaps up and pulls me out of my chair, tugging me straight into his arms to hold me tight.

“Don’t ruin your makeup,” he soothes, running his hand over my hair.

“You look so lovely. Or you know what, ruin if it if you want. Cry if you need to. But it’s all good. I’m fine. We’re fine.”

“I’m s-still s-sorry,” I stammer out while trying to gulp back the tears, so I don’t start sobbing.

“I know you didn’t do this out of anything other than love. Your parents too. I’m just… constantly floored at the reminder of how deep that love is. I’m inspired. I’m awed.”

“We weren’t going to tell you for years,” I admit, though it sounds awful.

“But I’ve felt so guilty. It was like what I did with the pregnancy all over again, but this time, you’re in a great headspace.

I should have just come to you. It wasn’t right, and I’m sorry.

I promise that I won’t keep another secret from you again. ”

Dom swipes his thumb over one cheek then the other.

“Ahh, I probably look like- I-” I have no good comparison. Racoon is so token. “Like I cried all my makeup off.”

“The streaky rockstar blurred eyeliner and mascara is in now, isn’t it? Ella will just think she’s rubbed off on you already. She’ll probably ask if she can take you shopping and fill up your closet with suede, leather, and thigh high boots. The boots might be hot. In bed.”

“Oh my god, Dom, seriously?”

“I’m pretty serious.”

I wish I could summon something funny, but I’m still so emotional.