Page 37

THIRTY-TWO

DAYNA

Dash keeps his hand wrapped in mine as we walk along the street. I can feel the tension vibrating off him in waves. It’s how his eyes trace every single person who walks past us, as if he’s mentally interrogating their intentions.

He’s nervous. And now, I wish I hadn’t asked to leave the apartment.

I squeeze his hand, brushing his thumb over my knuckles like I’m his human stress ball.

His vigilance has me on edge too, and it’s a relief when the store comes into view.

It’s a boutique Ivy mentioned, and I made the mistake of telling Dash I wanted to come. I should have kept my mouth shut.

I don’t want him to feel stressed or obligated, either.

He pulls the door open and steps through, keeping me behind him. It’s as if he’s expecting there to be an armed battalion on the other side, hidden between the baby grows and pushchairs.

His eyes are everywhere, the tension tight through his jaws and shoulders, and the weight of his silence is crushing.

He goes to a rack of baby grows, the tiny garments so fucking cute, it hurts my chest, and for a moment, I forget we’re in the crosshairs.

I trail my fingers over the fabric of one with lions on. “This is so adorable.”

He doesn’t answer, instead pressing close to me as someone threads between the displays towards us. Then he’s in front of me, a wall keeping the danger away. He’s not even subtle about it.

The man shrinks back, clutching the stuffed toy he’s holding like a shield, and darts in the other direction.

“Are you going to interrogate the stuffed animals next?” I quip but without my usual humour. He’s cracking, and I don’t like it.

“He got too close” is his gruff reply.

“He was holding a stuffed giraffe, Dash. What do you think he’s going to do with that?”

He rolls his shoulders, as if easing the tension out of them.

He’s going to burn himself out trying to hold everything together, and I can’t bear it. I put the teddy I picked up without even realising back on the shelf and turn to him.

“You know what? We don’t have to do this today. Let’s just go home and we can crawl under the blankets in front of the TV. I’ll eat my weight in snacks, pretending I’m eating for two and not just being a greedy bitch, while you complain about my choice of movies.”

He reaches over me to grab the tiniest baby grow. “We’re not going home.”

“I don’t mind. In fact, the idea of merging with the couch sounds utterly divine.”

He stares at the garment before lifting his eyes to me.

“You deserve this, Dayna. To be excited about the fact you’re pregnant and expecting your first child.

” I swallow the lump in my throat. “I want you to walk around a baby store holding tiny fucking booties and ridiculously overpriced clothes they’ll wear for a week.

I want you to experience the things normal expectant mothers do. ”

Warmth spreads through my chest, easing some of the pressure.

“I want to have these moments too, babe, but you’re going to have an aneurysm. And the baby stuff isn’t going anywhere. It’ll still be here in a few months’ time, when nobody’s trying to put bullets in us.” I lower my voice to a whisper on the last part.

But it’s the wrong thing to say. He tenses so savagely that I grab his face, stroking my fingers over his cheeks to calm him before the storm can rise inside him.

“I mean it, Rhys. We can come another time. We have months before the baby comes. Plenty of time to do these kinds of things.” I don’t know why I use his real name there, but it has the desired effect. He calms.

His kiss is gentle, his hand wrapped around my nape like he always does when he’s trying to feel close to me or when he’s trying to anchor himself.

“I’m honestly scared for your stress levels,” I say.

“I’d be like this even if there wasn’t a threat. Because you and the family we’re building is the most important fucking thing to me.” He kisses me again and rests his hand on my stomach.

Even with all the shit going on, he still chooses to let me breathe even while it breaks him.

“I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but I don’t want you so tense that you’re going to need a chiropractor to fix the knots in your neck.”

He gets that look in his eyes, the one that I know means he’s about to be sweet in a way that’s going to destroy me.

“You spent too long locked in a cage, Dayna. I’m not putting you in another.

You want to live, so we live. You want to buy baby clothes, I make it safe for you to do that.

I don’t want you to live in a world where you’re afraid to do basic things. ”

My stomach flips at his words, and I try to think of something sarcastic to say, something me to say, but I can’t. Instead, I turn to the rail, picking up the first thing in front of me. It’s a pair of baby socks, and when I see the price, I almost choke on my tongue.

“I should have kept the second job. Might’ve been able to afford one sock then.”

I put them back on the rail, noticing the price of everything on this display stand is insane.

How am I supposed to pay for any of this? Even the plain baby grows are expensive.

“I know they’re handmade, but were they woven from mystical Himalayan alpacas?” I grumble.

I’m not even out of my first trimester and already I feel like a fucking failure.

He picks up the socks, handing them to me. “You want the socks, get the socks.”

I scoff at that. “I’m not getting the socks. I’m not spending that much money on one item when the baby needs a lot of things. Expensive things. I mean, how can items this small cost so much?”

He takes my chin between his fingers, forcing me to look up at him. “You’re freaking out.”

“Of course, I’m freaking out. I’d need three jobs to pay for all this.”

I’m pretty sure I’m about to cry, and I really don’t want to.

I am not having a breakdown over baby socks.

“You don’t pay for anything.”

I raise a brow. “Meaning what? You pay for everything? The rent, the food, the baby stuff and I’m just contributing heartburn and hormonal outbursts? That’s not going to work for me. I’m not a freeloader.”

“No, you’re the mother of my child, and you’re not going to want to hear this, but it’s normal to rely on a partner when you’re pregnant, Dayna.

It’s normal to rely on a partner when you’re in a relationship.

If you think I’m going to sit by and watch you pick up extra hours to buy things our baby needs, things we can afford easily without pushing you into exhaustion, you’re wrong.

So, if you want the socks, buy them. If you want three fucking prams, we’ll get four.

You’re mine, this kid is mine, and neither of you will ever want for anything. ”

Shit. What the hell do I say to that?

He catches the tear that works down my cheek. “I feel pathetic. Like I bring nothing to the table. Like if you weren’t here, everything would just fall apart.”

“You think money is what makes you worthy? Fuck that. You’re carrying our family in your body, Dayna.

I can’t do that. You’ve already given more than I ever could.

But if it makes you feel better, the money you’re saving on rent, put it in an account, build it up, and when you realise that I’m not going anywhere and you don’t need it to run or escape, you can spend it on a hundred pairs of hand woven alpaca fucking socks. ”

“I don’t want to run,” I whisper. “I just don’t want to you to resent me when you’re carrying everything.”

“How could I ever resent the woman who gave me a future worth bleeding for?”

Oh, damn. I would swoon if I wasn’t so tired.

“That was poetic.”

He smirks. “Only for you. Now, go and shop.”

We walk around the displays, and I stop on a onesie with a unicorn eating an ice cream. It’s ridiculous, but I love it. He takes it from me, holding it so I have my hands free to look at more clothes.

Despite his nerves, he insists we stop at a small cafe when we’re finished shopping. He’s trying to make this as normal as possible, and I love him for it.

He sits facing the door and guides me into the seat next to him before I can pick a chair.

Our knees are touching under the table, and his hand is on my thigh, rubbing circles, like he’s trying to soothe us both.

I tuck the bags under my chair, the few items we bought wrapped in tissue paper, ready to be put away until it’s time to meet our baby.

Dash slides the menu under my nose, his gaze splitting between me and the door.

“What do you want to drink?”

“A margarita, but it was cocktails that led to my current condition.” I smirk at him, and he gives me a patient look.

“You saying you only slept with me because you were drunk?”

“Maybe the first time. Definitely not the twenty times after.”

His hand rests over my ribcage as he presses kisses down my jaw. That is the one thing I love about Dash. He always has to have his hands or his mouth on me. So, when his breath tickles my ear, a full-body shiver runs through me.

“Do you need me to remind you why you kept coming back for more?”

His hand moves from my thigh to cup between my legs. My breath hitches, my eyes darting around immediately even as my fingers wrap around his wrist. “What are you doing? People will see.”

“No one will ever see what’s mine,” he says, flattening his palm against me, applying just enough pressure to make my thighs squeeze together. “When we get you home, I’m going to ruin this pretty pussy.”

I almost come right there and when he pulls his hand away, I make a pathetic whimper.

He leans back in his seat, his arm draped around the back of my chair. His expression is smug, like he knows exactly what he does to me.

“That’s it. Pussy privileges are revoked.” He snorts. “I mean it. No touching the kitty after that… teasing.”

I don’t hear what filth he was going to deliver because he suddenly sits up straight, blocking my body with his as a shadow falls over the table.

It’s only the server, but he shields me as if there’s an assassin threatening my life.

We order food, then he threads his fingers through mine on top of the table, stroking his thumb over my knuckles.

“You feeling okay?” he asks, his eyes searching my face.

“Surprisingly, yes.”

As soon as the plates are put in front of us, I instantly regret not getting fries. I eye his plate, my mouth already watering. Little golden strips of carb happiness mock me. Suddenly, my sad sandwich doesn’t fill me with joy.

His eyes lift as he reaches for his burger. Then he slides his plate towards me, angling it so I can reach them.

I grin, grabbing one and dipping it in the BBQ sauce on the side of his plate.

I moan the minute the potato touches my tongue. “Why did I think I didn’t need deep- fried happiness?” He doesn’t say a word, just scrapes his fries onto my plate. “Whoa, I’m not going to eat your food. I should have ordered some.”

“Eat your deep-fried happiness.” He picks up his burger and takes a bite, his tattooed fingers wrapped around the bun.

“Now, that’s love. You literally gave me the food off your plate. Careful, Maddox, people will think you have a heart.”

He reaches out and wipes the corner of my lip, sauce on his thumb. I almost combust when he puts it in his mouth, sucking it off. This man is going to be the death of me. “Only for you.”

“Is it possible to get pregnant while you’re already pregnant?” I breathe.

He snorts, shaking his head as he takes another bite of his burger.

By the time we get home, I’m exhausted, filled with food, and probably happier than I have ever been in my entire life. Dash leaves me on the couch while he goes to run a bath.

When he returns, I’m wrapped in his hoodie like it’s some sort of security blanket, and his eyes are soft when he holds his hands out.

I don’t protest when he takes me into the bathroom and strips me out of my clothes, one piece at a time.

He takes his time examining my changing body, his fingers trailing over my fuller hips like they’re sacred.

Then he kisses me and helps me into the tub like he’s scared I’ll fall if he doesn’t. Once I’m in the water, he undresses slowly. My eyes trail over every inch of him, as he unwraps the ink work on his skin, the tattoos I’ve traced on lazy mornings in bed.

He climbs in behind me, the water sloshing as he sits. Then my back is against his chest, and his arms are around my stomach, resting over our baby. I can feel his hardness against me, feel his warmth surrounding me as I lean my head back, letting my eyes close.

I know nothing will happen to me here. He won’t allow it.

Dash kisses every part of me he can reach—my shoulder, my cheek, down my jaw, and up to my temple.

Cherished.

Adored.

Fucking loved.

“Thank you for today.” My voice is sleepy. “I know that was hard for you.”

“It’s only hard because the thought of something happening to you makes me want to set fire to the world.”

Before, those words would have landed different. I wouldn’t have believed them, wouldn’t have believed him. But now, I let them settle over me like a warm blanket. “Nothing will happen to me. And if it does, you’ll be there.”

He kisses my shoulder. “Every time.”