Page 33 of Shine: Sins of the Father (Evil Dead MC: Second Generation #8)

Fiona—

“You still didn’t tell him!” Janey all but screams at me as I pipe buttercream frosting onto the top of each of my decadent orange cupcakes.

“We were at the clubhouse.”

“How long are you really going to let this man you can’t seem to keep your hands off, not know about his son?”

I hang my head and then turn my gaze to where Dylan sits in his bouncy chair spinning a rattle. “You’re right. I’ll tell him. Today.”

“Promise me.” She drills her eyes into me, knowing I’ve never broken a promise to her, and I don’t plan to start.

“I promise.”

She nods, seemingly satisfied, and goes back to mixing more of the buttercream frosting.

After the morning rush and shooing Janey out of the store, I make a call to Shine.

“Hey babe. How’d Orange Dream cupcake day go?”

“Sold out in two hours.”

“That’s my girl.”

My heart melts a little at those words. My girl .

“I need to talk to you,” I blurt before I can talk myself out of it.

“Okay.”

I hear the bed creak as if he just sat up straighter.

“Not over the phone. I need to tell you this in person.”

“Should I be worried?”

I pause. Should he be? “No?” I settle on no, but it comes out more like a question.

“Well, that’s reassuring.” The sarcasm drips from his voice.

I ignore that.

“Want me to come there?”

“No, we need to talk somewhere else. But not the clubhouse.”

“O-kay.”

“How about a park? There’s a community park about halfway between us.”

“All right. I’ll see you in thirty. You’re being very mysterious, sweetness.”

After we disconnect, I stare at my phone.

What will he think of me once he finds out I’ve kept something this huge from him?

I sigh. I can’t worry about that anymore.

He has to be told. This has gone on long enough.

Either he cares enough about me to get past it, or he doesn’t.

Either our relationship is strong enough to weather this storm, or it's not. I might as well find out the truth now.

***

“Let’s get you changed out of these pajamas, mister.” I carry Dylan up the stairs.

The first thing I pull out of his drawer is a onesie. But I’m quickly shoving it back in the drawer when I read, ‘My Uncle Rafe is Smokin’ Hot.’

“What should you wear to meet your daddy for the first time?” I murmur.

Dylan bats his eyes at me.

“Is my boy ready for his morning nap?”

It takes me another ten minutes before I settle on a cute lion outfit my mom bought, complete with a little pale blue romper.

Grabbing his diaper bag and my purse, I head to my car and load him up.

Pulling out, I check Dylan in the rearview mirror. He’s already starting to doze off.

Three blocks from the park, I stop at a light. A car speeds through the intersection and, a moment later, a squad car with lights and sirens races after him. They’re going so fast. Thank God the light was red and I was stopped, because I bet that guy would have run it and caused an accident.

I glance in the rearview at Dylan again. He’s so precious to me.

And then, movement behind my car draws my attention from my sleeping boy. It’s a car coming up fast, and he doesn’t look like he’s stopping.

Oh God.

I don’t have time to do more than brace for impact when he plows into us, driving us into the intersection and crossing traffic with great force.

My airbag deploys after the first contact with a cloud of smoke, and I realize we’re still moving, but I can’t see anything in front of me with all the powder from the airbag floating in the air.

A second car slams into the front of mine, sending us spinning to the right.

My side airbags deploy, filling the car with even more dust and the smell of smoke.

I’m terrified we’ll get hit again, and my airbags have already deployed.

I try to twist to see Dylan. He’s crying. I can still hear a revving engine nearby and people shouting.

I have to get us out of this car before another car hits us or this burning smell turns into actual flames.

I grab for the door latch. In my panic, it won’t open, and it takes me a second of confusion to realize it's locked. I slam the lock open and try again, but the door won’t budge.

I try the window, but the door is so damaged from the second hit, that it’s a crumpled mess.

I try climbing over to the passenger side, but my seatbelt is still on.

As I struggle to undo it, people are running to us, and a man hauls the passenger door open and leans inside.

“Are you okay?”

I hear someone else hollering to shut the car off, and finally the revving sound disappears.

“My baby. I have to get my baby.”

He straightens and yells to someone, waving them over. “She’s got a baby in the car.”

A patrolman approaches, already talking on his radio and calling for an ambulance.

The man helps me out, and the officer goes to open Dylan’s door. It’s bent, and he can’t get it open, so he goes in through the passenger side I just exited and crawls back to get him.

A moment later, Dylan is in my arms. He’s crying, but I don’t see any visible injuries.

I cradle his head against my shoulder. “I’ve got you, baby boy. Mommy’s here.”

The officer reaches inside my car and hands me my purse.

“Thank you.” Pain radiates up my chest and side.

“Let’s get you out of the street. The paramedics will be here in a minute.”

We move to the far corner, and I see some people working on the driver of the car that hit me.

A woman who was driving the car that t-boned me comes to stand next to us.

“Are you okay? I tried to stop. It all happened so fast.”

“I think so. My chest and side hurt.”

“Mine too. It’s probably from the seatbelt strap.”

“I’m just worried about my baby. What happened? Do you know?”

“I heard one of the people say the driver is an older man. They think maybe he had a stroke or heart attack. He was passed out against the wheel, his foot still on the gas.”

Sirens fill the air, and a fire engine and two paramedics pull up.

Before I know it, Dylan and I are loaded in one and taken to the hospital.

“Can someone call my mom? My phone must still be in the car,” I ask the paramedic sitting near me in the rear of the vehicle.

He slips his phone out, and I rattle off the phone number. I wish I had Shine’s number memorized. He’s waiting for me, and I have no way to tell him unless I spill the beans to my parents.

When we arrive, we’re wheeled to the emergency bay immediately.

I’m not there long before my parents show up and are let back. When I see their concern, I burst into tears.

“Are you okay? Is the baby okay?” my mother asks, rushing to me and taking my hand.

A doctor is examining Dylan, and Dylan is screaming. “He seems all right, but I’d like to send him down for some imaging. I want to make sure there are no internal injuries from the impact.”

“Oh, dear,” my mother says.

“We’ll give him mild sedation so we can get that done. Radiology should be up to get him soon. I’ll be back to check in with you afterward.”

“Thank you, doctor.”

“It could be an hour or more, folks.”

My father nods. “Thank you.”

“Thank you, doctor,” my mother murmurs, then turns her attention to me. “What about you? Are you okay, Fiona?”

“Yes. The doctor said I’ve got a bruised sternum from where the seatbelt locked, and they think I may have cracked a rib on my side where the second car hit.”

“They think?” My father steps forward.

“The doctor said he thought from the way I cried out when he pressed on it, but wanted to confirm with an x-ray. I didn’t want to leave Dylan, so I haven’t had it done yet. I want Dylan seen to first.”

“We’re here now. We can stay with Dylan. I’m going to step out and tell them to come get that x-ray, and I’ve got to make a call,” my father says to us both, then kisses my head. “Thank God it wasn’t worse.”

When he’s gone, I squeeze my mother’s hand. “It all happened so fast, and there was nothing I could do.”