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“Come on, Rose.” Lennox laughs. “Do you think I don’t know who your husband is?”
I still, my eyes wide, my skin a certain shade of telling. “What?”
He rolls his eyes. “Daniel’s a great kid. I wouldn’t take a friend away from Barney. The boy’s lost too much.”
His mom. He means his mom. “Really?”
“Really.” He frowns and looks down at my chest, then proceeds to scan the floor. “Did I make you spill a drink?”
Confused, I look down, seeing two huge wet patches on my silk blouse. Oh my God, this day gets worse. “I better get Daniel home.” And myself, where my leaking boobs are safe from public eyes.
Realization dawns on Lennox and he becomes unbearably embarrassed, unable to look at me. “Will you let me know if you plan on enforcing consequences?”
I nod and go to the car, my eyes brimming, emotion creeping up on me. Unreasonable? I don’t think so. I must be the stupidest woman alive to think our lives could ever be normal.
6
DANNY
* * *
I hit my phone on the steering wheel, trying to get some service. “What the fuck is going on with this thing?” I snap. Then quickly apologize for my bad language when I remember who’s riding with me today.
I cast my eyes over to the back seat. Silence. It’s fucking golden. I’ve been sitting outside the club for half an hour, scared to move, scared to wake her up, because who the hell knows when she might decide to give us some peace again? What I do know is, it won’t be tonight. Little thing seems to love burning the midnight oil. And the one-a.m. oil. And the two-a.m. oil. And the three . . .
I sigh and rest my head back, closing my eyes, sinking farther down in my seat. Peace. Quiet. The only sound is the cars passing. When she sleeps, we should sleep. That’s what Doc said.
So I will.
Knock, knock, knock.
I shoot up, startled, and turn to the driver’s window, recoiling when I find Nolan’s face pressed up against the glass. “What the fuck?” I breathe, just as all hell seems to break loose in the back of the car, the shocked, high-pitched screams of Maggie piercing my ears. My nostrils flare, and I look at Nolan like I’m going to kill him.
Because I am.
He appears confused for a moment, his brow furrowed as he looks into the back of the car. Then he realizes. Backs up.
I swing the door open, get out, pull my gun, and shove it under his chin.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he whispers. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
“There’s no fucking point whispering now, you stupid cunt. She’s a-fucking-wake!”
His hands up, he leans back, getting as far away from me as possible while I have his jacket bunched in my fist. “You’ve been out here for forty minutes. I came out to see if you’re okay.”
“I was fine,” I rant. “Fucking blissful, actually, and you’ve just blown the peace to bits, Nolan.” I shove him away, stuff my gun in the back of my jeans, and swing the back door open, fucking savage. “Hey, my beautiful,” I coo quietly, unclipping her belt and scooping her out of the infant car seat, hushing her, bouncing her, kissing her head. All while glaring at Nolan.
I walk up and down by the car, persistent with my strategy, until she finally calms, her cries morphing into quiet sobs until she’s quiet again, just the odd sniffle. That was a proper cry. A truly upset cry. I’m learning to recognize the various degrees of distress. Hunger, tiredness, shitty nappy. “There,” I whisper, peeking down at her nestled in the crook of my arm, her hand now in her mouth. Look at her. Just fucking look at her. The most beautiful thing I’ve ever set eyes on. And the loudest. How can something so disruptive offer such an incredible sense of peace too? My nose wrinkles, probably making my scar deepen.
“I need your help.” I reach into the car and pull out the baby carrier. It’s bespoke. Handmade. Tried and tested.
Bulletproof.
And today is its maiden voyage. Problem is, it didn’t come with any instructions. I hold up the contraption and Nolan stares at it, wary. “What is that?”
“A bulletproof baby carrier.”
His eyes shoot to mine. “You’re not joking, are you?”
