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We’ve claimed a sticky high-top in the middle of the room, and despite the clang of arcade games and the clack of billiard balls, conversation has been effortless. A reminder of yet another reason the muscled Marine claimed my heart.
“Drinks?” the server asks. He looks bored, the typical small-town kid working a Saturday night shift to scrounge up some extra cash to get the hell out of this town. The bolo tie around his neck looks as frayed as he does.
“No. Nachos,” I tell him. My palm finds my stomach as a small cramp settles in my right side. Squish and I—we’re both starving.
“Kitchen’s closed until six.”
Davis looks at him with a frown. “Come back at six,” he warns. “On the dot.”
“Sure thing,” the kid says before hustling away.
“Stay here,” Davis says, slipping off his stool. Before I can say anything, he heads outside and returns with a box of granola bars. When I say nothing, only stare at him, he goes on. “You get hungry. Low blood sugar’s dangerous for you and the baby.”
I arch a brow, my heart free falling. “And you just happened to have a stash in your truck?”
He gives me a look. “You gonna eat ’em or interrogate me?”
I grab a bar and tear at the wrapper. “Maybe I like to interrogate you.”
“I’ll give you three questions.” His eyes are dark with humor. “Ask away.”
“MONSAR,” I say and take a small bite of granola bar. “Do you like it?”
“I do.” A muscle rolls in his jaw. “It helped with the PTSD, after you left.” He exhales, cradles his beer between his palms. “The ranch is Charlie’s. MONSAR, the dogs, they feel like mine. Even if I used them to run away at first.”
“They helped you.”
He nods, his face unreadable. “They did. I hid myself for a long time. From what happened overseas. From what I did for Charlie. I’ve seen things that make monsters out of men, and I didn’t want that for myself. I didn’t want to be helpless, so I fought through it.”
As I listen, I see him so clearly. I always have, but more pieces fall into place. Those Fort Knox-like layers of him peel back and reveal why he takes my protection so seriously. Why he’s a hard-ass around his brothers. He pushes people away even when he wants them to stay.
“It gets hard when it’s a kid on the front lines, but…” Davis inhales. “I goddamn love it. I do.”
My heart squeezes at the thought of a baby or a kid in trouble. “I couldn’t imagine,” I say softly, cupping my belly.
Davis watches me closely. “Nothing will happen to your baby, Dakota.” The words come out rough and determined. “I swear it.”
My smile fades and I fight a shiver at the sudden dangerousness etched on his handsome face. “You think he’s here, don’t you?” I try but fail to hide the note of fear in my voice.
“I’m not sure,” he says grimly. “I wish I were.”
“Is it stupid to hope that he’s given up?”
“No.” He takes my hand. His fingers, warm and rough, curl around mine. “Hope’s not stupid. It keeps you going.”
I smile. Leaning on Davis doesn’t feel like taking a step backward anymore. It’s accepting support.
“What else? Interrogation, remember? Still got two more questions,” he says with a lift of a dark brow.
Elbow on the table, I prop my chin in my hand and think on it.
Maybe it’s the neon of the arcade or the baby in my belly, but a sudden braveness overtakes me. I sit up straight, even as my stomach flutters with what I’m about to ask. “Has there been anyone else, Davis? While we were apart?” I bite my lip as he stays silent. “Not that I have a right to ask, but I…I just wondered.”
Muscles tense in his broad shoulders, those impenetrable brown eyes flickering. “No. There hasn’t.”
My heart pumps hard, dangerously close to giving out. The answer’s close. So close.
“Why wasn’t there anyone else?”
