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“Fine. Here.” Fallon shoves a ring of keys at Dakota. When Stede’s out of earshot, she hisses, “Fix your fucking face before you come in.”
Dakota stands frozen, hands gripping the keys. She blinks back tears as she turns on her heel and rushes out of the lobby.
“Nice fucking work,” I growl, glaring at Fallon.
“Fuck you, Davis.” She flips me off on the way to the elevator.
I swear under my breath and follow after Dakota.
These sisters are going to be the death of me.
A pregnant Dakota in tears has my blood pressure skyrocketing.
I catch her as she’s crossing onto Main Street. The bright blue sky of the winter afternoon is fading. It’ll be dark in less than four hours.
“Your sister’s a pain in my ass,” I tell her dryly.
She keeps trudging ahead, hand in her pocket. “I can’t be sure she isn’t a feral gremlin with attitude issues.”
I smile. But it soon fades after I inspect Dakota’s face. She looks like she’s hanging on by her last thread.
“You okay?”
I immediately curse myself. It’s the dumbest thing I can ask.No, she’s not okay, Montgomery.Around Dakota, a word, a touch—it all comes out wrong.
“No.” She stops abruptly and leans back to look at me. Tears stream down her face. “I’m not.”
On instinct, I grab her shoulders and she huddles into my chest. Warm. Soft. Shaking.
“Lunch,” I order, and she lifts her face. Even with the dark smudges beneath her eyes, she’s too beautiful for words. “You hungry?”
She sniffles. “I’m always hungry.”
“Let’s go.” Keeping an arm around her slender shoulders, I steer her toward a red-bricked building at the end of the block.
She hesitates, stopping when we get to the front door.
“What happened to the bakery?” she asks, staring up at the sign that reads the Little Star Diner.
“Went out of business last year. This place is new. No one knows you,” I promise her.
My mind’s laser-focused on what she told me two days ago when I brought her home. She wants to be on the down low, that’s what I’ll do.
She smiles. “Thank you.”
We step inside the diner and claim a booth by the window. I slide my gaze over the small restaurant, taking in the entry points and exits. Dakota grips the tabletop like it’s keeping her steady as she looks around at the walls decorated with old Coca-Cola tin trays.
“How are you feelin’?” I ask gruffly. Nothing makes me more awkward than trying to comfort someone. I have brothers. They get hurt, and I tell them to suck it up and shake it off. But then there’s Dakota…
The only person in the world who breaks down my walls.
She leans an elbow on the table, resting her chin in her palm. “How am I feeling? About the fact that my sister wants to kill me, or about the fact that I have a ticking time bomb in my stomach and I have no idea what I’m doing.”
“Fallon first,” I order.
“She’s mad at me.”
I grunt. “She shouldn’t have said what she said.”
