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I just pray I’m not wrong.
“You can try calling me daddy later if you want, Gorgeous,” I whisper low into her ear, making sure she’s the only one that can hear me.
She turns her head to the side to look at me and the heat in those green eyes of hers makes me groan low. I need her again. I’ve been careful not to have her in my house overnight since that first night. I didn’t want to get Ryan too used to having her around and truthfully, I needed to protect myself. But, with each day that passes, I’m slowly letting my defenses down and I’m tired of sleeping in an empty bed, knowing Rory could be there.
We steal away moments when she’s not working or when Ryan’s at school. But, I’m finding out that it’s not enough. I want more and more of Rory and it doesn’t seem to be going away.
“I don’t mean that. Why don’t you call him by his name?” Ryan asks. Fuck! I should have seen this coming. I don’t know why I didn’t and I guess I should be thankful that it didn’t happen sooner. Now, however, I need to wade in and try to do some damage control.
“Ryan—” I begin, but Rory cuts me off.
Shit.
“What do you mean?” she asks. Her gaze goes from my son to me and I see confusion there, clear as day. Fucked up bastard that I am, I like her confusion. To me it’s just another sign that she hasn’t been playing me.
“Ryan, that is my name,” I tell him and then I pause wondering how to explain that although Noah is my name I’ve never used it. I need to find a way to explain it without bringing up my road name. I don’t want Rory to know it. I may be starting to trust her, but I’m not ready to tell her things. I may never be ready for that.
There’s too much on the line.
“Oh!” Rory exclaims. Her face relaxes as she smiles at me. “You mean everyone calls him Westin?” she asks Ryan and I frown, a coldness moving through my body at the speed of light.
“How did you know my name was Westin?” I ask her, my voice tight and I step away from her. Without even realizing I’m doing it, I walk to my son, putting my body in front of his—keeping him separated from Rory.
Her eyes widen and she pales. There’s still confusion there, but there’s something else. Hurt. I don’t like it on her face, but I can’t do anything to stop it. She’s not stupid, in fact she’s one of the smartest women I’ve ever met. She has to know just from my tone and the way I moved to my son that I don’t like her knowing my name. She has to know I’m trying to protect my child… from her. If she doesn’t, then she at least knows I’m not happy with her answer. No matter what she’s thinking, it hurts her…
Which means I’m hurting her. That might bother me a little, but the truth is it’s not about Rory. It’s about my son. He’s all that matters, he’s all that I can let matter to me.
“Noah?”
“Answer the question, Rory,” I order, my voice solid, firm, even cold.
She blinks at me, her face going extremely pale. She drops her fork and pushes her plate away from her, standing up.
“It was on your paperwork when I bailed you out of jail,” she says quietly.
Her wounded voice reaches me and the simplicity of her answer sends a gut check through me. I should have known that. I shouldn’t have freaked out.
“Rory—”
“But, I knew it before then, Noah,” she adds a sick feeling invades my body.
This is it. This is when she tells me that she’s here to help them take my son. This is when everything crashes down.
“Tell me,” I demand, feeling numb inside.
“The principal told me when I tried to pick up your son and I didn’t know Ryan’s last name,” she answers.
“Rory.”
She rolls her lips together as if to stop more words from coming out. Her eyes are overly bright and that too is a kick to the gut.
“Dad?”
“Yeah, Ry?”
“Why doesn’t Rory call you what my uncles call you?”
I rub the back of my neck, knowing what is coming.
“What do your brothers call you, Noah?” Rory asks quietly.
“Rory—”
“What do they call him, Ryan?” she asks, her gaze locked with mine.
“Diesel,” he answers and maybe I’m just fooling myself, but I think it would be hard for any woman to fake the emotions that move over her face.
Hurt. Surprise. Confusion.
She had no idea who I was. She is who she’s always appeared to be…
That’s a good thing to know, but looking at the hurt in her eyes I have a very bad feeling it doesn’t matter anymore.
