She didn’t walk fast these days, but she still moved with that same quiet confidence that had hooked me from the start.
“You’re doing it again,” she accused when she reached me.
I slid one hand to her waist and the other over her belly, tugging her close enough that the scent of her skin cut through the smell of fuel and asphalt. “Doing what?”
She gave me a side-eye. “Hovering.”
“I’m standing still,” I objected.
“Menacingly.”
I shrugged. “That’s my resting posture.”
Her lips twitched, but she tried to keep her expression stern. “Levi, I’m fine. I’m in a professional pit area, surrounded by half the club, several old ladies, and enough security to protect a head of state. I’m not wandering across the track blindfolded.”
“I’m allowed to be fucking twitchy.”
Saylor’s mouth softened even as she rolled her eyes. “You’re impossible.”
“Maybe,” I agreed. “Still married me.”
“I did. But I was pregnant, which means I could blame the hormones for that.”
I lowered my head until my mouth was close to hers. “You weren’t blaming hormones last night when you had your hands in my hair and your legs?—”
“Levi,” she hissed, her cheeks turning pink as she smacked my chest, though the laughter in her eyes ruined any attempt at outrage.
I grinned because making her blush still hit the same way it had when I’d first said something dirty and watched color climb her throat. Pregnant Saylor was worse for my sanity in every possible way. Softer in some places, sharper in others, more emotional when she thought nobody was looking, and so damn beautiful with my baby inside her that I spent half my time hard, smug, and irrationally possessive.
Her smile faded slightly, just enough for me to notice. “I got something today.”
My hand stilled on her belly. “From who?”
“Sutton.”
I watched my wife’s face carefully, reading the soft tension around her mouth and the careful way she held my stare. “She ask for something?”
“No.” Saylor’s voice was quiet, and her fingers clutched lightly around the edge of my cut. “That’s what made it feel different.”
“What did she say?”
Saylor breathed in slowly, then rested both hands over mine on her baby bump. “Not much. Just that she’s alive, that she’s trying, and that she meant what she said about being glad I’mhappy. She said she isn’t ready to be the sister I deserve, but she’s trying to become someone who could be.”
I studied her face, the moisture brightening her eyes, the trembling edge of her smile, the sadness that didn’t look as raw as it once had. “How do you feel about that?”
“I don’t know. Better, maybe.” She let out a small laugh that barely made it past her throat. “I don’t think fixed is the right word for me and Sutton. But she didn’t ask for money. She didn’t ask me to call. She didn’t blame me. That’s new.”
“Then maybe she’s learning.”
“Maybe.” Saylor leaned into me, her forehead resting briefly against my chest. “I still love her, but I don’t feel responsible for saving her anymore. I think that’s the difference.”
I kissed the top of her head, breathing in the soft scent of her shampoo under the bite of the track. “Good.”
She tipped her face up. “That’s it?”
“That’s the important part.” I brushed my thumb along the curve of her stomach. “Sutton can keep trying from a distance. If she comes back wanting nothing from you except a real relationship, we’ll deal with that when it happens. Until then, you’ve got me, our kid, and a whole club full of loud, interfering assholes who apparently carry crackers for you now.”
Her laugh came out watery but real. “Mace has three kinds in his backpack.”
