Page 30 of Not Mine to Rescue

He studied me. “You have a kid?”

“No.”

“Oh. Shit, I forgot.” His cheeks turned a deep rose.

To stave off his embarrassment, I admitted another secret. “Twice. We were pregnant twice.”

“You were pregnant. He was… what you do call it?” A finger snap, then, “Stolen valor.”

Funny, life had felt like a battlefield at the time. One I’d lost. Twice. I turned away so he wouldn’t see the cracks in my armor.

Wombat was quiet for a long time. Then he stood up, displacing DA and rousing Molly. “That bastard bought you a dog to make it up to you? No offense, Molly.” He paced to the kitchen and back. “What a fucking piece of work.”

I cringed under Molly’s weight. I wished she wasn’t on top of me. I couldn’t move.

Wombat paced toward us.

Molly growled.

I’d never heard her do that before.

“I’m not mad at you, or you, Molly.” He blew out a breath. Then he sat right in the middle of the floor with his hands out. “See? Not a threat.” He stayed like that. Apart from his breathing, he didn’t move.

Molly watched him but stayed on top of me.

DA took his position as an invitation to sit his ass right on top of his crossed legs. Wombat shoved the dog away from his face. “If I wanted to smell your rancid dog breath, I’d have asked.”

I laughed.

They were cute together.

Molly licked my face. I studied her as she tried to cheer me up. “It’s my fault. All my fault.”

Wombat stopped rough-housing with the dog trying to sit on his lap. “With all due respect, I call bullshit. It takes two.”

“The fact he has a live child with another woman means the fault wasn’t his!” I stood up, displacing Molly. She scrambled around my feet, pressing against me. I reached down to pet and reassure her. “I need to go.”

Wombat frowned, but got up to collect my coat. “I’ll walk you and Molly out. Dumb Ass probably has to piss again.”

“Why do you do that?”

He turned to me, confused. “Do what?”

“You switch to your biker voice when you’re angry.”

“What?”

I replayed our conversations. He was quite articulate, but sometimes he sounded like every other criminal who I’d dealt with. It seemed he used that coarseness as a defense mechanism. And I’d triggered that. Which was one more thing I’d kick myself for, which was one too many. I wouldn’t walk on eggshells anymore, for anyone. Not even a biker who’d talked his way into my pants.

Ugh. The accountability monitor in my head chalked another tick mark onto my blackboard of shame.

Because of that, I lashed out. “You’re intelligent. Figure it out.”

He put his hand on my arm as I tried to outpace him to my car. “And you run.”

I glared at him and the fingers he’d wrapped around my wrist.

“I’m just pointing that out if you didn’t see it,” he said.