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“Oh, thank goodness, Callie—”
“I’m sorry to keep interruptin’ you, but do you know if they have Grey with them?”
“They didn’t tell you? Grey is here, with me.”
“Is he okay?”
“He’s fine. It’s Callie who’s in rough shape. You better get to the hospital quick, Bullet.”
“I’ll come by once I’ve seen her. Tell Grey his daddy loves him.”
“I will, Bullet, and I’m so sorry.”
Before she said anything else, Bullet said goodbye and hung up. Whatever was going on with Callie wasn’t something he wanted to hear over the phone.
He pulled the truck over and looked up at the sky. “Lord, thank you for keepin’ my boy safe, and please, lay your healing hands on his mother.”
He rested his head against the steering wheel. His life had been one clusterfuck after another since the day he met Callie.
The night he met her, she was drunk, underage, and about to get in a shit-ton of trouble. Against his better judgment, he’d agreed to get her out of the bar they were in and take her home. That, actually, wasn’t what she’d asked him to do, but until she was sober enough for him to determine whether she was at least over eighteen, there was no way he’d take her up on what she’d offered.
He had to stop twice on the drive to her house, that night, so she could throw up alongside the road. At least she gave him enough notice that he had time to pull over. If she’d gotten sick in his truck, he might’ve been tempted to let her walk home.
Two years later, it had never gotten better. Drama was her middle name, and if it didn’t happen on its own, Callie created it. He wasn’t sure, now, if he would’ve married her if she hadn’t gotten pregnant. Sometimes he thought he probably would have. Other times he hoped he was smarter than that.
When he found out they were having a boy, he told Callie he wanted to name him Henry Greyson, after his granddad on his mother’s side. She liked the name, so she didn’t give him a hard time about it.
It hadn’t been that simple three years ago, when he’d gotten another girl pregnant with his first child. The baby’s mama fought him on the little girl’s name every step of the way. It wasn’t the only thing she fought him on. In fact, there was little she didn’t fight with him about. He knew that was because he’d refused to marry her, and he’d wanted a DNA test to prove he was the father.
When the tests came back positive, they settled on Hannah Pearl. He’d wanted his little girl named Pearl. He didn’t know why; he just loved the sound of it. He called her his perfect Pearl, never Hannah. It drove the girl’s mama crazy, but he didn’t care.
His daughter lived in Texas, with her mama, full-time. She moved there to be closer to her family, which meant a twelve-hour drive each way in order to see Hannah Pearl. He didn’t get to see his daughter very often, and they were long overdue for a visit.
When he got into town a couple of days ago, Callie was on a bender. He’d finally found her in a town or two over, drunk as shit but with her cousin, thankfully. He’d picked her up, carried her ass to his truck, and drove her home. She railed at him the whole way, but he’d learned to tune her out.
She’d seemed better yesterday, although she wasn’t very talkative. She usually had a laundry list of everything he’d done to piss her off. Not this time.
When he left her parents’ house last night, Callie was sound asleep. Grey was too, in the crib in her room. Her mom and dad weren’t home, but he’d figured they would be soon.
Bullet drove past the hospital and pulled into the bar he saw across the road. He needed a drink before he faced whatever trouble Callie got herself into this time.
He downed three shots, one right after another, not missing the looks the pretty bartender was giving him. Any other day, he’d stick around and see what else she’d give him, but today he couldn’t.
He threw a twenty on the bar and stood to put on his jacket.
“Where you goin’, cowboy?” she pouted.
“My wife’s in the hospital—” He was thinking about offering to come back, but as soon as he said the word wife, the bartender glared at him and walked away.
“Can I help you?” asked the woman behind the desk in the lobby.
“Uh, yeah. Let’s see, my wife is in the ICU. I think that’s what the message said. Lemme look.” He pulled out his phone. “Yep, the ICU.”
“Name?”
“Bullet Simmons.”
The woman waved her hand in front of her face and glared at him. “Her name is Bullet?”
