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I end up with my head on his chest, one arm tucked under my chin and the other resting over his heart.
The steady thump soothes my inner worries.
He lets out a long, contented breath. “You feel nice.”
“So do you.”
“It’s nice to be…with you.”
The loneliness and pain ringing in his words pierce my soul. I hug him a little tighter, wanting to offer whatever comfort he needs.
And maybe take a little comfort for myself.
Chapter Nine
Grinder
Something sweet and floral tickles my nose, pulling me out of sleep. Or maybe it’s the sun streaming through the curtains I couldn’t bear to close last night.
God, it feels good not to wake up alone.
The warm, soft weight of Serena rests against my side. Curled into a tiny ball, she looks way too young and fragile to be in my bed.
What the fuck was I thinking? Using her as some sort of comfort object. Not explaining what I expected because I didn’t know myself.
I reach out and trace my finger over her shoulder. How many men would kill to have her in their bed? I don’t deserve to wake up next to her.
Not when my ex-wife is heavily on my mind.
Careful not to disturb Serena, I roll out of bed, cursing at the aches reminding me that I’m too damn old for her. I stretch for a minute before padding into the bathroom.
She’s still sound asleep when I return.
For some reason, I’m torn.
Any man in his right mind would’ve taken what she was offering last night. Christ, the way she licked her lips and went straight for my belt had me ready to explode like a teenager.
I slip into a pair of jeans and throw on another plain T-shirt. Appreciate more than ever the guys and their wives going to so much trouble to leave me with a closet full of clothes. No hand-me-downs from my brothers. All new. Expensive stuff chosen with care. I rip the tags off a soft green plaid flannel shirt and toss them in the trash. One look out the window says even if I could, I wouldn’t be riding. Not with the fresh coating of snow on the ground. I lace up my boots and grab a stiff Carhartt jacket.
At the door, I pause and stare at Serena.
I can’t put my finger on why I hate leaving her so much. It feels wrong. But I need closure before we can move forward. Searching the desk, I finally find a small pad of notepaper and pen.
Serena,
I need to take care of some things.
I’d like to see you later.
G.
I don’t know her well enough to know if she’ll be here when I return or if she’ll be offended and never come near me again.
Depending on how the next few hours go, that might be for the best anyway.
While I appreciate the lesson Murphy tried to give me on using the GPS the other day, it’s not necessary. As soon as I hit the highway, I know exactly where I’m headed.
Finally.
Only took a few days to gather my balls and make this trip.
I’d hated like hell asking Z for this favor but now I’m grateful that he did it without giving me too much shit.
Rosie doesn’t live far from our old place, so once I scanned a map, she wasn’t hard to find. For years, all I had was a P.O. Box.
I roll to a stop at the curb in front of a small white colonial-style house with black shutters.
Sparkling, star-shaped Christmas lights dangle over the front porch. Rosie loved to decorate for the holidays. Hated to take the decorations down. She’d leave them up for months if I let her. For some reason, it drove me nuts. Guess no one’s around to complain about them now.
Along with the address, Z had given me the make, model, and license plate for Rosie’s car. I double-check the paper in my hand with the car in the driveway. Same one. Hopefully that means she’s home.
Slush blankets the yard but the sidewalk to the front door is clear. I slowly make my way up, taking a deep breath before setting foot on the first step.
I jab my finger against the doorbell to the left and wait. A few seconds later, I rap my knuckles against the wood.
“I got it!” someone yells inside. The door’s thrown wide open. If it weren’t for the fact that this girl’s the spittin’ image of Rosie, I’d assume I stopped at the wrong house.
The happy grin slides off the girl’s face as she studies me. “Can I help you?”
Hope beats a steady rhythm in my chest. The girl looks about fourteen…maybe fifteen years old. Could it be? Is it…possible?
Do I have a kid after all?
Rose would’ve told me. Wouldn’t she?
Maybe not. What was she going to do? Bring a baby to visit me in prison? Watched plenty of guys with that situation inside. It was torture for them. But it also provided hope.
