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Leave him here and go, I guess.
But he’s quiet. He glances where our hands are resting on my belly, and then he says, “You wanted to talk. So let’s talk.”
* * *
We get back into the truck and drive away. It feels like a dream. I keep my hands on my belly, in case the baby moves again, but it’s all quiet in there.
Was Matt right? Was that what it was? It makes it all seem more real. Not an abstract thing but a baby, moving, breathing inside of me.
Ross is also quiet in the back seat as we head toward Destiny, while Matt keeps flicking glances at me, his mouth twitching into a smile every time he catches my eye.
I smile back, slightly dazed. What a day—and it’s only morning.
And as we approach Destiny with its low houses and rustling trees, the people walking slowly down the street, lifting a hand to wave hello and watch us drive by, it strikes me that now we’ve come so far, I don’t really know what to say to Ross. What to ask him, or how.
No idea what miracle I’d hoped to work, and why I thought I have that sort of power. Matt was right. Matt is often right, because despite his brusque ways, he’s smart and understands way more than he lets on.
Ross is a bully. Always was, and probably always will be. Plus, he’s always had it in for me in particular, and though he never laid a finger on me growing up—apart from that memorable day in Jasper’s Garage where Matt stepped in and shoved him right back—he did make me cry countless times with his taunting and mean nicknames. He always had his friends with him, too, and they cornered me sometimes at school or on my way home, calling me names and insinuating I’d slept with all of them while passersby looked on. He made me feel like a whore, like I was worthless.
I’d been miserable. And later to find out that he’d known for far longer than I had that we share the same dad…
Yeah, Matt was right. What was I thinking?
I’m so lost in thought I barely notice when we park and Matt comes around to open my door and help me down. I’m vaguely aware of Ross walking on my other side as we enter the diner. This is where I first saw Matt outside his house, with his two kids. He’d been an ass to me when I asked about his kids—again—and do I sense a pattern here?
Am I set on saving every man who’s been an asshole to me?
No, that’s not right. Just because Matt proved to be gold under the grit, that doesn’t mean Ross is, too. After all, Matt was rude to me a few times.
Ross bullied me for years.
A shiver rocks me as we sit down at a window table. Is it the same table Matt and his kids had sat years ago? Where he’d told me to mind my own business, his eyes hard and haunted?
If Ross isn’t like Matt, anything like Merc and all the men I care for, then what’s my subconscious trying to tell me with those dreams?
The waitress comes by with coffee, and the smell makes me want to retch, but I’m officially distracted as I breathe through my nose.
Distracted by nerves.
Maybe I’ll puke anyway. My stomach twists as I face Ross for real—in the low hum of the diner, the few customer’s voices and the noise from the kitchen. I’ve never sat with him at a table before.
Never spoke except to yell at each other, exchange insults and hatred.
His ice-blue eyes flicker around the inside of the diner, his shoulders squared as if expecting an attack. I study again his features, seeing a bit more of Merc there than ever before.
Is that why I’m having those dreams? That vague similarity that marks Ross as family, even if his actions don’t seem like it?
“Let’s order some breakfast,” Matt says, interrupting the uneasy silence between us. “I’m buying.”
“Why?” Ross shoots him a wary look.
Matt just scowls at him, folding his arms on the table.
Oh boy.
“We invited you,” I say quickly. “And I’m hungry.”
“Of course you are,” Ross mutters, and something in my chest jolts with remembered pain—from his insults, his mean insinuations.
