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“Are you sure?” He asks me, and I say yes without hesitation. He hands me my bag and grabs the photo off the wall, tagging me by the hand and we leave my apartment to go home.
Dean
“Fuck!” I slam my phone down on the desk, anger vibrating through me. Another dead end, according to Jensen. It’s been three weeks since Whit’s car was trashed and we’re no closer to knowing who did it. The cops have chased every lead, ran every print they could lift. Nothing. Whoever it is, they don’t have a record and their prints aren’t in the system. I scrub my hands over my face.
The only good thing that came out of this is that every night I’ve got Whitley in my bed. I still won’t let her out of my sight, so if she’s at the bar, so am I. If she’s out with the girls, Ford and I are right there with them. I’m eating, sleeping, and breathing everything Whitley these days, and I can’t fucking say I hate it.
I came back to Monroeville with one thing in mind - - making that girl fall in love with me. I slide the bottom drawer of my desk open, snagging the ring box out of the bottom. I flip it open. Nestled inside the box is a yellow gold band and sitting on that band is the diamond Whit’s dad gave her mom many years ago. I left Whitley here at work during lunch last week and ran to her momma’s house. Apologized for leaving all those years ago and asked for permission to marry her daughter.
She told me the only way she’d be okay with that is if I use the ring her husband proposed to her with. Insisted I take it. After a lot of objecting, I finally gave in. Took the ring to a jeweler, had him remove the diamond from the band and set it on a new one. And then I had him engrave the old band with her daddy’s name, and I plan on giving that back to her ma. A throat clearing in the doorway has me flipping the box shut. My eyes snap up.
“Fuck, Kolby. You scared the shit outta me,” I breathe a sigh of relief, thankful it wasn’t Whitley standing there. He glances at the box then back up to me, hitting me with a grin.
“Sorry, boss. But I’m all done in the kitchen. You wanna do your walk through so I can clock out?
“Sure thing. I’ll be right there.” He knocks twice on the door frame, one more glance at the box, and leaves my office. I’m not far behind him, walking the kitchen, making sure everything is cleaned up and turned off. Once he heads out, I hit the bar. Giggles assault me as I stumble upon Whitley and a drunk Avery. She showed up a few hours ago, tears in her eyes, insisting she didn’t want to talk about and all but begging Whitley to just leave it be.
Without a word, Whit slid a glass and a bottle of whiskey in front of her and went about her job.
“Ladies,” I interrupt, dropping a kiss on Whit’s cheek, “you two ready for me to escort you home?” Avery hiccups, fumbling for her phone and squinting one eye.
“You can esc… esca….. ::hiccup:: escort me to Jaxson’s!” Avery shouts, damn nea
r falling out of her chair. Whitley heaves a sigh.
“You sure that’s a good idea, babe?” Whit asks what I’m thinking. I grab the money bag and turn the bar lights off as she helps Avery off her stool, wrapping her arm around her back to keep her on two feet. Once we’ve got her in the car, Avery insists she’s going to Jax’s. I have Whit shoot him a text to let him know we’re on our way.
We pull into his driveway and he’s already standing on the porch, propped up against the pillar, his arms crossed over his chest. He strides over to my truck and opens the back door. Avery’s out like a light.
“Thanks for getting her here safe,” Jax says, grabbing her purse and lifting her into his arms.
“No problem, man. She insisted she had to come here,” he huffs out a laugh and shakes his head.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he shuts the door quietly while cradling her body in his arms. Whitley sighs from the passenger seat. I throw my arm over the back of her seat as I back out of the driveway.
“What’s that sigh for, darlin’?”
“I just wish Avery would quit bein’ so damn stubborn and let Jax love her.” She proclaims, causing me to snort. She narrows her eyes at me. “What are you laughin’ about, Dean Allen?” I grin and shake my head.
“Middle name, babe? Seriously? Ouch.” She rolls those beautiful gray eyes as I steer us towards the house. “I laughed because you’ve got absolutely no room to talk about bein’ stubborn.”
“Whatever.” She snaps, crossing her arms, and I crack up even harder.
“Honey, the second week I was back, when you came home to me mowing your yard, you literally turned the hose on full blast and sprayed me until I was finished.” I shake my head, recalling how pissed she was that I was at her house and mowing her yard, shirtless.
She shrugs her shoulders. “You had your shirt off and you were sweaty. I just assumed you needed to cool down,” I glance at her face and she’s got a shit-eating grin plastered to it. I drop my hand on her knee, pulling my focus back to the road.
“It was pretty funny,” I agree, steering us down the driveway and up to the house.
Once we’re inside and Ranger has been out to do his business, I snag both of us a beer and we head into the living room, where Whit notices the picture that I hung above the fireplace mantle yesterday. The one of all three of us in the hospital after Everly was born.
That day was amazing and awful, all at the same time. To know that I was going to be a dad only to have my baby taken away from me was heartbreaking. I didn’t want to believe what the doctor had said, didn't want to believe that our baby was going to be stillborn. I cried when they had me cut the umbilical cord and I cried when they put her in my arms, not breathing. But I wasn’t truly heartbroken until I watched the love of my life hold our lifeless baby in her arms, knowing there was nothing anyone could have done to save her.
“Oh Dean. It’s perfect,” she breathes out, pushing up on her toes and pressing a kiss to my scruff covered cheek. Once I have the fireplace lit, she tugs me down onto the couch beside her, wrapping a blanket around us. Ranger curls up in his dog bed with a huff, mad that he isn’t up here snuggling, and I hold my girl, thankful for this second chance.
Whitley
The bar is packed full tonight, standing room only. The day before Thanksgiving is the biggest drinking day of the year. We’ve got extra staff on to keep up with the crowd - three bartenders, two servers, and a full kitchen staff. Dean is back-up for the bartenders, cleaning beer glasses and stocking, and I’ve been on the floor helping the servers run food and filling in where needed.
