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He backs up, wary. “What?”
Fuck, this is harder than it should be. But Beau knows, and as soon as they’re on speaking terms, which I anticipate to be in one thrust and a bellow of her name, she’ll make sure James knows too. He needs to be prepared. I take a quick look around us, ensuring we’re alone. “Rose is pregnant.”
Silence.
Awkwardness.
His face is blank, and it’s an expression I’m not used to. He eventually clears his throat, blinking and looking away. I know what he’s thinking, so I put him out of his misery quickly. “Beau knows.”
He shoots me a shocked stare, and I raise my eyebrows. “Women talk, mate,” I quip, and he laughs under his breath. “I just . . .” Fuck, how do I put this? “Beau’s fine. Well, she seemed fine to me.” What the fuck do I know? Seeming fine and being fine are two entirely different things. “I know it’s not the best time, what with—”
“I’m happy for you,” he says, his hand coming up and resting on my shoulder, squeezing. “But confused as fuck. I thought kids were out of the question?”
I exhale loudly, raking a hand through my hair. “Me too. I’ve got Doc lined up to check her over. Something about a juicy womb.” I frown to myself, and James releases a bark of laughter that startles me. He should laugh more often. I’d feel safer in his company. “I know.” I shudder. “Anyway, I’ve got somewhere I need to be.” I take the steps down to my car.
“Alone?” he calls, the suspicion in his tone palpable.
“Yes, alone.” I need to talk, and there’s no one around here who’ll understand. “Keep the Rose thing under your hat.” I don’t know when or where will be the right time to share the news, but I do know it’ll cause some serious worry, because everyone who knows me knows how fiercely I’ll protect my wife. Now that she’s pregnant? I’m a man more on a mission than I’ve ever been.
As I pull away from the house, the heavens open and the windscreen gets pelted with fat, relentless raindrops. The freeway is clear. It’s probably a good thing, since my mind is elsewhere. It’s one of those journeys you make that when you get to your destination, you stop for a moment and try to recall any part of the time it’s taken you to get there. And can’t.
Through the sunroof, I see the sky swirling, moving fast, carrying away the last of the gray clouds. The rain comes to an abrupt stop.
I get out and remove my jacket, slinging it on the driver’s seat before taking a slow walk into the graveyard. His grave has settled, grass now covering the mound of dirt that was made three years ago. A few daffodils scattered. A headstone that reads simply “Mister.” It was a sensible choice. There are many things I wanted to have engraved, but knowing the world I’m in, once they’d discovered where the notorious Carlo Black, my father, was buried, he’d be dug up. His grave vandalized. I wanted to ensure he really did rest in peace for all time.
“Well, what a turn up for the books, eh, Mister?” I say, settling on the grass and lighting up. He always wanted a kid and not a woman. So he took me. What would he think if he was here to see me wanting a kid and a woman? He’d tell me I’m stupid. He’d be right. But stupid feels good on me, and what I’m going to do because of a woman is definitely stupid. Plain, cold dumb. Dumber than faking my own death ever was.
My mobile rings. Brad. “Worried about me?” I ask when I answer, knowing he’s probably shown up at the house and found me missing with no explanation from anyone of where I am. Alone.
“How many times do we need to go over it? Never, not ever, should you venture out on your fucking own, Danny.”
“That’s a yes, then,” I say, smiling as I pull another drag. “I’m fine. Just visiting Pops. I’ve got a lot to fill you in on.”
“James told me.”
Oh, good. Saves me a job. But . . . “What exactly?”
“About our new friend Spittle Junior,” he replies, and I breathe out. Brad is going to shit bricks what he finds out about Rose. “But he hasn’t told me your plan because you’ve kept your mouth shut on that little detail.”
“Do you trust me?”
“No.”
I smile. “I’ll meet you at the club later.” I hang up before he can browbeat me into spilling. Now’s not the time.
And what the hell is that I see on Pops’s headstone?
I slip my cigarette between my lips and push myself up, my forehead heavy as I move in closer. There’s a piece of folded paper resting on top, held down by a metal paperweight.
