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It’s not the best on the market, but it had to do until Chaka delivers. Rose gasps, stepping back, and I tilt my head, my look expectant. Like, give me an apology now before I fucking strangle you.
She looks up at me. Her lip wobbles. “You listened to me.”
“Of course I fucking listened to you.” I’m a brave man, but my wife truly terrifies me at times. Not because I’m petrified she might pop me. Punch me. Rip a strip off me. But because she might leave me. I take her neck and drag her into me. “Don’t take this as an amnesty. I’m still really fucking irate, Rose.”
“So am I. Why are you here, Danny?”
“I’m recreating what Pops built.” I don’t try to fob her off. She needs to know, and hopefully she’ll soon gather without me having to tell her that a quick exit from Miami is looking less likely with each day that passes.
She pulls out, and I quickly straighten my twisted face. It’s times like this I wish I could play poker. Then maybe I would’ve had practice nailing my poker face. “The boatyard?”
I nod.
“Jet skis?”
I nod again.
Her head tilts. “Dealing?”
My lips press together. It’s the only answer she needs but, surprisingly, she doesn’t fly off the handle.
“You said we were here temporarily.”
“I can’t fight a war unarmed, Rose. I don’t know how this is going to play out. They think James is dead and Miami has gone silent.”
“Then let’s leave,” she begs, fisting my shirt and pulling my face down to hers. “We’ll go back to St. Lucia. Beau and James, you and me. If they think James is dead, that’s good, right?”
I take her hands from my shirt, peeling away her clawed fingers, smiling softly. Rose has spent plenty of time with Beau. As couples, we’ve had a few dinners over the weeks, trying to keep things relatively normal for the women. Rose knows that leaving Miami without killing the root of James and Beau’s problems isn’t an option. And is she forgetting that The Bear knows I’m alive? She’s clutching at straws.
“Listen to me,” I order, taking her nape and guiding her away from the corpse close by. “Remember how much you loved the boatyard?”
“Don’t try and convince me you’re doing this for me,” she mutters.
“I wasn’t going to.” I stop us at the shore and point out to the water. “We had our first proper kiss somewhere over there.”
“And don’t start trying to be romantic. It’s also where your jet ski blew up right after.”
“Good times, eh?” I take her hand, bringing her rings to my lips and kissing them, eyes locked on hers. She’s softening. I can see it past her deep blues. “Don’t you think Daniel would love it here?”
She casts a look over her shoulder to James’s handywork. “Sure,” she says, as sarcastic as fuck. “Can’t wait to show him.”
“Let’s FaceTime him, then.” I seize her bag and pull her phone out, handing it over. “You’ve been avoiding telling him we’re back for weeks, feeding him some spiel about your phone’s camera being broken so you can’t FaceTime with him.” I know she’s been hoping that she wouldn’t have to tell him. That I’d take care of business and we’d be back in St. Lucia before Daniel had to know we were ever here. “We’re not going home anytime soon, baby.” I hate it, but I’m managing her expectations. “Daniel’s less that ten miles away. Make the most of it.” It’ll be another distraction for her. I’m grabbing at them all, because I seriously don’t want her worried or stressed.
Her dainty shoulders drop, her hand coming toward me to accept her phone, at the same time accepting I’m right. Acceptance still looks amazing on her. She dials and takes herself to a nearby rock, perching on it, holding the phone up and pulling a smile out of the bag. “Hey!” she chimes and, very quickly, she isn’t forcing her happiness. I need to get back to that place in her heart where Daniel resides. The place that’s reserved only for true smiles and genuine contentment. Nothing hurts me except for Rose’s sadness.
“Where are you?” he asks immediately, obviously assessing the backdrop.
“I’m in Miami.”
“What?”
“We took a little vacation. Thought we’d visit you for once.”
“Mister’s here?”
“Yeah, he’s here.” Her arm appears in the air, out of the shot of the camera, and frantically waves me over. Because she can’t turn the camera around. I pull my buttonless shirt together as best I can and go over, settling on the rock next to her.
“Hey, kid.”
“Hey, Mister.” He beams at me, and it is one hundred percent life. Every time I look at this kid, I see every quality I love in his mum. Softness. Looks to kill. Acceptance. A massive heart and extraordinary resilience. Because this kid has had a bombshell, and he’s taken it all in his stride. Shown Rose nothing but approval and love. Seeing him also makes me sad, because I can never give her kids. I can’t give her a pregnancy without despair or fear. A baby, a toddler, a preschooler. She missed out on all of that.
