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“My family has nothing to do with this,” he says, still coming. “This is about me and you and our baby. That’s all I want. That’s all I care about. I won’t stop until I have you both.”
“You’re getting too close.” He’s a few feet away and still coming, a looming, terrifying monster. “Will you stop it, please?”
“Keely Crowley, my wife, my something, you aremine—”
“Beelzebub!” I snap the safe word out like a whip. He stops instantly, eye widening in surprise, his hand inches away from grabbing my wrist. I scamper back against the door, putting more space between us.
“You really want me to leave you alone?” He sounds hurt, confused.
“Give me space to think, okay? Give me time to figure this out.”
His jaw works and I can tell he’s suppressing this anger. Fear filters through me, fear at what he might do, and fear over what he might be like in the future. A temper like that is a dangerous thing.
“Decide fast,” he says, voice soft. “Because every day you’re away from me is another day I spend in agony.”
“You can handle the pain.” I shove the door open and stumble through, then slam it shut behind me.
Ash is sitting up front. She stands as I approach. My hands are trembling, and tears roll down my face.
She says nothing. Only puts an arm around me and steers me back out onto the sidewalk.
Chapter39
Keely
Idrown my sorrows at Smoke that night.
Since I can’t have alcohol, I stick to seltzer after seltzer, poured by a concerned Bernie. She comes around and sits me with during a lull in business. “I heard about the baby,” she says, giving me a quick hug. “I know it’s hard, but we’re here for you. Even Fulco. Well, probably Fulco.”
I laugh at that. “Thanks, Bern.”
“We’re family. Seriously, I mean it. I’ll help you raise that fucking baby myself. How hard can it be? Throw it on my boob when you need a break.”
“I don’t think that’s how it works.”
“Ah, sure it is. Let the kid suck away, I’ll produce milk eventually.”
I make a horrified face. “If a guy sucks your nipple for long enough—”
Bernie groans. “Let’s not go there.”
“Roger that.”
Bernie returns to bartending, and I return to moping.
This should be so easy. I have a rich, handsome, obsessed man out there, practically begging to be my husband to take care of our unborn child. I should be throwing myself at him, taking everything he has to offer, and living the high life. Sure, they’re gangsters and murderers, and sure, this baby wasn’t planned, but the Crowleys are rich, and Nolan seems to genuinely want to be a father.
Why not put myself out of my own misery and just be the guy’s stinking wife?
Because it all comes back to the damn donut shop.
I wanted something for myself. I wanted to be my own person. Instead, I got tangled up with Nolan, and now I don’t know where I begin and where he ends. It’s like this baby’s bound us together, and no matter what I do, he’s going to be there.
The night passes. Jamila comes in and kills a few hours with me before heading home to the apartment. I stay until the place empties out ten minutes before closing time, and I’m finally exhausted enough to go sleep on the couch. Before I can head out, another person takes the stool next to me.
I flinch when I look over to find Carson Crowley sitting there, hunched forward on his elbows. Bernie brings him a drink, a glass of whiskey, without him having to ask.
“I guess you’re a regular here these days,” I say, studying my brother-in-law. Technically, anyway.
