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“How long’s that gonna last?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “Hopefully not long. It’s not much fun.”
“Yeah, I can imagine it’s not.” His gaze goes out over the garden, and I wonder what he’s thinking.
“Did you have any thoughts on names?” I don’t know why I ask this. It’s way too soon, and we’re not in that place either. I curse myself for allowing the question to come out, but Rage doesn’t react how I expect—not that I know what to expect from him.
“Ain’t thought about anything beyond tomorrow,” he says.
“Right. Yeah. Stupid question.”
I avert my gaze, trying to ignore the colour rising in my cheeks. What the fuck was I thinking? He’s barely okay with the fact I’m pregnant. I don’t think he’s picking baby names when we’re not together.
“I don’t care what you call him or her as long as it ain’t something dumb.”
I turn to face him, a smile creeping across my face. “And what do you deem to be dumb?”
“I don’t know.”
It’s a mundane conversation, or so it would seem to outsiders, but my heart is soaring. I didn’t expect him to want any involvement beyond keeping us safe. That he’s willing to talk about it floods me with a happiness I can’t describe.
I nudge his shoulder with mine, a playful smile twitching at my lips. “Well, you can’t just say that and then not back it up with something. I mean how bad are we talking?”
He uses his free hand, the one not clutching mine, to scrub over his jaw. “You pick and I’ll veto if I don’t like it.”
“That’s a copout.”
“Babe, trust me, you don’t want me namin’ our kid.”
I laugh. “You do get some say, considering she’s half yours.”
“Not the better half.”
I frown, but before I can counter his words a female voice snaps out from behind us.
“What’s she doing here?”
Rage twists at the same time as I do to see a dark blonde-haired woman standing there. Her hair is piled on top of her head in a sloppy knot that she somehow makes look good.
It takes me less than a second to realise she was the woman holding the baby when we walked through the room—the baby that is no longer in her arms.
I don’t know who she is, but her words clearly agitate Rage.
“Ain’t fuck all to do with you,” Rage growls at her, his eyes blazing.
I squeeze his hand, trying to calm him. I don’t think he’ll attack her—he doesn’t strike me as the kind of man who would take a hand to a woman—but that doesn’t mean I let my guard down. She’s poking a hornet’s nest, and she has no idea how much danger she’s getting herself into.
“Isn’t it?” She glares at me as if I’m scum, giving a slow look up and down my body. I resist the urge to cover myself. The leggings I’m wearing were given to me by the club, and the sweater I’ve pulled on is two sizes too big, but I like it because it’s comfortable. I don’t look put together, with my face free of makeup and my hair loose around my shoulders.
“No,” Rage snarls, “it ain’t.”
The woman’s eyes flash anger, and I see the danger she possesses. I’ll need to watch my back with her for sure.
“This bitch’s family killed my old man and Mara, not to mention a whole list of others.”
My stomach twists into a knot at her words. I know what my father did—Rage told me—but it doesn’t hurt any less hearing it again. The pain is still just as raw.
But I didn’t do anything wrong, and I refuse to blame myself for the actions of others. My father is a piece of shit, and I knew that before he locked me away, but it doesn’t change anything. I’m not him.
