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A coldness rips through me, thinking of what could have happened if I hadn’t found her in time. I wanted to kill that asshole. I feel the heat of the fury that was coursing through my veins, the wave of crushing adrenaline that would have helped me destroy him. I would have too, if she hadn’t stopped me, calling out to me with her soft, pleading voice.
I love the sound of that voice. I hear it now, as she asks me, “How on earth did you find me?”
“A story for another time,” I say. Not a great time to admit to her I stuck a tracker on her shoe that night on the street. She might jump out of this moving car right now. “How on earth did you end up trapped in a warehouse with that asshole?”
“A story for another time?” Her eyes plead with me. She really doesn’t want to get into it right now.
I try not to look at the bruises on her arms, not wanting to make her any more uncomfortable. The girl’s been through enough for one day. She can spill her guts later. “Deal.”
“Thanks.” She gives a shuddering sigh of relief.
“So, what’s your name?” I ask.
She offers me a shy smile. “Rhett.”
“Beckett. Nice to finally put a name to the face.”
And those soft, sweet lips…
“Our names end in two t’s. We’re the Double T’s. Kind of funny, right?” She looks down, shaking her head, her hair hiding her face. “Never mind. It’s silly.”
“No, it’s cool. You’re right. I mean, it’s pretty unique. How many names out there end with two t’s?”
There’s a smile in her voice. “Maybe fate brought us together.”
“Yeah. Maybe.”
“Let’s see.” Her pretty face turns upward with a smile. Her teeth sink into her bottom lip as she thinks. “Hmm…”
God, those lips.
“Yeah. Let’s see.” Eyes on the road, cowboy. I think of the endless list of baby names Ashely’s been texting me day in and day out. I think of one of her favorites. “Scarlett?”
“Oh, I like that one. It’s pretty. What about… Wyatt! Abbott… Bennett—that one’s kinda like yours.”
A list of boy’s names from A’s list comes to me. “Elliott, Everett, Prescott.”
“Wow!” As she laughs, the bubbly sound relaxes me. I ease further back into the plushy leather seat of my Porsche. “You’re good at this.”
I can’t hide the pride in my voice. “My sister’s pregnant. She’s been texting me about a hundred baby names a day since the moment she peed on that stick.”
“How exciting! Is this your first time becoming an uncle?”
“Yeah. It’s just me and my sister and this is her first. I can’t fucking wait to be an uncle. Little League, camping, cars. All that good stuff.”
“You’ve got a couple years before you get to Little League. You got to get through the baby years first. Diapers, sleepless nights. The best way to help her in the beginning is just hold that baby and rock it so she can get some sleep.” She sighs, settling back into her seat. Her gaze travels toward the window like she’s going somewhere far away. “Trust me. She’s going to be valuing her sleep.”
“You sound like you know a lot about babies.” She’s young. Tiny. I just saved her from a warehouse. No way she can be a mother, right? “You got a lot of siblings?”
“No. Um…” She looks down at her lap again, hiding that beautiful face behind the curtain of her dark hair. “I was in and out of foster care a lot growing up. My mom died when I was born. My dad kinda sunk into a depression. He cared for me when he could, but sometimes, he couldn’t. There were always lots of babies around. I helped out where I could.”
Damn. As hard as A and I had it growing up, I’d take our situation over living with strangers any day. “Foster care. That sounds tough.”
She shakes her head. “Nah. I had a pretty positive experience. Better than most, I guess. And it wasn’t all bad ’cause I got to be with my dad some too. Some of the other kids never saw their parents.”
She’s always looking at the positive. I like this about her. And as a child, helping out where she could? That shows her strength. I mean, here she is with bruises on her arms, and she’s chilling, laughing, chatting like she didn’t just survive a kidnapping.
A pain shoots through my shoulder, reminding me I’m doing the same. Chilling, laughing, chatting when I’ve just survived a shooting and gotten my ass half-kicked in a fistfight. We seem to have a little bit in common.
