Haunt (Bayonet Scars #6)

“You come into my clubhouse after fourteen years and throw me attitude about shit you know nothing about, and I let it go.” I try to keep my voice level, but it’s no use. Everything in me feels like it’s exploding all at once. Every ounce of love I’ve ever had for this woman is fighting its way to the surface, practically strangling me on its way out. My words are all gravel and broken glass despite the passion behind them. Her brows are knit together, her eyes narrowed, lips parted. She’s ready to fight, but I refuse to spend any more time fighting with this woman.

Three steps and we’re so close that I’m staring down at her with a craned neck just so I can meet her eyes. I reach out, finding purchase on her hip. She jerks back quickly but still not fast enough. This is our dance. We know the others’ moves so well that it’s become second nature. With my other hand, I pull her flush against me. She stops pulling back and glares up at me with annoyed green eyes that betray her. She likes this. She missed it. I can see it in the way her eyes lift in the corners as she smiles softly.

“Look at me,” I say even though her eyes were already on mine.

“I am,” she defends.

“No, you’re not. I’m clean. Tell me the last time you’ve seen me straight.” It takes a moment, but then she gets it. Her face softens, and a sad smile graces the most gorgeous fucking lips I’ve ever seen. “I’m not that man anymore. A couple of years ago you laid that same shit on me you did the other day, and I ran like a fucking coward. Two years before that, five before that. Who knows how many times I’ve run the other fucking direction because I couldn’t handle the thought of fucking things up with you again.”

My chest heaves with the weight of my confession. I’ve spent three days thinking about this—about her, about him—and figuring out what I was going to say when the time came. I thought I’d have a few more days, but here it is. Amber’s got to know that I’m in this and I’m clear headed and I can be the man both she and our son need.

Searching her eyes, I try to find some indication that she gets me. That she believes me. I need her to trust in me again. Amber’s eyes fall closed for a moment before she opens them again and looks up at me with a fear I haven’t seen since we stared at that pregnancy test that told us our entire world was changing. There’s so much I want to say, but I can’t find my voice.

With slow movements, she reaches up and places her hands on my chest, trailing them up to my shoulders. She reaches up to my neck, and just like a dance we’ve performed a thousand times, I know what this means. I wrap my hands around the backs of her legs and lift her up. She’s still so light in my arms compared to the enormity of her presence in my life. With her legs wrapped around my hips, she presses herself against me as tight as she can and leans in so close that our noses touch.

“You can’t hurt him.” It’s a plea on the tail end of a whisper. “He’s so much like you, all big mouth and attitude, but inside, he’s just a little boy who’s scared his dad won’t love him.”

A tear falls from her eyes. She pulls the others back quickly, but it’s enough. I don’t ruin the moment by telling her that he sounds like his momma, even though he does. God, I bet he’s fucking beautiful. I’ve spent hours thinking about what he looks like. I hope I see some of me in him. I just want to know what that looks like. Before he was even born I used to wish for him to be a certain way. I wanted him to be tall and have his mother’s nose. I wanted so much for him. But now, I don’t even have to wish because whatever he looks like, however he talks . . . none of it matters. He’s perfect. I already know it because he’s ours.

He’s mine.

“Tell me more,” I say.

“He was born on time. Only time in his life he’s not been late.” Her eyes are closed and she’s smiling. She’s fucking smiling. It shatters me.

“His first word was something close to damn. My fault. He never got sick, still doesn’t, even though he’d spend hours playing out in the cold. He doesn’t have a lot of friends at school. His mouth pisses a lot of kids off, but it doesn’t seem to bother him. Girls are a problem. I’ve been doing more target practice since he had his growth spurt. Unfortunately, the kid loves guns. He’s addicted to video games and pepperoni pizza. His full name is Zander Wyatt Strand, and he’s the most infuriating, lovable boy on the planet.”

She named him after me.

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