My goddamn rebellious streak.
Meeting up with older guys in North Charleston, Summerville, and even farther out in the boonies. I had a sweet ride back then—and not just the supercharged cars, either.
Money, money, money.
I was always good for a fast race and a hefty bet. And I always won.
I was simply known as Rush. High speeds. Late nights. Lotsa laughs.
I raced my way to the top during the spontaneous Friday night runs so fucking different from the usual Friday Night Lights at the football fields.
Pure octane. Until the drugs. Then it became about a different kind of speed, and smack plus upwards of 100 mph in ripped cars inevitably equaled a dangerous combo that ended in an explosive head-on collision.
Both drivers died on impact, and when the cops converged I probably could’ve done a runner like Diablo, but it was time to grow up.
Man up.
Pay my dues.
But I couldn’t get over how my folks had paid me off then written me off . . .
A week after Diablo’s ultimatum I was still spinning wheels in my head. And here I was, tanking a pool game against Tail, and he didn’t even razz me about my loser-fail probably because I’d been scowling all friggin’ night long.
None of that mattered when Ashe bolted inside Retribution, bawling her eyes out, her hands wrapped around her big baby belly, her MPPD badge still hanging from her waist.
We all stood, slack-jawed, watching as she fled down the hall before shutting herself inside the office.
“APB Brodie now.” Hunter—on the Vice squad with Ashe—advised.
About five minutes later, Brodie rushed inside. “Where is she? Is she okay? Is it the baby?”
“Dunno . . .” I cornered him. “She’s locked herself in the office. Don’t think it’s the baby. Did you do something stupid? Like not fucking marry her yet?”
“What?” Brodie dashed down the hall. “Gave her a ring, didn’t I? And I adopted Cara because of love.” He rattled the doorknob. “Fuck.”
I handed him the keys before he just plain busted the door down. “You gonna make it right with her?”
He keyed open the lock. “Yeah. Of course, man. You stay here and keep watch against nosy fucks.” Cracking the door, he peered back at me. “Think she might take her baton to me?”
“’Fraid so.” ’Cause someone sure as hell needed to knock some sense into the man.
Boomer had talked to Brodie. Tucker and Cat had too. Had never thought the idiot would be commitment-phobic, not after how hard he’d fought for Ashe’s love, not to mention her life.
“Shit,” he uttered before slipping into the room.
I took up my station, peeking inside.
Brodie made a beeline toward Ashe, who lay sideways on the couch, cradling her stomach—the mound that grew bigger every day.
“Ashe?” His face whiter than I’d ever seen it, Brodie cautiously approached his woman. “What’s wrong, babe? Are you okay?”
“I’m f-f-f-ine. The baby’s fine. I just want to get m-m-m-married!”
Done told him so.
That was my cue to clear completely out of the vicinity, but Brodie saw me shutting the door and frantically shook his head at me as he kneeled beside Ashe.
“Ashe, babe, I didn’t know you were that upset . . .” He folded his hands around hers on the fertile hill with their baby inside.
He kissed the highest point, rubbing his face against her.
“I didn’t get to do it right when I had Cara. I was all alone.” Ashe hiccupped. “I just thought this time it would be . . . different.” She wailed.
Climbing onto the couch, Brodie held her, cupping her face, kissing away her tears.
“You’re not alone. I’m right here. I can’t wait to make you mine. We’ll get married tomorrow if want to. Please don’t cry, babe.” He hid her face in his neck. “Don’t cry anymore.”
She kicked up with more pitiful crying. “I don’t want to waddle down the aisle eight months pregnant looking like a cow!”
“You’re gorgeous.”
“I’m fat.”
“I love your baby belly. Your fuckin’ sexy pregnant, and I can’t wait to do it again.”
“Why don’t you want to marry me? Why didn’t you marry me earlier?”
“Aw, shit.” Brodie’s pause was . . . well . . . pregnant. “You got knocked up so quickly—”
“I thought you wanted it!” Her voice rose to a hysterical edge.
I almost felt sorry for Brodie, but the asshole had brought in on himself against all advice, good, bad, or otherwise.
Yup. Not feeling sorry for him at all.
Schmuck.
I shook my head then heard a shuffle of boots at the top of the hallways as Cole, Tail, Tuck, Kinkaid, et al stuck their faces around the corner, shooting me expectant looks.
“Fuck off,” I mouthed.