“You okay?” She mouthed the question, fearing Frank was still in earshot.
“Fuck,” he muttered. “There’s just so much shit. Every day there’s more and—fuck.”
Pushing away from the door, Preacher reclaimed his seat beside her in bed. Holding his arm out, he gestured for her. Scooting over, Debbie tucked herself against his side.
“Sometimes I think I shoulda never gone to Four Points.” Preacher’s words were calmly spoken, though his heart pounded furiously beneath Debbie’s cheek. “Sometimes I wish I’d just put you on the back of my bike and… and just gone wherever the wind took us.”
“We could have joined the circus,” Debbie said.
Preacher snorted. “Yeah? What would I do in the damn circus?”
“Lion tamer?” she suggested. “Tightrope walker?”
Laughing, Preacher pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “What about you? What would you do in the circus?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t work in the circus, I would work the circus. Imagine all the wallets.” Grinning, Debbie glanced up, expecting to find Preacher laughing. Instead, he looked thoughtful.
“Wheels?”
“Yeah?”
“Marry me.”
Debbie froze. “What?”
Preacher dropped his chin, bringing them nose to nose. “Marry me,” he repeated.
She blinked several times, then shook her head. “What?”
Preacher’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “You heard me.”
“Yeah, I heard you,” Debbie breathed. “I just—are you serious?”
“Am I serious?” he laughed. “Of course I’m serious. I wanna do this right, you know? You and me and—” Preacher paused to glance at their daughter. “And Eva.”
He gave Debbie a lopsided grin. “We’re already a family, right? We should make this shit official.”
“I, uh…” Debbie didn’t know what to say. Preacher had caught her entirely off guard—she’d never pegged him for a big proponent of conventional institutions.
“Shit,” Preacher muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Shit. I did this all wrong.”
Untangling from Debbie, Preacher jumped out of bed and dropped down on one knee. Then he gestured for her hand.
In something of a daze, Debbie gave it to him, watching slack-jawed as he pulled her butterfly ring off her index finger and slid it onto her ring finger.
Holding up her hand, she looked at the ring as if she’d never seen it before.
“I promise I’ll get you somethin’ better,” he rushed to say. “A big, fat rock or somethin’. Whatever the fuck you want.” He grinned up at her.
He looked so young, she thought. Happy, too. His eyes were lighter—there was no trace of tension in his expression. Reaching for him, Debbie tucked a handful of loose hair behind his ear.
“Wheels, you gonna say somethin’ or you gonna leave me hangin’ ‘round down here like a goddamn fool?”
She hurried off the bed and into Preacher’s arms. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pressed a kiss to his lips. “Yes,” she whispered and kissed him again.
“What’s that?” he asked. He pulled back to look at her, still grinning.
She shoved at his chest. “Yes, I’ll marry you! Yes, yes, yes!”
He kissed her hard, laughing against her mouth—a deep, happy rumble that vibrated between them.
“I got another really important question.” Preacher broke their kiss. Holding Debbie’s face between his hands, his expression suddenly grave, he searched her eyes.
“Was that shithead doctor serious? Do we really gotta wait that long before havin’ sex again?”
Chapter 31
“What about this one?” Sylvia held up an infant-sized dress—pink, with a white lace bib, and thick white tulle lining the underside.
Earlier this morning Sylvia had phoned Debbie in a panic—she’d been overwrought, desperately needing to prepare for the quickly approaching birth of her second child, claiming she didn’t have nearly enough clothing, or bedding, or toys.
Debbie, having still not mastered the art of talking her way out of something Sylvia had her mind set on, found herself inside Macy’s department store, rifling through racks of overpriced infant clothing.
Debbie eyed the dress skeptically. “You don’t even know if it’s a girl. What if it’s a boy? You’re going to dress him in that?”
Sylvia shrugged. “Who’s gonna know when they’re that young?” She laughed. “Besides, I just got a feeling about this one.”
Tiny pried his eyes away from the blonde he was ogling. “You can’t be puttin’ boys in dresses, Sylvie.”
Scowling at Tiny, Sylvia slammed the dress back on the rack and huffed. “I just want a little girl so bad,” she said. “I can’t very well be doin’ hair and nails with this one!”
They both glanced at Trey—seated in his stroller, he was grabbing fruitlessly at the clothing on the racks. In a covered carriage beside him, Eva lay sleeping soundly.
Debbie reached out and touched Sylvia’s arm. “I know you want a girl, but a little boy is just as good… and you’ll always have Eva. I’m sure she’ll love having an aunt to do hair and nails with.”
Smiling, Sylvia covered Debbie’s hand with her own. She opened her mouth to speak, then frowned. Eyes wide and mouth falling open, she grabbed Debbie’s hand and squealed.
“That’s the ring?” she shouted. “Oh my God, Debbie, it’s huge! Why didn’t you tell me that fool had finally gotten you a ring?”
Embarrassed, Debbie snatched her hand back. “He just gave it to me last night.”
Weeks had passed since Preacher had asked her to marry him, and Debbie had all but forgotten his promise to get her a ring. She’d been shocked when he’d come home from the club early last night and proposed to her all over again.
Shaking her head, Sylvia’s eyes gleamed with envy. “It’s just gorgeous,” she breathed. “How many carats is it? Two? Three?”
Debbie glanced down briefly at the sparkling diamond adorning her ring finger, then at the butterfly ring on her index finger, and shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t ask.”
In truth, she much preferred her own ring—the little silver butterfly that Preacher had proposed with meant more to her than a diamond ever could.
“So when’s the big day?”
Debbie looked up. “What day?”
“You’re wedding, silly! When are you and Preacher planning on gettin’ married?”
Debbie bit down on her lip. “Um…”
“Oh, and you’ve got to let me go dress shopping with you! My aunt owns a boutique in Jersey City—she can get you whatever you’re lookin’ for… What kind of dress are you lookin’ for?”
Debbie only stared at Sylvia.
“Well, it’s gotta be beautiful,” Sylvia continued. “And white. Or, maybe pink? I was reading this magazine the other day and… oh! Speaking of beautiful things, did you see Burt Reynolds on the cover of People? Mm-mm-mm. I don’t know what it is about a man with a mustache. I keep tryin’ to get Joey to grow one.”
“What kinda mustache we talkin’ ‘bout here?”