“That isn’t your call, dickhead.”
“Are you through?”
“Yeah, so fuck you.”
“Wait, goddamn it!”
“What now?” she asked irritably.
Diesel glanced over his shoulder. Jana remained asleep. At some point, Sue and Amy left the room, though their excited voices traveled through a doorway. “Give me an hour, sweetheart,” he said. “I’ll come back to the hospital. Let Ax know.”
“Really?” Rebel breathed, her anger dissolving.
“You’re such a fucking brat.”
She giggled. “Stop in and tell me goodnight.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
March 4th
Pretty girl, things so fucked up between us, but I want you to know how fucking much I love you. I want what you want. One reason we was decent parents wasbecause we was good spouses. We worked shit out. Talked like reasonable adults. We never let the kids come between us.
You want another baby? I want us to have it. But I want US back solid again. I want YOU happy again. A baby won’t do that, Bailey. We got to fix us before we have it.
You and the kids you gave me my fucking world. Walking out was the hardest thing I ever did. I just don’t know how to get through to you.
You my everything, pretty girl. I live to make you happy and to hear your voice. To see your smile. Don’t give up on us. Help me to help us. Help me to help YOU before another baby enter the picture.
I love you, and I always have.
Sitting in the diner where he and Bailey had their last date, Mortician pretended not to notice Symphony, sashaying from table to table, tits bouncing and locs swinging. She was fucking hard to ignore with the signals she’d been throwing his way. Ones that his goddamn brain rejected, but his cock accepted and even fucking encouraged. Ironic that Outlaw got in trouble with Meggie because of Torie, and Mort hadn’t fathomedhowthat happened.
There’d been something inside of him thatjudged. How could a motherfucker so in love with his woman find himself inother womandrama?
Watching Symphony allowed him to truly understand.
Sometimes, though, Outlaw had fucking blinders on where his woman was concerned. As for Meggie—as unfair as it was—she needed to find it in herself to stand down and ignore the dumb shit as she had for so many years. It was theonlyway to get Prez back on track.
Mort would let her work through her emotions, understand her own feelings, and then talk to her. It was how she’d trained herself anyway. Or how Prez had unwittingly trained her.
He’d blow up. She’d get madder than a motherfucker or hurt to her core, look deep inside herself, come to grips, then reason with her husband with both logic and gentleness. Mort just had to point to some of their most infamous arguments as proof.
He scowled. Maybe, he was being unfair to Prez. He hadn’t trained Meggie girl. Fucking Dinah had.
Not that it mattered. Meggie had to play her role. Once Prez had all his ice-cold logic back, then she could become Mrs. Outlaw and not care who got fucked up. His plan of action to help Meggie and Outlaw firmly in place, lifted a weight off Mort’s shoulders. If only he could find such a simple solution to his own marriage.
His smile, along with his momentary peace, slipped away.
Setting his beer down, Mortician beckoned Symphony over. She was at his side in a heartbeat.
“You summoned me, sir,” she said saucily, sniffing out his existential crisis and seizing on it.
His defenses were down. He was heartbroken over the possibility of losing his wife, even thoughhe’ddecided to move to the club. In the six days since he’d left the house, she hadn’t contacted him once.
After getting to his lonely ass room at the fucking club, he’d thought about his fault in the state of their marriage, grabbed his phone and texted his wife. His emotions were still running high, so he hadn’t sufficiently expressed everything he’d been feeling. Fuck, most of what he’d been feeling.
Maybe that’s why she hadn’t responded. He’d just rehashed everything they’d already discussed. Yesterday, he’d gotten the bright idea to send dozens of red roses to her office. Thosemotherfuckers had cost him a fucking mint, and she hadn’t even sent him a goddamn smoke signal.
