I fire a third bullet into her, even though she’s already gone.
“That one is just for pissing me off.”
41
Laurel
I make Rafe breakfast instead of having Juanita do it. That’s not too far out of the ordinary, so he doesn’t seem to think much of it as he sits at the island, eating his eggs and bacon, periodically grabbing a sliced strawberry as he scrolls through his phone and prepares to start his day, just like he would any other.
He trusts me, and that makes this so much worse.
Granted, he doesn’t have many reasons not to. It’s not like I’m the kind of asshole he thinks would participate in a betrayal, even if he thinks I am the kind of asshole who will actively lust after his hired muscle.
I am that kind of asshole. I’m exactly that level of asshole. I wish I had Sin here now to remind me why I’m letting this awful thing happen, because every time I think I have my shit together and I can do this, something happens and my dumbass heart grabs the reins, telling me nobly there are other ways, this is wholly unnecessary, and if I could just sit both of these men down and appeal to their senses of reason, I could stop this.
I don’t want to trust Sin to handle it, I want to handle it myself. I know I could get the job done without any blood being spilled, if only these two assholes would cooperate.
Unfortunately, they are not terribly cooperative assholes. They are both pig-headed and they make life hard. Seeing how quickly I got both of them to the point they were willing to kill one another, I don’t know how they worked together in harmony for so long. I know I’m biased, but Sin is just too fucking alpha to work under Rafe, who has a tendency to be a dickhead.
Sin is probably right; Chicago would have been a bad idea.
This is a bad idea too, though.
My idea is best. We all make nice and live the rest of our lives as friends, all of us alive and there for the baby, all being more or less a family. When I look out the window at Rafe’s giant-ass pool, I envision a future where hot dogs are on the grill, Rafe and Sin are shirtless, drinking together on loungers, and I’m in the pool with the baby lounging in a floatie with a sunhat on, dragging his or her little fingers through the water and giving me a toothless grin.
I want that.
We could all be happy with that.
Goddamn their testosterone.
Since that vision appeals to me so much, I excuse myself to the bathroom and sneak out my phone, texting Sin to tell him about my vision. I leave out the part where I made them both shirtless, that’s just for me, but I paint the rest of the picture for him. Surely he can see how perfect that would be.
Apparently not, because he texts back, “For the love of God, Laurel. Enough.”
I scowl at the screen. “It can work! I know it can.”
He does not respond.
My stomach aches when Rafe leaves the house after breakfast, because I don’t know if it will be for the last time. I surprise the hell out of him when I follow him to the foyer like a puppy chasing after its master, then throw my arms around him and hug him forever before I let him leave.
For the first time, my odd behavior finally seems to trigger his suspicion. As he tugs me back, he regards me carefully. My arms are still around his neck, his hands remain on my waist, and even that is suspicious. Normally I wouldn’t linger like this, because I’d be afraid he might try to kiss me or escalate things. Right now I just want to hug him, keep him close, and keep him from walking out that damn door.
“Is everything okay, kitten?” he asks, seriously.
All my insides feel wobbly, but I force myself to nod my head. I can’t summon any words, though. My voice would shake if I tried.
Keeping his voice reassuring, he ducks his head a little, bringing himself down closer to my height. “You can tell me if something is wrong, Laurel. I won’t be mad.”
I shake my head, still unable to muster words to accompany the gesture.
“It’s not too late,” he tells me.
My blood runs cold. What does that mean? He couldn’t know Sin is coming for him, right? There is no way he could know that. Is there? Goddammit, Sin, this keepi
ng me in the dark bullshit is for the birds.
Swallowing down all the feelings lodged in my throat, I ask, “What do you mean by that?”