Damn Wright (The Wrights 2)

Somehow, returning those papers made it seem like he was okay with the divorce. He knew she deserved to be set free. In the deepest part of him, he was happy she’d moved on, done all she was meant to do, become all she was meant to be. He just couldn’t bring himself to say he’d made peace with letting her go.

She’d waited four years before finally filing the papers without his signature. She could have been divorced in six months if she’d just gone ahead and filed on her own. During those years, he’d clung to the glimmer of hope that they could make a new start once he’d fully recovered. After what he’d put her through, he didn’t dare ask for her forgiveness until he was sure he could be all he’d promised. She deserved nothing less.

But he’d waited too long.

He’d spent the years since drowning in self-loathing and trying to come to terms with the fact that it had all turned out for the best. At least for Emma. And that was all that mattered to Dylan.

But hearing she frequented his sister’s bar made him wonder if she still thought of him. If by being close to Gypsy, she somehow felt closer to Dylan. Then he remembered that fucking engagement ring and her bright smile.

“She asks about you now and then,” Gypsy said.

A fist gripped his gut. “She does?”

“Yeah.”

That unfailing flicker of hope returned. “What did you tell her?”

“What could I tell her? I keep track of you the same way she does—on the news.”

His head whipped toward Gypsy. “She keeps track of me?”

Gypsy met his gaze and held it a long beat. “Sounds like you two might still have a soft spot for each other.”

Excitement buzzed across his nerve endings, but Dylan tamped it down. “It’s more likely she wants to take a hit out on me.”

They passed through the city, the suburbs, and into the country on the outskirts of Nashville, where Gypsy turned onto a private road. The headlights splashed across an ornate entry gate with a patriotic theme before following a gravel path up a short rise. The shadows of a homestead stretched out in an area that appeared to be a mix of meadow and forest. Three mobile homes and one metal home were carefully placed on the property, giving everyone a modicum of privacy.

Dylan was relieved to turn his mind in another direction. “This is a sweet setup.”

“I love it here. Miranda built this home for Cooper and me. Wait till you see it. But we can do that tomorrow. I know you’re tired.”

She parked in front of a rectangular metal home with a sleek design and extensive porch complete with a swing. As soon as the car stopped moving, Cooper started fussing.

“Would you mind if I chill on the porch with Cooper for a while?” Dylan asked. “I think he’ll help me relax.”

Gypsy shut the Jeep down and smiled at Dylan. “Be my guest. I’ve got some work to do. He loves the swing.” She reached over and squeezed his arm. “It’s good to have you home.”

Dylan had to wait for Gypsy to extricate Cooper from the car seat, then he took the baby into his arms. The sweet, light, warm weight of the baby against Dylan’s chest lowered his anxiety down a few notches.

He settled on the swing, and Gypsy brought out an extra blanket and a warm bottle.

“Sure you’re good?” she asked.

“I’ve put my share of babies to bed.”

“Huh. There’s a story there.”

“Maybe for another time.”

Cooper sputtered a raspberry and cooed.

“Okay.” Gypsy turned for the house. “Yell if you need me.”

When Gypsy disappeared inside, the night closed in around Dylan. So dark and cool. So quiet. But this was a good quiet, one filled with rustling leaves and singing cicadas.

The silence was both nerve-racking and soothing.

Dylan blew out a breath and focused on slowing his darting mind. Cradling Cooper in one arm, he spoke quietly to the boy and tried like hell to enjoy the moment. But there was no way to keep from worrying about Amir’s family. It didn’t take long for the memories to flood in, trying to drown Dylan.