Spring Romance: NINE Happily Ever Afters

by Tessa Bailey

  He chuckled. “I fell for Emmy the first night I met her. Time doesn’t matter.”

  Nick and Emmeline had married the first night they’d met. Things had been rocky for them, but they’d found their way back together.

  “I’m happy for you. Want a piece of free advice from your older, wiser and more handsome brother?”

  I grinned. “Sure.”

  “Now that you’ve found her, don’t let her go.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Bryce

  I clicked save on my story and uploaded the final version to the drive where Dad would pull it into the layout for tomorrow’s paper. He’d already staged the photos and formatted the headline. Now all he’d have to do was input the text.

  I’d waited to finalize the details until the very last minute, hoping Dash or Emmett would find more to include. But in the past five days, nothing new had come to light about the man who’d broken into the Tin Gypsy clubhouse and stolen Draven’s knife. The man who was likely responsible for Amina Daylee’s death.

  Draven had found his original knife—the one with the cherry handle. It had been in his home, as he’d expected, tucked away safely in a bag of hunting gear.

  The picture Emmett had printed from the surveillance cameras would be on Sunday’s front page, along with speculation about the murder weapon’s theft. Our newspaper was all about printing the facts, so my personal conjecture had been pushed to the wayside. But there were hints between those facts, enough to plant seeds of doubt. Add to that my exclusive interview with Draven Slater and his confession of a secret daughter, this plan might just work.

  Now all I had to do was pray that when Genevieve came to Clifton Forge tomorrow, she didn’t read my article before I could tell her about Draven. I could call her and ask her not to pick up a local paper—I doubted she would anyway. But if she was anything like me, that call would only make her curious. I was hedging my bet that she didn’t care about the latest Clifton Forge Tribune.

  “It’s all yours.” I spun in my chair to face Dad, who was seated at his desk.

  “Thanks.” He smiled. “I’ll put it in after lunch. Did you give Marcus a heads-up?”

  “No. He can read it with everyone else.”

  “Oh.” His eyebrows came together. “Uh, okay.”

  “What? Do you think it’s a mistake?”

  “I think a lot has changed in the last month. You were on Chief Wagner’s team not long ago, wanting to be in his good graces. And now”—he pointed to the computer—“the story you drafted is not the one I expected.”

  “No, it’s not.” It wasn’t the one I’d expected to write either. “But this is the right story to tell. Draven didn’t kill Amina Daylee. The real killer is out there, and if that means lighting a fire under the chief’s ass to get him to dig deeper, then that’s what I need to do.”

  “Still might be worth giving him a heads-up. Tip your hat. You don’t want to ruin that relationship, Bryce.”

  I sighed. “I don’t think he’ll like me much after this anyway.”

  No amount of licorice would make him trust me once this story came out.

  “One phone call will smooth things over,” Dad suggested. “Just make him feel like you haven’t completely switched teams.”

  “Why don’t you call him? It might be better coming from you.” Because the truth was, I had switched teams. My loyalty wasn’t to Marcus Wagner anymore. June had come and gone. The July weather had engulfed Clifton Forge in sunshine and heat. And as the calendar had ticked by, my priorities had changed.

  I’d fallen in love with the man I’d once hoped to expose as a criminal.

  Technically, he was a criminal—or a former criminal. Mostly, he was mine. Flawed and mine.

  “Do you need anything else from me?” I yawned. “If not, I’m going to head home.”

  “Still tired?”

  “Yeah.” I gave Dad a weak smile. “It’s been a long week. I’m out of energy.”

  “You need a nap. Get some rest. Would you like to come over for dinner tonight? I’m sure your mom would love to cook for you.”

  It had been weeks since I’d gone over to Mom and Dad’s house. Mom had been begging me constantly for a visit and had apparently enlisted Dad to help too. “No plans. I’d love to. I’ll call Mom and ask what I can bring.”

  The door into the bullpen pushed open. “Hey, you two.”

  “Speak of the devil.” Dad stood from his chair, meeting Mom in the middle of the room for a kiss.

  “Hi, Mom.” I waved but didn’t get up from my chair. “You look pretty today.”

  “Thanks.” Her hair was the same rich brown as mine but carried a few gray streaks. Mom refused to get them covered up anymore because on one of their trips to Seattle, a waiter had accused us of being sisters. Where most women would have been flattered, doubling the young man’s tip, she’d taken offense. She’d corrected him gently, informing him of our relationship. She’d told him that being my mother was the greatest source of pride in her life.

  Like Dad always said, it was easy to love Tessa Ryan.

  Mom came over and bent low to give me a hug while I stayed in my chair, then she sat on the edge of my desk. “Want to come over for dinner tonight?”

  I laughed. “Dad just asked me the same question. And yes. I’d love to. What would you like me to bring?”

  “Oh, nothing. I’ll take care of it. In fact, I have extra if you want to bring the boyfriend along.”

  The boyfriend. Was Dash my boyfriend? He’d probably cringe at the term. Much too juvenile for someone like him. It wasn’t edgy enough. What was the MC terminology? Was he my man? Or old man? If—and that was a big if, considering his commitment phobia—we got married one day, would that make me his old lady?

  I cringed. If he ever called me his old lady, I’d deny him sex for a month.

  “I’ve been missing you guys,” I said. “Ryans only tonight. I’ll invite Dash next time.”

  “Fine.” Mom pouted. “But I expect to meet him sooner than later.”

  “You will.” Assuming we were at the point where we introduced each other to our families. We were, right?

  Dash and I needed to continue the conversation we’d started in the clubhouse. Our relationship needed some definition, but neither of us had brought it up over the past five days. I was too nervous to ask. And I suspected Dash was in uncharted waters.

  Covering another yawn, I collected my things from my desk and shoved them into my tote. “So, six tonight?”

  Mom nodded. “Are you feeling all right?”

  “Just tired.”

  She leaned forward, taking my cheeks in her hands, then pressed her palm to my forehead. She’d been testing my temperature that way since I was a toddler. I closed my eyes and smiled. No matter my age, she was always Mom, there to comfort and care. “You don’t have a temperature.”

  “I’m not sick,” I promised. “It’s been one of those weeks. I’m drained.”

  “Ahh. I used to get tired when it was that week of the month too. I don’t miss the tampons but”—she fanned her face—“these hot flashes every ten damn minutes are a pain in the ass.”

  I giggled. “I’m not on my per—”

  My heart dropped. When was the last time I had my period?

  Mom said something else, but my mind was whirling, counting the weeks of June and calculating when I’d last bought tampons at the grocery store. The last time I could remember had been sometime in May. I remembered because we’d gotten a heavy and wet spring snow. I’d gotten all weepy and hormonal because a bunch of trees in town had begun to bloom but the weight of the snow had broken their branches.

  Oh. Fuck. I shot out of my chair, grabbing my purse.

  “What’s wrong?” Mom asked.

  “Nothing,” I lied, not making eye contact with her or Dad. “I just realized I need to run a quick errand and want to make sure I get there before they close. See you guys at dinner.”

  Without another wor
d, I left the newspaper, driving immediately to the grocery store.

  I bought things I didn’t need—toothpicks, limes, Cheez Whiz—filling my basket as I passed the entrance to the feminine products aisle over and over. Each time, I’d stared down the shelves only to chicken out and walk away. Finally, after grabbing a gallon of orange juice, my basket was getting heavy and my purpose for this trip couldn’t be avoided any longer.

  I sucked in a deep breath and marched down the aisle. When I got to the pregnancy tests, I quickly scanned for brands I recognized and shoved three different types into my basket. Then I practically ran to checkout, hoping no one spotted me.

  The cashier made no comment as she scanned my items, thank God, and when all my things were safely hidden in paper bags, I hefted them to my car and drove home.

  The sinking feeling in my stomach was unbearable. The anxiety, crushing. Was I pregnant? I’d been in such a rush to buy the tests, I hadn’t really thought of what would happen after I took them. But as my house, and toilet, drew nearer, a panicked chill settled into my bones.

  A month ago, the idea of being pregnant would have sent me into joyful hysterics. But now? If I had a baby, would I lose Dash? Was I enough to raise a child on my own? Would I be heartbroken if the tests were negative?

  Three positive pregnancy tests later, I didn’t have to worry about that last question.

  * * *

  “Hey, babe.” Dash walked through my front door without knocking.

  I was in the kitchen, sitting at the island, staring blankly at the striations and granules in my gray granite counter. I’d canceled dinner with my parents and texted Dash to come over. “Hey.”

  “Got some news.” He took the stool by my side, leaning over to kiss my temple. “Dad met with Tucker today.”

  “Yeah?” I faked some excitement about the meeting with the Warriors’ president. “What did he say?”

  “Dad says Tucker swears it wasn’t the Warriors. He took a look at the photo and get this.” Dash leaned to the side to fish out his wallet. Then he slipped out a copy of the photo Emmett had printed from the surveillance video, flattening it on the counter.

  I leaned in close. “What am I looking at?”

  “See this right here?” He pointed to the stitched Warriors logo on the man’s cut. “See at the bottom of the arrowhead, where it flares?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Tucker said they changed the patch a few years ago, cleaned up some of the edges and got rid of that flare. Everyone in the club got new cuts.”

  “Did they confiscate the old ones?”

  “Nope. Which means whoever has an old cut has been a Warrior for a while. And that confirms it wasn’t one of the former Gypsies who joined them this past year.”

  So a Warrior was trying to restart an old war. “Can we get a list of names?”

  “Not from Tucker. He’ll never give up his men. But Dad is going to start putting names on paper. He’s with Emmett and Leo at the garage, doing it now. Told them I’d be over soon. Thought you might want to come along.”

  “No, thanks.” I wasn’t feeling up to a trip to the garage. And I had a feeling after I told Dash I was pregnant, he wouldn’t want me along either.

  “You sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “And, um . . . Genevieve?” He struggled to say her name. Dash hadn’t thawed to the notion of his sister.

  “Her flight gets in late tonight. She’s staying in Bozeman and will drive over tomorrow. She thinks she’ll be in town midmorning. She promised to call and I’ll go meet her at the cemetery.”

  “Call me when she leaves. Tell me how she takes it.”

  “I will.”

  I didn’t have a clue how I was going to tell Genevieve that she was Draven’s daughter. And as if that weren’t hard enough, I was also going to try and convince her that he hadn’t killed her mother. That fledgling friendship we’d forged over chocolate chip cookies was guaranteed a crushing.

  Dash stood and went to the cupboards for a glass, filling it with water from the fridge. He was itching to get to the garage.

  “So, before you go . . .” God, how did I say this? I busied my hands by folding up the photo and reaching for his wallet to put it away. I opened the bifold, ready to stuff it inside, but another folded page caught my attention.

  I lifted it out, recognizing a black and white photo. The trophy case behind the kids was familiar. It had been the backdrop for numerous pictures in the Clifton Forge High yearbooks.

  “What is this?”

  Dash lowered the water glass from his lips and closed his eyes. “I, uh . . . shit.”

  Unfolding the page, I scanned the photos, only seeing school photos with no one recognizable. But I turned it over and spotted Amina’s youthful face. She stood smiling with another girl.

  It was the younger version of a face I’d seen in an obituary.

  Chrissy Slater.

  “Dash. What’s this?”

  He had the decency to look guilty. “A page I found at the high school when we were looking at yearbooks.”

  “You found this and never showed me.” I fought the urge to crumple the photo into a ball and throw it at his face.

  “I was going to. Swear. But then it didn’t seem that important after you learned Mom and Amina were friends.”

  “It didn’t seem important?” I gaped at him, sliding off my stool. “You promised that you’d tell me everything. You pretended not to know your mom and Amina were friends. I asked you, straight up, if you knew and you lied to me. What else have you lied about?”

  “Nothing.”

  “I trusted you. How could you do this to me? After everything? I trusted you.” Against my better judgment, I’d believed Dash. I’d believed in him.

  “Bryce, come on.” Dash took a step toward me. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

  “No. It is a big deal.” I backed away. “Is this why you called the cops that day? So I wouldn’t find out you tore the page from the yearbook?”

  “Yes. And I’m sorry. But we were in a different place then. We weren’t together.”

  “No, we were only fucking, right? I was just another woman to use until you had your fill. Do you still feel like that?”

  His jaw clenched as it tightened. “You know I don’t.”

  I closed my eyes, fighting the urge to cry. How could I trust him? After all our time together, he could have told me, but he’d kept the secret.

  It was a nothing secret too. Nothing. Something so small that, by keeping it from me, he’d actually made it worse. Bigger than it had to be.

  Or maybe I was blowing this out of proportion. Maybe this pregnancy was making me overthink everything. How were we ever going to be together if he didn’t confide in me? How were we going to have a child?

  He crossed the distance between us. “Baby, you’re overreacting.”

  “Maybe I am,” I whispered. “But something about this feels . . . off. Like we have a fundamental problem here.”

  “A fundamental problem? It’s a goddamn picture. Yeah, I should have told you, but it stopped being important.”

  “You promised no secrets. You wouldn’t hide anything from me. Otherwise I’d write it all.”

  “Wait.” His eyes narrowed. “Is that what this is about? Your story?”

  My story? What was he talking about? “Huh?”

  “It is, isn’t it? Fuck. I’m so fucking stupid. I actually thought we had something here. But you’ve just been playing me from the start. Waiting until I did something that would justify you writing the tell-all you’ve been dying to write.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “You’ve already got it written, haven’t you?” He pointed to my laptop still in the tote on the counter. “It’s all done, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, I wrote it,” I admitted. “In case you betrayed me. But it was only for backup. I’m not going to print it.”

  “How do I know that?”

  I threw up my ha
nds. “Because I’m telling you this isn’t about the story. And I haven’t made it a habit of lying to you.”

  “It’s always been the story. From the beginning. And I was stupid enough to think you didn’t want it anymore because you wanted me instead.”

  “I do want—wait. How am I now the villain? You’re the one who held something back. You’re the one who lied about that stupid picture.” Why did I feel guilty?

  “That picture means nothing. We both know that. You have a story written that could ruin the lives of people I love. Not an apples-to-apples deal here, babe.”

  I opened my mouth to argue but closed it shut. My shoulders fell, weighed down by a hopelessness that might topple me to the floor.

  “It’s not about the photo or the story,” I whispered. “We don’t trust each other. How can this work if we don’t trust each other?”

  Dash’s anger evaporated and he shook his head. “Hell if I know. When you figure it out, do me a favor and clue me in. Because right now, it’s looking to me like this is over before it really got started. I’m gonna take off.”

  He swiped up his wallet, shoving it into his jeans. And then without another word, he stalked out of the kitchen.

  “Wait.” While we were dealing with the heavy stuff, I had to add on one more thing. He deserved to know before he walked out the door. “I have to tell you something.”

  Dash turned, putting his hands on his hips. “Can it wait?”

  “No.” I swallowed the burn in my throat. Tell him. “I’m pregnant.”

  A terrifying silence filled the room. Seconds ticked by like hours. A minute felt like a day. Dash stood so still, it looked like he wasn’t even breathing.

  It was how I knew he’d heard me.

  My heart thudded, painfully so, as I waited and waited and waited. Until finally, he blinked, shaking his head just slightly. “Not possible. I always use a condom.”

  His precious condoms.

  “One of them didn’t work.”

  It was hard to tell when, but the timing suggested it was soon after we got together. Maybe on the Mustang. But guessing was futile. Other than our two-week hiatus after Draven had threatened me, Dash and I had been having sex constantly.