by J. M. Adele
He dragged a hand through his hair and let his arms fall loose by his side as he stared, exasperated. “You’re still talking about leaving.”
“God!” She pushed her hair off her face before slamming her hands on her hips. “I don’t know, Grey. I have to go where the work is. There are no guarantees here. I made a promise to my mama, and I’m still going to fulfill that whether I’m there or somewhere else. I owe that woman my life.”
“I understand that. I do. I just don’t want to lose you. I signed on for a two-year apprenticeship.” He stabbed a finger towards the ground. “I feel like you’re writing us off before we’ve even begun. I swear to God, Chelsea, if this is because you’re lumping me in with that piece of shit father of yours, I’m gonna get mad. I’m never going to treat you like you don’t mean everything to me.”
She emptied her lungs and sank her teeth into her lip, folding her arms around her middle. “I’m late.”
“Late for what?”
One blonde eyebrow winged up before she flared her eyes.
His jaw loosened and his tongue swiped across dry lips. “You’re late, as in late?” Shoving his hands deep in his pockets, he rocked back on his heels. “Have you done a test?”
“No. Not yet.”
“Is there a drug store around here that’ll be open?”
“I’m not stopping at a drug store on the way home. Ryan and Dee will ask questions. It’s better to do the test in the morning, anyways. I’ll get one tomorrow.”
“They won’t ask if you come home with me.”
“No. I have classes tomorrow and then the dinner shift. All my stuff is at home. If I go to yours, the only change of clothes I have are a pair of stripy socks and the lingerie I bought for Valentines.”
“Don’t forget the blindfold.”
“Yeah, that too.”
“You look amazing wearing all that.”
“For your eyes only, honey.”
“Damn straight.”
She narrowed her eyes, taking in his lascivious smile and the spark of silver in his gaze. He wasn’t scared, or angry. He was … turned on.
“You’re not running away.”
“Nope. Did you think I would?”
“Maybe.”
Tugging on her ponytail, his mouth pinched in annoyance. “Didn’t you hear me when I said I fucking loved you?”
“I heard you.”
“That means I plan to make you my wife and the mother of my children. If it happens sooner than we thought, then we’ll deal with that.”
Her heart stopped dead for a couple of seconds, her hand flying up to clutch at her chest. Oh, God. She wanted that. Wanted him so badly. Maybe he didn’t realize it, but he was offering her the world.
“You’re serious.”
“Deadly.” Gray eyes bored into her.
“I’ve never met anyone like you.”
“Ditto, sweetheart. Ditto.”
Her lips quirked up as the tension left her body. This incredible, sexy, talented, thoughtful man really loved her. He wanted her in his life, always. He kept saying it, but somehow, it refused to sink in. If she turned her back on him because she couldn’t get over the fears she’d held on to since she was a kid, then she didn’t deserve him. She owed them a chance. Chelsea needed to speak to her mama. There was no way she’d be leaving Grey. Especially not if she was pregnant.
How had Grey’s mama gone all this time not knowing who Grey’s biological father was? The burden must’ve been hell to carry.
She grasped the lapels of his leather jacket, pulling him closer. “I never got to meet your mama. What happened?”
“She went home early. She was too angry with Matteo to stay. I guess she thought she could keep it a secret forever. Maybe she doesn’t want to know because she wants Lucca to be my father, and if the results show that it’s Matteo … it would complicate things.” Grey paused, his eyes far away. “Matteo and I sent off our DNA samples. We’re just waiting for the results. I don’t know if Papà knows the secret’s out.”
“Do you think he treated you differently all these years because of it?”
“Maybe. The eldest has more expectations placed on their shoulders. I guess that explains why I didn’t get Nonno’s name.”
“I like your name. Four names. Good Lord, I guess I’m going to have to practice that mouthful. For the future. Way down the track.”
“Not that far away, sweetheart.” He put his palm over her stomach. “And not if my baby is growing in here. I want you to have my name before we have children.”
“Is that a proposal?”
Smiling, he brushed his thumb onto the cushion of her lip, eyes riveted to the movement. “No. When I propose, it will be a moment you’ll never forget.”
Unh. She caught the moan before it escaped, but she could imagine what Grey’s proposal would be like. In her dirty mind, it ended up in a whole lotta naked. Her mouth started to water.
“I’m hungry.”
He coughed out a laugh. “Then let’s get some vomit dogs and go back to your shallow friends.”
“They’re not that bad.”
He took her hand and led her into the milling crowd. “The hotdogs, or your friends? If she bumps my thigh one more time, I’m gonna spill my drink on her so she has to go change into some real shorts.”
“Poor Ryan. Dee doesn’t seem to like him anymore.”
“That’s because he’s in love with you.”
Her eyes flipped up to his. “No, he’s not.”
“He thinks he is. Poor shmuck.”
“Oh? Is it such a torture to love me?”
“Sweet, sweet torture.” He smacked a kiss on her temple and hooked an arm around her shoulders, steering her towards the hotdog vendor.
“Ditto, babe. Ditto.”
_____
Grey spent the night tossing around until the sheets tethered him like a strait jacket. He couldn’t stop obsessing over the possibility that he’d gotten Chelsea pregnant. Finally giving up on sleep, he’d driven around the streets of Allston, just wanting to go back and crawl into bed with her. What if she was pregnant? He’d have to get a place big enough for all of them. There was no way his family wouldn’t live together under one roof. She wouldn’t want to fight him on that. She’d lose.
How had Matteo dealt with being so far away, being outcast, and not knowing if he was a father? Greyson pushed down the anger still simmering at his mother’s revelation. She’d been scared, he understood that. Given the choice between what Lucca offered and the life Matteo was building, a life that had no place for her and a baby, she chose stability and family rather than fame and fortune. Hadn’t Lory made the same choice? Not that Grey had given her a choice.
He rubbed the back of his neck, unease trickling down his spine when he thought about his childhood friend and how oblivious he’d been.
The urban landscape zipped past the windows, a blurry background, as his mind rehashed his morning wake-up call. Or rather, text.
The results have arrived. I’ll expect you shortly.
He didn’t know what result he was hoping for. Before he moved here, he would’ve been rooting for Matteo. But now? Yeah, he didn’t know.
Chelsea had peeled off the emotional filters from his childhood memories, allowing him an unobstructed view of his father for the first time. Greyson was the man he was today because of both his parents ... because of both the good and the horse shit.
Arriving at Matteo’s, he’d stood on the threshold, staring at his keys in his hand, wondering how the fuck he’d gotten there. Then, his uncle had expected him to sit through a meal before they ripped open the truth. That had maniacal laughter bubbling in his throat, ready to spill out his frustration. But he held back, and sat silently through the culinary torture.
The garlic and chili from Matteo’s spaghetti with shrimp still zinged on his tongue, as Greyson rinsed the suds out of the sink after cleaning up. The envelope taunted from its position on the coffee table while Mat
teo stalled for more time.
What the fuck was he waiting for?
Maybe Matteo didn’t want to know, preferring to maintain status quo rather than accept the responsibility. But then why did he bring it up in the first place? It would have remained a secret forever if he kept his silence.
Or maybe he did want to be his father and he was afraid. The chance of an heir to his fortune, erased by the black ink on the page in that envelope.
Greyson poured another glass of wine, a viable companion to his turbulent emotions, and joined Matteo in the living room.
Dangling the test results between his fingers, he watched Grey through sharp eyes. “Before we open this, I want you to know I’m proud of the work you’ve been doing. Albert said he sees me as I was twenty years ago, when he looks at you. I tend to agree. I have big plans for you.”
Grey’s hands itched to snatch the envelope from his uncle before the statement filtered through his impatience, making him pause.
“What plans?”
“After a few years as Butcher Commis, we might promote you to line chef. Eventually, you’ll be the saucier.”
“You want me to wait years to become the saucier? I want to have my own restaurant by then.”
“Why would you want to start from scratch when I’ve already built a reputation that will eventually be yours?”
“Is that what Nonno said to you when you told him you wanted to leave?” Grey flattened his palms on his thighs and shook his head. “Why did you disown your family’s legacy? Because you wanted to build something you could call your own, right? Because you knew you could make something amazing, and stamp your name on it. That’s what I want. Abbiocco is awesome, but it’s yours, not mine.”
“It could be ours.”
“On your terms and your timeline. Not gonna happen. I didn’t come here to hang on your coat tails. I came here to learn my craft, so I could make something of my own. I appreciate the offer, but it’s not what I want.”
Matteo let out a hiss of breath. “That’s disappointing, but I can respect where you’re coming from. We’re a lot alike. I’ve always hoped that you were mine. I wish things could’ve been different.”
He leaned forward, ripping open the letter. Furrows creased his brow as his gray eyes scanned the page, fingers gripping the paper before letting it drop. He pushed off the sofa, and left the room without giving Grey another glance or word.
Grey snatched the letter off the sofa, curling his body over it like it held the key to healing his past. To his surprise, there were results for four sets of DNA. His mother and Lucca had also provided samples. His eyes flicked back and forth, scanning the page for the answer to the twenty-three-year-old mystery.
The alleged father is excluded as the candidate for paternity.
Matteo was only a sixty-five percent match. His papà—ninety-nine point nine percent.
The sheet fluttered to the floor as Grey hung his head, staring at the facts in print. He was the son of a cattle rancher. His pulse thudded as conflicting emotions smudged together into an unrecognizable mess. He’d almost been convinced that his whole life was a lie. That the reason he didn’t fit in on the ranch was because different blood ran in his veins.
But knowing Matteo as he did now, he saw that the brothers weren’t so different. They both had his future mapped out for him, without considering if it was what he wanted. Stubborn bastards. He thought his father was the one who’d gotten the raw deal, being stuck on a ranch, neck deep in cow shit. But his papà had it all. A family who loved him despite his heavy-handed rule. A successful farm, and the love of a good woman. What did Matteo have, really? A big reputation and an empty house. He was chained to the restaurant, a slave to its demands on his attention, and his unwillingness to delegate. Were the financial rewards enough to compensate for what he’d left behind?
He’d bet good money that it wasn’t even fucking close.
_____
The muscles in Grey’s legs burned as he jogged along the streets, shaking off his claustrophobia. He needed an outlet to redirect the nuclear buzz he had going on under his skin, pulling it too tight. He didn’t want to admit it, but after growing up not being able to see where his yard ended, the four walls of his tiny apartment were closing in real fast.
Grey’s phone pinged in his pocket as he unlocked his door. He took it out, scowling at Dane’s number gracing the display.
What the fuck have u done to Chelsea?
Grey’s hand flexed around the phone, nearly crushing it as his gut dropped to his boots.
What’s wrong? Where is she?
She sent a text saying she was sick and couldn’t work. I thought she’d be with u.
Fuck. The baby.
If there even was a baby.
He wanted to have a family with her. Saw it so clearly it was already his reality.
He tossed the phone on the bed and jumped in the shower. As he toweled himself dry, his phone rang. Snatching it up, he checked the number to see if it was Chelsea.
Goddamn it, Dane.
He threw it down again, impatient to get moving. The persistent ring hammered his ears as he tugged on some clothes, and he punched the answer button before he’d gotten both arms in his shirt.
“What?”
“Where is she?”
“I’m going out to find her. For fuck’s sake, stop calling …” He blew out a breath, slipping his arm into the sleeve before pinching the bridge of his nose. “Sorry. I know you’re concerned. I’ll look after her, you don’t have to worry.”
“You’d better, cowboy, or I’m going to do horrible things to you while you sleep. Starting with your eyebrows. I know how to pick a lock.”
“Pfft. Whatever, Dane. I know how to hogtie an animal twice your size. I’ll text you when I find her.”
“Good. I’ll be waiting.”
The guy was a pain in the ass. He did friendship like the mafia did family.
They were damn lucky to have Dane on their side.
_____
The side of his fist throbbed from bashing it on the wood. No one was answering the damn door. Chelsea wasn’t answering the phone either. He was almost tempted to call in Dane’s lock picking abilities, but he shimmied up the drain pipe and onto the porch roof instead. The neighbors probably saw shit like this all the time. He didn’t think he’d be hearing sirens anytime soon. Just in case, he’d spin some bullshit story to set them straight. If they didn’t buy it, he’d swallow jail time. He needed to be sure that Chelsea was all right.
Tiptoeing to the last dormer window, he crouched down, cupping his hands around his face to see through the crack in the curtains. The room was empty. Anxiety twisted his stomach and fucked up scenarios stormed his brain. What if her asshole of a father had found her and screwed with her mind? He tottered on his toes, ready to jump off the roof and chase the sonofabitch down, before he reigned in his thoughts and realized how crazy that sounded. Chelsea could’ve gone to see a doctor.
He pressed an ear to the window, hearing a faint coughing before the sound of water running filtered through the glass. Testing the window, he inched it up and crept inside, his brow creasing at how easy it had been.
The purple comforter was in a heap on the floor and the sheets resembled the messy bed he’d left. Taking off his boots, Grey headed for the bathroom where the noise was coming from. Someone was home.
“Chelsea?”
“Grey?” He barely heard her as she rasped out his name.
She was sick. His instincts had his hand turning the door handle before he thought to ask if it was okay. Curled on the floor in front of the sink, wearing an oversized T-shirt and panties, she presented a ghostly mask, blending into the pale tiles.
“Don’t come near me.” The words strained through raw vocal cords, like she’d been hurling for hours.
“Shit.” He knelt beside her.
She flopped a hand to ward him off, too weak to hold it up. “No. I’ve got both ends playing exorcist, a
nd I don’t want you in the line of fire. Get out,” she gasped, trying to get her breath back.
Her skin burned through her shirt as he scooped her up and took her back to bed before searching for some supplies. This wasn’t morning sickness. If she was pregnant, he hoped to God the baby would be okay. She’d picked up some bug, obviously, and her body was hell bent on getting it out. He’d helped his mama look after his siblings enough to know what to do.
An hour later, he had her sponged down and her temperature under control. She’d managed to keep down a few sips of water, but she shooed him off at every turn, screwing up her nose. The woman was the worst kind of patient. Completely adorable, with a side of pain in the ass.
He left her sleeping and headed to the kitchen to make himself some dinner, skidding to a stop when he found Dakota studying in front of the TV.
“Dakota. How long have you been home?”
Her head popped up, all dewy-eyed. “Not long. I didn’t know you were here. How are you?”
Her sugar-coated facade might have fooled him if he didn’t know better. His truck was parked right outside. If she’d only just arrived, she would’ve seen it.
Folding his arms across his chest, he sent her a pointed look. “Did you see Chelsea this morning?”
“No, she was tossing her cookies in the bathroom so I left her to it.”
“You knew she was sick?” And you didn’t give a shit.
Shrugging, she shifted her book to place it beside her. “Yeah. I thought she was just hung over. Is she still barfing?”
“I had to break in. I found her damn near passed out on the bathroom floor. Why didn’t you call me?”
“I didn’t think she was that bad. Do we need to get her to the doctor?” Getting up off the sofa, she reached for the phone, a picture of concern. “There’s an after-hours clinic not far from here.”
“I’ve got her settled for now. I think she’s over the worst of it.” He narrowed his eyes, assessing Dee as she stood with the phone poised in one hand, constructed integrity shielding something he couldn’t put his finger on. “Thanks.”