Ask Me If I Care

by Vale, Lani Lynn

  Ryan and Hayes hadn’t even said much to each other. It was like they were casual acquaintances instead of family.

  But, as I noticed, there was an obvious divide. Hayes sat next to his dad, and Ryan next to his mom. Hayes’ grandmother hadn’t even acknowledged Ryan either.

  It was a really weird thing that I realized only now meant that they weren’t close at all.

  “So tell me everything that happened,” Ryan said. “I feel like I’m completely out of the loop.”

  He was.

  But Easton didn’t hesitate in telling Ryan about the serial killer and the man that they’d caught.

  “He confessed to killing Abilene,” Easton finished explaining. “But though he’s hinting at the others, he hasn’t downright confessed. Even though we’ve found confirmation in a storage space he rented. He kept a little souvenir every time he killed one. It’ll only be a matter of time before we have him confirmed for every one of the murders.”

  I blinked. “What kind of confirmation?”

  Easton’s eyes turned to me.

  “Every time he dumped a body, he stole the mile marker sign.” He murmured. “We found eleven mile markers, each coinciding with a girl’s murder.”

  “What a fucking dumbass,” Ryan muttered.

  I think that would be the first and last time that Ryan and I agreed on anything.

  Hayes wrapped his arm around me and pressed his lips against my temple.

  “We’re gonna live happily ever after.”

  I blinked and turned, staring straight into Hayes’ gaze.

  “I think that was the single most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.”

  He grinned. “What about when I say ‘I love you?’”

  My heart nearly stopped. I knew he felt it. Just like I felt it.

  But we hadn’t exactly exchanged the words.

  And he wanted to do it now, in the middle of our family dinner, when we were talking about serial killers?

  I grinned and said, “That’s pretty romantic, too. What has gotten into you?”

  He didn’t hesitate to answer. “You.”

  My face flushed.

  “You forgot to reply.”

  I grinned. “Why bother answering when you know my answer?”

  He threw his head back and laughed, and while he was laughing, I whispered my words into his ear.

  “I love you, too.”

  Epilogue

  So apparently I’m dramatic.

  -Ares to Hayes

  Ares

  “Ohhh!” Maybell, our oldest, said. “Can we pleasssseeeee go to Target? I have report card money that I want to spend.”

  I looked at my husband, who’d just spent the last six hours at three birthday parties, all with screaming little girls, and wondered if he could handle Target mid-day on a Saturday.

  “Sure,” Hayes said, surprising me.

  Instead of taking the road home that would’ve taken us out of the congested city of Longview, he turned right into Target and found a parking spot at the very back of the lot.

  After adjusting his clothes so that it covered his concealed carry weapon—something he never went anywhere without after ‘the incident’ that we tried not to talk about because Daddy sometimes lost it—he reached into the back of the truck for our son, Mir.

  Vladimir Hayes Romine was named after his late grandfather, and even resembled him, too.

  Then again, according to Hayes’ grandmother, Maybell resembled her when she was a kid, as well.

  Though, she had my red ringlet hair and attitude.

  But Maybell definitely took after her crazy great-grandmother. She’d challenged the princess at the last party we went to to a push-up war. Winner gets the crown that the princess wore.

  Needless to say, the princess didn’t find it nearly as cute when she had to give up her crown.

  My Annabell, though? She was all Hayes. Down to the shiny, thick head of hair and the piercing beauty of her eyes.

  “I can’t wait to find some heels.” Annabell clapped her hands.

  I nearly groaned.

  At eight months pregnant, the last thing I wanted to do was go into Target and walk through the toy aisle.

  What I really wanted was to go to the Starbucks inside and get a hot chocolate and sip on it while reading a magazine.

  Something which Hayes realized moments after I walked through the front doors.

  I looked longingly at the Starbucks, and he chuckled. “Just go sit. I’ll try to get her done fast.”

  I looked at Mir, who was busy sleeping, and gestured at him. “Do you want me to hold him while you’re doing that?”

  He shook his head and winked. “I can handle it, baby. Go sit.”

  After watching them walk away, I ordered my hot chocolate and nearly moaned in ecstasy at the taste.

  Sitting in a back corner, I watched and waited for them to come back, reflecting back to a time before kids with Hayes and me.

  After our marriage—which, might I add, wasn’t at the courthouse, but at a big freakin’ church that my father walked me down the aisle in—we found out that we were expecting.

  Nine months after that, Maybell came and I quit my job for good.

  I still stayed in touch with a few of my former students, though. Most of them now nearly about to graduate college.

  In fact, just last week, I’d been to Briley, Slone’s daughter’s, birthday. Slone was actually about to enter the NFL draft.

  And God, did little Briley look so much like Abilene that it hurt.

  Sometimes, when I saw that little girl, I would thank God for Hayes and his slight overprotectiveness.

  The day that it’d all gone down with Bailey could’ve been a whole lot different.

  Over the years, I would ask Hayes to check in on Bailey’s ‘stay’ at the federal penitentiary in Huntsville. And when he’d get back to me, it was with the guarantee that Bailey’s life was far from elegant. Reading between the lines, I knew that Hayes often made sure that he’d get a bunch of shit from the other inmates, making prison life not very good for Bailey.

  But if anyone deserved it, Bailey did. I hoped the rest of his life he got much the same treatment, and I didn’t sleep any differently at night knowing how hard he had it.

  I was nearly to the end of my hot chocolate when Hayes and my babies reappeared.

  Maybell was dragging a small Shetland pony-sized Sven the reindeer off of the movie Frozen.

  Oh, and there was also a rather large tent and blow up mattress in the cart as well.

  And Mir was now awake, smothering Hayes’ cheeks in wet, snotty kisses.

  Hayes didn’t flinch once.

  Grinning, I finished off the rest of my hot chocolate in one gulp and made my way to my family.

  Hayes saw me and winked.

  Mir lunged for me.

  Annabell smiled sweetly at me.

  Maybell announced that she had to take a shit.

  It was just another day in my paradise.

  The next morning, when everyone in the entire house was still asleep, I walked to the window where I could see my girls’ tent. From where I was sitting, I could see my husband’s large form taking up the majority of the tiny twin-sized air mattress. His head was supported on a pink princess pillow, and our two little girls were curled up tightly to his sides, each resting their heads on his belly.

  They were all covered up with a pink Frozen blanket. A blanket that didn’t reach Hayes’ bare feet.

  Our Mir cried, and I reluctantly dropped the curtain and went to his room.

  A few minutes later, when Mir was once again snoozing in his playpen, I made my way back downstairs just in time for Hayes to walk in the back door.

  I smiled as I saw my husband walk inside, bleary-eyed and grouchy looking. He was also slightly blue from the waist down where I assumed his feet had stayed outside the blanket the entire night.

  I bare
ly contained my mirth.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked teasingly.

  “You know,” he said as he walked in only his boxer briefs to the coffeepot. “I used to sleep on the hard ground leaning against a tree. In the sand. On a fuckin’ cot.” He shook his head. “But sleeping on an air mattress with a five-year-old and a seven-year-old? It’s like World War III. Swear to God. They fought over the pillows. Which side they wanted to sleep on. Where they wanted to rest their head. Who got what blanket. And when they finally went to sleep, they didn’t just steal the blankets from each other, but me as well. I swear to God, my feet are so fuckin’ cold. And we had that cold snap come in last night.”

  I giggled.

  “It’s not funny,” he grumbled. “I’m cold.”

  I walked to the dryer where I’d turned on the clothes for the fourth time, hoping to scrounge up some effort to fold them at some point today, and pulled out his favorite pair of sweatpants.

  Shutting the dryer door and turning it back on—because at some point I was going to fold the damn things—I walked back to my husband and handed him the sweats.

  “What happened to the ones that you had on last night?” I asked curiously.

  “I’m fairly sure one of the cats got into the tent and pissed on them,” he said. “They’re in the tent with the dirty blankets that they drug all through the grass to get them to the tent.”

  Hayes stepped into his sweats, and I was sad to see his sexy body be covered.

  I might’ve even whimpered.

  “The girls still asleep?” I asked curiously.

  “Yeah,” he rumbled.

  “So is Mir.”

  His eyes left the cup of coffee that he was filling to meet mine.

  “And I really do need a shower,” I said.

  Hayes grinned and we jumped in the shower together.

  He watched me like a hawk as I soaped up my body, soaping up his at the same time.

  When I moved the soap between the lips of my sex, he struck.

  No longer able to sit by and watch me clean myself, he wrapped his arms around me, picked me up, and pressed me against the shower wall.

  I shrieked as the cold as hell tiles pressed against my back, bowing my back out to get my skin off of it.

  He laughed and moved until we were on the shower wall that was being sprayed with the hot water.

  Except that only accomplished drowning me with the shower head.

  I gasped and gagged as I got a face full of hot water.

  But still I was determined.

  “Go back to the other wall but let me spray it down first with the shower head,” I ordered as he stood in the middle of the shower, my slippery, soapy body clinging to his.

  My arms were tight around his neck, so when it came time to grab the shower head, I was forced to let go, and immediately started to slip down his soapy body.

  This whole being eight months pregnant and having sex in the shower thing was an ordeal. And nothing was as easy as it used to be.

  That was about the time that Hayes stepped back and stepped on one of our daughter’s hairbrushes.

  His leg went out from under him, and seconds later, he was flat on his back with me on top of him.

  A whoosh of air left his lungs when he hit, and we both sat there, stunned, as we tried to get our bearings.

  “Daddy!” Maybell screeched, causing me to look up to find the curious creature practically standing in the stall with us. Thank God for frosted glass. “Can we do it again tonight?”

  I couldn’t contain the laughter this time as I saw his face fall.

  “We’ll try again later,” I said. “Now get up so I can wash all this soap off. And next time, remind me to rinse the shampoo out of my hair before we start.”

  I scrubbed at my burning eyes, causing him to laugh.

  “Next time we need to do it on the bed before we get into the shower. Because I’m getting too old for this shit,” he grumbled.

  And, as I watched him finish his shower and head out to our kids, I realized that there was no way I’d trade this crazy, chaotic life for anything.

  Not one single thing.

  What’s Next?

  May Contain Wine

  5-12-20

  Book 5 of the SWAT Generation 2.0

  Chapter 1

  Low Life.

  -Weiner Dog Dad

  Louis

  A couple years later

  I ran into the blood center, where the transaction took place once a month, as if my ass was on fire.

  Like clockwork, once every couple of months—or if she needed it sooner—I donated my blood to Calloway. Calloway, my ex who hated my guts.

  “Shit, I’m so sorry,” I mumbled as I rolled up my long-sleeved shirt. “I’m here. I apologize.”

  The nurse, the hottie who continuously tried to get me to take her number, grinned wickedly at me as she waved the needle she would be using to take my blood.

  “It’s okay, darlin’,” she said sweetly, as if she wasn’t inconvenienced at all. “I completely understand.”

  There was an indelicate snort from the woman on the bed beside the one I was currently leaning back on, and I looked over to find Calloway Alvarez leaning back on the table with her hat covering her face.

  I wanted to rip it off and throw it across the room.

  I didn’t.

  Instead, I leaned back and held out my arm for Patricia to take my blood.

  “Oh, dear. Your veins are absolutely popping today,” Patricia cooed.

  “Listen, Palin,” Calloway snorted. “Just take his blood already and stick it into me. I have places to be and things to do, none of which have you flirting with ol’ Louie over there.”

  I growled under my breath.

  I hated it when she called me Louie. It fucking hurt to be reminded about what was no longer mine.

  “It’s Prissy,” Prissy said. “And you know it has to be tested first.”

  “It doesn’t, and we’ve already cleared this with management.” Calloway rolled her eyes. “Now, let’s skip this song and dance we play every time, and get on with it, okay?”

  It was true.

  This was something that the two of them liked to argue about every time. And, like every time, Calloway got what she wanted. Mostly because we both knew that my blood was safe for her, and always would be.

  “Prissy. Palin. Patricia. Whatever your name is, hurry up. I have to be at work in fifteen minutes.”

  I winced, looking at my watch.

  She actually had more like twenty-five, but I wasn’t going to point that out. But then I quickly remembered that this was Saturday morning, not a weekday. She didn’t have work today. Which was why we’d planned it this day anyway.

  Prissy moved quickly after that, setting us both up.

  But she was a bit harder on Calloway than she was on me.

  “Bitch,” Calloway muttered when Prissy shoved the needle in a little too hard.

  When she was gone, I looked over at Calloway with a raised brow.

  “Did you really expect her to be nice when you were such a bitch to her?” I asked conversationally.

  Calloway looked over at me with a sneer on her face. “I expected a little bit of professionalism. I literally watched her pull her tits up and pull her shirt down to show them off before you walked in the door. Now that was unprofessional.”

  I didn’t disagree with her.

  In fact, I agreed with her.

  Not that I would ever tell her that.

  I didn’t want her to get a big head.

  As the blood drained out of me and into the bag that would then be transfused into her, I watched her.

  She tried to appear as if she didn’t care, but I knew that she did.

  She was just as aware of me as I was of her.

  “So what do you have planned today?” I asked. “It’s Saturday.”

  She looked down at the bl
ood bag that was being agitated on the little table next to my chair to see how filled it was. When she realized it was almost full, she answered.

  “I have to work,” she replied.

  I rolled my eyes.

  Obviously she was still sticking with that story.

  “It’s Saturday, Cal,” I said. “You don’t work on Saturdays.”

  She looked at me, and once again, the sight of her eyes looking into mine made my heart skip a beat.

  It always had and always would.

  “I already told you I have to work,” she said.

  She had.

  And I’d already told her it was Saturday.

  Instead of fighting, I changed the subject.

  “I had some old woman ask me to sign her breast today on the way in,” I said, being reminded yet again of my celebrity status thanks to the stupid calendar photo shoot that I’d done with my fellow SWAT team members. “I think she actually expected me to do it, because she had a Sharpie.” I paused. “I see her every time I come in here.”

  “The old woman that works next door at the scrapbooking place?” she asked. “Because she’s the only woman I know that’s older that would be here this early.”

  I shrugged. “It might be her. I wouldn’t know. I’ve seen her before, but always outside when she’s smoking.”

  “That’s Myrtle,” she confirmed. “She’s a pack-a-day smoker. But I really like her. You should’ve signed.”

  ***

  Calloway

  He shot me a quelling look.

  “I’m not signing some old woman’s tit,” he said. “I draw the line at tits. I’ll sign the stupid calendar. I’ll sign the fucking shirt. But I’m not signing a tit. I don’t care if it’s perfectly smooth or wrinkly. It’s just not happening.”

  Poor Louis.

  I would’ve laughed had he not been one hundred percent serious.

  I sat up and faced him, pulling my top slightly to the side. “What about mine?”

  His eyes zeroed in on my flesh right when the little machine beeped, indicating the bag was full.

  Seconds later, Prissy appeared, ruining the moment.

  I covered myself back up, but Louis didn’t remove his gaze from my shirt.

  I grinned and moved back to where I was previously lying, waiting patiently for Prissy to hook me up to the good stuff.