“Don’t,” I interrupt.
“No,” he says sharply. “I’ve given you time and space.”
I arch a brow. “Sitting outside the room stalking me is not space.”
He looks down at his hands, and for the first time in years, he looks guilty. “You need to hear me out.”
I sigh heavily but nod. I’m exhausted and don’t have the energy to argue any longer.
“I am sorry,” he says, and I roll my eyes. “Please, just listen. I hate this arguing, and I know I’ve messed up . . . numerous times recently. And I don’t expect you to forgive me, but I don’t want to argue. It’s not good for you or our baby. I’m sorry for acting like a grade-A fucking arsehole, but hearing you speak to Andy had me seeing red. And before you say it, I know I have no right to.” I close my mouth and let him continue. “I will not give up on us, though, and if that means I never have another woman again, so be it. But right now, can we at least go back to talking?”
I take a breath, then smile.
His brow furrows. “Why you smiling? I’m pouring my heart out here.”
“Give me your hand,” I say, grabbing it and placing it on my stomach.
His eyes light up in amazement as her little kicks hit the side of my stomach.
“Holy shit! That’s amazing.”
His eyes fill with admiration, and he leans closer to my stomach. “Bumble bee, Daddy loves you. I’m going to make this right.” I smile at the tenderness he’s showing, and then she kicks again.
He glances back up at me. “Thank you,” he whispers, and I nod, not trusting myself to actually speak right now.
There is a gentle tap on my door, and I shimmy myself up the bed so that I’m sitting. The tightening has slowed down, so maybe Drifter was right and all I needed was to rest.
He pops his head in.
“You okay?” he whispers, and I nod. “You sure you’re up for this?”
I’d asked him to bring Marissa to me. She’d be scared, especially going from one biker club to another, surrounded by loud men. Even if the men in our club won’t touch her. I needed her to feel safe.
I nod.
“You sure?” he asks again, his brows pinching together with concern.
“I promise,” I say, and he opens the door wider, letting Marissa into the room.
She stands in the doorway, pulling at her sleeves. Her body is bruised on just about every visible inch.
Drifter turns to leave.
“Drifter,” I call, and he turns back.
“Can you get Marissa a change of clothes out the drawer, please? Something comfy?”
He nods, making his way over to rummage through the drawers.
“They’ll be a bit big for you, but at least you’ll be more comfortable,” I tell her.
She looks at me, her eyes full of unshed tears, but she doesn’t move from the doorway. Drifter places a change of clothes on the bed, then makes his way to the door.
“I’ll be just outside,” he says, and I know that means he’ll have his ear pressed to the door. She steps aside, letting him close the door softly.
“You can come in,” I say, shuffling further up the bed.
“Thank you,” she whispers. “For everything.”
