Page 99 of Talk Wicked to Me

Tank’s expression hardened. “That’s irrelevant.”

“What the fuck? How is that irrelevant?” Baz stopped pacing and crossed his arms against his frustrations.

“I didn’t promise to go someplace.”

“I mean hypothetically, dumbass.”

“I don’t break promises. Ever. To anyone,” Tank seethed. “That’s how we were raised, and our word is all we have.”

As if that wasn’t his goddamn struggle? Baz’s hands fisted. “Then why the hell did you look at me like I was doing the wrong thing at the Hog last weekend when I said I was still going away?”

“I didn’t. I looked at you like you were fucked.”

“A’right, that’s enough,” their father said. “Baz, it doesn’t matter what I would do or what Tank would do. The only thing that matters is what your heart tells you to do.”

“My heart is fucking confused.”

“Who did you make a promise to?” Tank asked. “Who’s the old friend?”

Baz ground his back teeth. “I can’t tell you that. I took an oath of secrecy.”

Anguish spread over Tank’s face as understanding hit. “Fuck, B.”

“Yeah” was all Baz could manage as reality slammed into him, and he realized there was no choice to be made. Trust had been bestowed on him, and he needed to honor his word. The decision felt like a rat, gnawing at his gut.

His father looked between them. “Are either of you going to clue me in?”

“No,” they gritted out in unison.

“Sorry, Dad. Forget I said anything. I need to stand by my promise, but I also need to know that you and the club will have Emerson’s back every minute of every goddamn day I’m gone.”

“We have her back whether you’re here or not,” their father said.

“That’s a given,” Tank agreed.

“I appreciate that. I’ve got to go.”

“I thought you were hanging with us tonight,” Tank said.

“Rain check. I need to be with Emerson.” He looked at the brother who would always tough love him, even when it felt like a fucking betrayal, and knew when push came to shove, he’d do the same to him. “Thanks.”

Tank nodded. “I’ve got you, bro.”

Their father pulled him into an embrace, holding him for a beat longer than usual. “I’m proud of you, son.” He kept a hand on Baz’s shoulder as he stepped back and said, “For the record, I’d be proud of you even if you stayed.”

Maybe so, but I wouldn’t.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

EMERSON’S HOUSE WAS silent as Baz came through the front door. Ollie wandered lazily out of Brennan’s room to greet him, stopping in the living room to go down on his forearms and stretch with his butt in the air. A watchdog, he was not.

“Hey, buddy,” Baz said quietly, petting him. “What’s your mama up to? Napping?” He took off his boots and went to peek at Brennan.

Ollie settled in on the floor by the crib. Brennan was sleeping on his back, knees and elbows bent like a frog, his little hands on either side of his head. His head was turned toward his right thumb, which was sticking out but not touching his mouth as he suckled in his sleep. Baz had a hell of a time going one night without seeing him. He couldn’t imagine not holding him for four months, but he’d gone for a motorcycle ride before heading over to Emerson’s, and the wind therapy had helped put things in perspective. Stewing over a commitment he made would do no good for any of them, and the more he thought about why he was going, the more it solidified that he was doing the right thing.

He put his hand to Brennan’s cheek and the baby leaned into it. He brushed his thumb over his soft skin. After weeks of holding his tongue, worrying it was too soon or would scare Emerson off, Baz couldn’t hold back anymore, and he whispered, “I love you, Little B. I’m pretty sure I’ve loved you from the second you slipped into my hands.” Brennan smiled in his sleep, and Baz’s chest constricted. He took his hand off his cheek, and the corners of Brennan’s mouth twitched into a frown. Baz’s fucking heart took a hit. “It’s okay, little buddy. You’re okay.”

In the next breath, Brennan was suckling again, relieving some of the tension in Baz’s chest. He turned and crouched beside Ollie. “I love you, too, Ol.” It struck him that he was telling the two beings who couldn’t understand the weight of his words, and he had yet to tell the woman he needed to hear them most. “I’m counting on you to watch over them while I’m gone, Ol.”