Page 32 of Full Throttle

“Special occasion?” I asked as I dug in.

Charly smiled. “Not really. I felt like cooking.”

Beside her, Maxx grunted. “She does this at times. It’s a wonder I don’t look like a whale the way she cooks.” He chuckled. “When she was pregnant, it was constant.”

“It’s called nesting,” I muttered. Roxanne had been that way for about a month. She’d been calm, happy, and we got along. It hadn’t lasted, and I had missed it once she stopped.

Maxx chuckled, wiped his mouth, and pressed a kiss to Charly’s head. “I liked it. But then again, I liked all the stages except the morning sickness.”

I nodded in agreement. It had been brief but violent for Roxanne. She’d been ill twenty-four hours a day for weeks. I did all I could to help her, but I tried to stay out of the way. She’d hated me more than usual during that time. I far preferred the nesting phase.

“Yeah, that isn’t a fun part of pregnancy. For mother or father.”

Dead silence followed my words, and I realized I had spoken out loud.

I looked up, meeting their curious gazes. It was Charly’s gentle question that broke my decision to never talk about Josh.

“You know from experience, don’t you?”

I gave them the CliffsNotes of what I had told Cherry. Shared what I felt comfortable telling them. Maxx and Chase listened, Charly grabbed my hand, helping anchor me. When I mentioned Josh’s birthday yesterday, her grip tightened and tears filled her eyes.

“Oh, Dom,” she whispered.

Maxx moved closer to her, tucking her into his side.

“Don’t cry, Charly,” I begged. “I’m okay. I miss him like crazy, but I hold on to the fact that he seems happy.”

“I can’t imagine not seeing my children,” she said.

“I had no choice.”

“I know.”

Stefano had joined us as I talked, and he shook his head. “You’ve never said a thing.”

“It hurt too much. But Cherry told me I should talk about him.”

Charly perked up. “Cherry? Cherry knows?”

“I was with her last night and told her. She thinks I should be more open and share with people I care about.”

When I’d woken up that morning, I’d been draped across her, one hand fisted in her hair, my feet hanging over the side of her smaller bed. She’d been stroking her fingers through my hair, her touch gentle and soothing. Her voice had been quiet when she spoke.

“You need to tell people about your son. Share him and the memories.”

And looking around at the understanding and compassionate gazes, I realized she had been right.

Charly grinned. “That’s good, Dom. I’m happy for you. And we’re always here for you.”

“Thanks, Charly.”

She squeezed my hand. “That’s what friends are for.”

Later that night, I was restless. Not hungry, I skipped dinner. Paced around the house. Went for a walk. Checked the local listings for places for sale. I even arranged for a couple of viewings. But I was still edgy. Finally, I realized what I wanted.

Cherry.

I wanted the comfort of her closeness. Her soft voice.