Grit (Dirty #6) Read online

  “I honestly don’t know what we’re doing,” I admit after a beat. “He still has his own place, but if he isn’t at the gym, he’s usually here. We’re not dating each other, but there’s no possible way he’s dating anyone else.” I toss the towel onto the coffee table and plop heavily into the chair. “He hasn’t brought it up, so I don’t bring it up. But I’m okay with it. It works for us.”

  He nods slowly, examining my features. “It’s good, though, right? You’re good?”

  “I am.”

  “If you’re happy, I’m happy.” He pushes to his feet, stretching long, muscled limbs above his head and making an obnoxiously loud sound to go with it.

  “You’re off already?”

  “Yeah, I just wanted to make sure you were all right. I’m actually on my way to see Summer. I think if you give her a real chance, you’ll like her.”

  I don’t comment on that. Time will tell.

  Joe drags his palm across the top of my head, mussing my hair. It’s already tangled from washing, but I duck out of his reach anyway, pushing him toward the door. He always has to find a way to drive me crazy.

  “Hey,” he says as he’s halfway over the threshold, “you’re not knocked up, are you?”

  I pause with my hand on the door. My stomach does a little flip. “Why would you ask that?”

  “Autumn wondered if that’s why you were blowing chunks last night. And you know, I thought I should ask.”

  “Did she say that in front of Link?”

  “Oh yeah. He looked like someone punched him in the nuts. So…not pregnant, right?”

  “I’m on the pill.”

  “You know, I was hoping you were going to tell me you weren’t having sex.”

  I smirk at him, pushing him out with the pressure of the door as I begin closing it. “But that would be a lie. We do it all the time.”

  That will hopefully teach him to be a little less prying into my personal life. His roar of disgust echoes in the hallway as I flip the lock into place.

  I turn, pressing my back into the cool wooden frame, trying to remember if there had been anything unusual about my last period.

  Fifteen

  Link

  After saying goodbye to my last client of the day, I cut Augie loose and close up. I collect the dirty towels, toss them in the washer, and spray down the machines. Stacking the mats is supposed to be a two-person job, but there are certain days when I need the repetitive and strenuous activity all to myself.

  Some people meditate, some people drink, some people make themselves sweat. I fall into the latter category.

  This is how I try to control the urge to pay Garrett’s place of employment another visit.

  When I’m finished, I hit the shower, knowing it wasn’t enough to keep me away. As I soap up, I justify this by telling myself I’m only keeping tabs on him. Checking in to make sure he’s where we think he is and that he’s not hurting anyone. I’m doing it for Rocky.

  It’s a load of shit.

  I do it to feed my sick obsession. Revenge was my only purpose for such a long, long time. Without it, I don’t know who I am. I watch Garrett because I need to. Because I have to. And because if he ever did it again, I’d feel responsible.

  I couldn’t stop what happened to Livie—I wasn’t prepared. I didn’t understand how cold and cruel some could be. I know better now. I know evil lives inside monsters disguised as people. It’s my responsibility to do something with that knowledge.

  I’m also aware roles can easily reverse. I’ve become the monster before. It wasn’t difficult to do. The only thing separating me from the others was my disdain for it. I don’t like to hurt anyone—even when I should. Regardless of how well warranted it is, I still have a conscience. I just don’t know how far that inner voice can be pushed before it disappears all together.

  Still, I test it.

  It’s getting late. I should be at Rocky’s, preparing us a late dinner. I didn’t feed her lunch, and she probably didn’t make herself anything.

  Shit.

  I turn off the water and towel myself dry in a hurry. Once I’m dressed, I stop in the office to shut everything down and clear my Styrofoam coffee cups from the desk. My sexy secretary doesn’t like a messy workspace.

  Before I power down the computer, I pull up Garrett Marshall’s profile picture from the dating website he belongs to. I wonder how thorough these sites’ background checks are. They can’t be that great. He may not have been convicted of Rocky’s rape, but it made newspaper headlines.

  I clench my fist, feeling the anger seep through my veins. He shouldn’t be allowed on a dating site perusing women. Possibly looking for another victim. He shouldn’t be allowed to walk around free. The injustice of it sits like a ball of fire in my stomach, burning and burning.

  There he is. I click on the picture and send it to the printer.

  Next time I go to Gillian’s Restaurant, I’ll be able to tell exactly which one he is.

  ***

  The apartment appears dark when I pull up, but Rocky’s car is parked out front. I assume she must be sleeping, so I use the key she gave me for this kind of situation. I’m surprised to find the refrigerator door open, dimly illuminating the kitchen.

  She’s seated at the table, hands folded, gaze trained on the unopened bottle of vodka in front of her. She doesn’t look away when I flip on the light and close the fridge.

  “Hey,” I say, running the back of my finger down her arm.

  Her head shifts, watching the slow movement of my hand. I wait for her to reply or acknowledge me in some way, but that one small gesture is all I get. I slip my hand under her chin, lifting it so I can see her face. Her eyes are bloodshot, and I can’t tell if it’s from drinking or crying.

  I glance at the bottle again, confirming it is in fact unopened. Though she could have finished off another one before this. Other than a drink or two here and there, she hasn’t drank much in a while. A long while. I lean in to kiss her, knowing if she has been drinking, I’ll taste it on her, but she turns her head away.

  I freeze, bent halfway toward her, unsure how to proceed. She’s never once turned away from my kiss. I’m confused and surprised. My stomach rolls. Adrenaline spiking, causing my heart to pound.

  “You okay?”

  There’s a beat, and then she laughs, the sound a bitter burst of air through pinched lips. The skin between her brows crinkles as her laughter fades. She shakes her head.

  “No. I’m not okay.” Her eyes flick to the vodka. “I’m not okay at all.”

  I sink into the chair beside her. My first inclination is to comfort her, touch her in some way, but after the way she denied my kiss, I don’t act on it. I’ve never touched her without permission. Never will.

  “Why aren’t you okay? What’s going on?”

  Her teeth scrape her bottom lip, worrying it absent-mindedly. Her body is rigid. Whatever’s wrong is big. I glance around the room for a clue. Has someone been here? Did someone fucking hurt her?

  “Rocky,” I croak. “What happened?”

  I watch the muscles in her throat force the effort of swallowing. My fingers curl into fists, nails cutting my palms. “Tell me.”

  She looks at me then, I think taken aback from the desperation in my voice. I know it shocks me. But I am. I am desperate to know what’s wrong with her.

  “Please.”

  A noise, something close to a whimper, leaves her lips. She unfolds her hands, lifting them one at a time, revealing a slim white stick. It takes me half of a heartbeat to comprehend what it is.

  Everything clicks into place as she slides it across the table, stopping when it’s in front of me. There’s a window on the pregnancy test filled with a plus sign. Even if it weren’t ridiculously easy to understand what it means, Rocky’s reaction tells me all I need to know.

  I stare at it for several seconds, a myriad of emotions bombarding me all at once. You’d think after going through the onslaught last night, I’d be
in control of my emotions, but I’m not. I harness them quickly.

  This has already been in my head. I’m not surprised. Not really. But it feels surreal.

  I glance at the bottle and Rocky notices where my attention goes.

  “I didn’t drink it. I wanted to, but…” She tips her head toward the test.

  She didn’t drink because of the baby. That means she’s either keeping it or hasn’t decided what to do yet.

  I want her to keep it.

  My heart thunders in my chest with the realization. I want this baby. Our baby.

  I drop my head into my hands, my next breath much harder to find.

  I’m sorry, Olivia.

  Fuck, I’m so sorry.

  I want the baby.

  I want Rocky.

  It was never supposed to be this way, but it is.

  It just is.

  I need them. Both of them.

  I’m so, so sorry.

  Please forgive me.

  The harsh grinding of the chair legs sliding over the linoleum floor jolts me from my thoughts and I raise my head. Rocky stands and puts her hand on my cheek. Her thumb brushes over the stubble. It’s a reassuring caress.

  She’s soothing me. She just found out she’s pregnant, and she’s making sure I’m okay. Something lurches painfully in my chest. I grab her hand, my grip nowhere near as gentle as hers. I tug her into my lap, wrapping my arms around her.

  My forehead is flush with hers. Our eyes are closed. We breathe. In and out in unison. I want to kiss her, but I don’t. Not until she tells me she’s ready. Instead, I keep holding her, clinging to her.

  I’m scared—I’m fucking terrified. I’m happy. And I’m saddened.

  I am torn.

  But I want this.

  My hand slides from her back to her front and I do what I ached to do last night. I lay my palm against her stomach.

  They are mine, and I will do whatever it takes to protect them.

  Sixteen

  Rocky

  I don’t have girlfriends. Actually, other than Link, Augie, and Joe, I don’t have any friends—male or female. Link is…whatever Link is. Joe doesn’t count because he’s my brother. And Augie is more an acquaintance I know through the other two. Because of this, I have nobody to talk with about my predicament.

  Link and I need to have a conversation about it, but it would be nice to have someone outside of the situation to confide in.

  Friendship. There’s another thing I didn’t realize I missed.

  Last night was strange. We didn’t discuss the baby. No plans were made. Nothing resolved. Link made dinner in pensive silence while I stared down a bottle of vodka.

  We ate, and then he led me to bed. I half expected him to leave, but he stripped down to his underwear and climbed in beside me. He stayed to his side, but his hand found mine in the dark.

  Now, as I lie here thinking, I can hear him moving around in the kitchen.

  I should go out there, face him. Have the talk. I know I should. I’m just not ready to do it. I don’t know what’s going on inside his head. He’s always so passive, but when he saw the positive test, he was broken. It doesn’t take a genius to understand.

  We’ve never established what our relationship means. We’re not married, I don’t know if we’re even considered to be dating. You don’t have a child with someone you aren’t in a serious relationship with.

  Also, I’m not Olivia. Link said a lot of really sweet things the other night, and I believe he meant them, but she was the love of his life. He’d still be with her today if she hadn’t been ripped from him so tragically. She was supposed to be the one having his baby.

  Not me.

  And when he and I first started this thing between us, he specifically asked me if I was on the pill. He wasn’t looking to get anyone pregnant. Yet here we are.

  I have no idea how it happened. I am on the pill. And I’m habitual when it comes to taking it. Because I wasn’t looking to get pregnant. I’ve always heard the whole spiel about antibiotics interfering with the effectiveness of birth control was a myth, but now… Well, now I’m pregnant.

  Link comes into the room with a steaming bowl in one hand and a plate in the other. I watch him set both on the nightstand before disappearing through the door again. When he comes back the second time, he has a glass of milk and another plate.

  I sit up, pushing my back into the headboard, and rake the hair out of my face. “What’s all this?”

  He shoots me a grin, the one that’s all straight white teeth and full lips. The one that makes me want to sink my nails into him and pull him on top of me. Damn, the small dimple in his right cheek is even showing. The man should smile more often. Like, always.

  “Breakfast. I got up early and Googled the best prenatal foods.” He hands me the bowl and a napkin. “Oatmeal. Careful, it’s hot. Actually, here.” He takes it back, switching it out for one of the plates. “Why don’t you start with the eggs while this cools.”

  I just stare at him. He always cooks me healthy shit. That’s nothing new. But since when am I incapable of eating hot food? I’m pregnant, not an invalid. And he Googled the best prenatal foods? Why would he do that?

  He ignores the look I’m giving him, grabbing the other plate, and begins eating.

  “I ran to the store. Your fridge is full. We’re having salmon, rice, and broccoli for lunch, and steak, sweet potatoes, and salad for dinner. I know you’re not a big fan of fish, but it’s good for you and the baby. We can find a way to season it that you’ll like. And if not, there are fish oil vitamins. I can pick some up.”

  He glances at me, registering my puzzled expression before shifting back to his meal.

  What is happening?

  “I just want to make sure you’re both strong and healthy…and happy. Anything you want—anything you need, just tell me. I’ll make it happen.”

  I place the plate on the comforter in front of me. “What are you saying?”

  His gaze glides back to me, gray eyes focused. “I’m saying I want you to keep the baby.” He shakes his head, his brows creasing. “I’m saying I want us to keep the baby.”

  “Us,” I repeat.

  He keeps watching me, waiting for me to say more. It takes me a moment to work through it. Because I don’t know if I want to be catching cold in his deceased girlfriend’s shadow for the next eighteen years. And I definitely don’t want the baby to feel that way.

  “Us,” I say again.

  “You and me,” he confirms. “Together.”

  “Together? What does that mean?”

  “You and I. At the same time. In the same place. I was looking at houses online, too. I won’t get a whole lot for mine, but I have a decent savings. More than enough for a down payment. There’s one not far from here, still close to the gym. I was hoping you might want to check it out later this week.”

  What the fuck is going on?

  Oh, right, I’m pregnant and Link is a good man. He’s trying to do the right thing.

  “You want to buy a house? And move in together? And raise the baby as…what? A couple?”

  “Yes,” he says, the conviction in his voice unnerving. There’s no way he’s this sure. It’s impossible. I don’t even know how I feel.

  “Too fast,” I utter. “This is too fast. I need time. We just found out last night. I haven’t been to the doctor. I haven’t even had the chance to make an appointment. And you’re shopping and house hunting and Googling prenatal food. How did you find time to do all that? It’s like nine in the morning.”

  “I couldn’t sleep.”

  “I know you want to do the right thing, and I admire that about you. But seriously… I don’t want you that way.”

  His eyes narrow, brows drawing together in an open mix of confusion and frustration. “What way?”

  “Forced.”

  Seconds tick by as he contemplates that. Perhaps forced wasn’t quite the best word. Obligated probably would have been better, but they are a
lmost the same thing.

  “I’ve been here all this time. Willingly. What makes you think I feel forced now?”

  “Because that was before the baby bomb. Now you need to make all these plans. We weren’t moving in together before the baby.”

  “I’m here every day and every single night. My toothbrush sits next to yours. My clothes are in the closet next to yours. I eat half my meals next to you. I sleep here next to you. I know we’ve never made an official announcement, and my mail goes to a different residency, but we are living together. I just thought it would be better to have a place with a second bedroom for the baby. But if you want to know the truth, it wouldn’t matter where either of us lived. I don’t give a shit about an address—you’re my home.”

  What the hell am I supposed to say to that?

  “Who are you?” I finally utter.

  “This is me making sure I tell you all the things I want to say while I have the chance.”

  While he has the chance. For most people, that would sound ominous, but coming from Link, it’s so much more meaningful than that.

  He doesn’t say the three words I keep myself from saying to him each day, but it occurs to me in this exact moment that he doesn’t need to. There are a million ways to say I love you. And Link has been telling me in his own way.

  Like: “I don’t want to lose you” or, “I don’t want to make the same mistakes with you” or, “I think about how I don’t want anything more to ever happen to you” or, “With every breath of my being, I do not want to fail you.” And my favorite as of twenty seconds ago, “You’re my home.”

  I set all the dishes on the nightstand and push the blankets to the side. I could tell him all the things I want to say—I could tell him that I’ve fallen so deeply in love with him, and not one second of it felt like falling. Or I could take a cue from him and show him.

  I grip the collar of his t-shirt and tug him on top of me as I lie back. He comes with me easily, letting me wrap my arms and legs around his body. I press my lips to his, using the pressure of my kiss to open his mouth. I suck on his tongue, provoking a moan.