Ghost Dance (Tulsa Thunderbirds Book 3) (31 page)

Too long, apparently.

Wade walked up to stand so close I could feel him before I saw him. There was always an electric energy surrounding him, bouncing off of things. Like me. I turned my head to look up at him.

“You’re pregnant,” he said, his voice gruff and angry.

I blinked a couple of times, trying to keep myself composed. Since he was already angry, I didn’t know what direction things might go. They could turn south in a hurry, and I needed to be ready for any eventuality. “What are you doing here?” I asked in what I hoped was a conversational tone.

“Saw you drive by.”

“Were you watching for me?”

“Not exactly. But I helped you buy that car, so I recognized it going down my street.”

“And you thought you should follow me.”

He shrugged. “Seemed like a good opportunity to talk to you.”

“You’ve had all sorts of opportunities to talk to me. You could have made an effort after Para-Pythons practice. You could have come to a support group meeting.”

“But we couldn’t be alone in those circumstances.”

“Ever think maybe that would be for the best? After the way you acted the last time we were alone together, I’m not sure privacy is such a hot idea.”

He moved to my side, alleviating the crick that had been forming in my neck. Arms crossed. Feet shoulder-width apart. Eyes full of hurt he didn’t want anyone to see, but he’d never been able to hide it from me.

“You’re scared of me.”

“I’m scared
for
you,” I corrected him, even though there was starting to be some truth to what he’d said in the first place.

“Same difference.”

“Not really.”

He scowled, but he reached for one of the pregnancy tests on the shelf and held it up in front of me. “Why isn’t he here with you?” He raised a brow and shook his head when I didn’t respond right away. “What, did he run off? I told you he’s not good enough for you, and this proves it.”

“That’s not any of your business, and it doesn’t prove anything.”

“He did run, didn’t he? Can’t take the heat? Can’t face the fucking consequences for his actions, just like always. Acting like the chickenshit he is.”

I put three random pregnancy test boxes on my lap, not paying any attention to which ones I’d grabbed even after spending so much time comparing them, and backed up so I could make my way to the checkout.

“Oh, so now you’re going to run away, too?” Wade said, following me. “Is that it?”

“I don’t have to answer your questions.”

“You don’t have to answer mine, but I have to answer yours, huh?”

“You don’t have to answer anything,” I said, doing my best to stay calm, even as I felt his anxiety growing by the moment. “You don’t have to
do
anything, Wade, except find a way to be healthy. And you’re not.”

“And some asshole who’s going to knock you up and then leave you to deal with his mess on your own, that’s someone who’s healthy?”

I tossed my boxes on the counter and glared at the cashier until he started ringing up my purchases. “I’m not going to fight with you, Wade.”

“That’s the problem. You never do. You lay down the law, and if people don’t fall into line, you cut them off.”

He had me feeling defensive again, damn him.

“I fight plenty, when it’s called for.”

“And you don’t think this is something worth fighting over?” he nearly shouted, shoving the pregnancy test he’d carried with him onto the counter with my others.

I nodded for the cashier to add it to my transaction. I was already buying three. One more wouldn’t hurt. Then I turned to Wade, praying he would really listen for once, not just hear. “It’s not your battle to fight.”

He whipped out his wallet and peeled off a few bills, tossing them on the counter.

The cashier reached to take them, but I shook my head and picked up the money myself, passing it back into Wade’s hand. He wouldn’t take it, so I shoved the cash into his pocket.

“That much is clear,” he ground out. Then he spun on his heel and stalked out of the pharmacy.

Trying to maintain as much dignity as I possibly could after such a public display, I took my wallet out of my purse and selected a credit card to pay with.

The sooner I could get home to sort through everything, the better.

I WAS A
big, stinking, fucked up mess. There was no other explanation for why I would be standing on Hunter’s porch at almost two in the morning, especially when he hadn’t called to beg for my help with Harper.

At least no other
reasonable
explanation.

We’d just come home from another long road trip. It was late in January, a few weeks after the last time I’d seen London. The moms’ trip was due to start in a little over a week, so my Svetka would be arriving in a few days. But she wasn’t here yet, and London still wouldn’t have anything to do with me, and I couldn’t bring myself to go home alone right now.

So here I was. I didn’t ring the doorbell because I didn’t want to wake Harper if she was sleeping. But I had to get Hunter’s attention somehow or else he wouldn’t realize I was out here to let me in.

I probably should’ve said something to him before he’d driven himself home from the airport, but at that point I still hadn’t known I would end up at his place. It wasn’t until I’d gotten in my car and found myself parked on the curb in front of London’s house that I knew I needed help. I’d dragged a hand down my face, the beginnings of a new beard scratching my palm, and realized I was more fucked up than I’d ever imagined becoming, and it was all because of this woman.

So, here I was. With any luck, Hunter hadn’t already gone to bed. I dug out my phone and sent him a text message to tell him I was on the porch.

Hunter:
Go home, Dima. Harper’s fine and I’m busy.

Me:
Let me in. Cold as balls out here.

Hunter:
Whatever happened to all that “I’m Russian” bullshit? You don’t get cold, remember?

Me:
Still Russian. Still cold. Open the door or my balls will freeze off.

Hunter:
Anything wrong? You okay?

Me:
Fine. Freezing.

Hunter:
It won’t matter how cold you are if you don’t get the fuck off my porch and leave me alone, because you won’t have any balls left to worry about. I’m busy with my wife. Go get laid yourself, why don’t you? Do you honestly need something?

Me:
Open the fucking door.

Hunter:
That’s what I thought. You just don’t want to go home. Not a chance. I haven’t seen my wife in a week. She’s a hell of a lot hotter than you. I’m turning off my phone now.

Either he truly did turn off his phone after that or he was successfully ignoring me. Whichever was the case, he didn’t respond to another of my texts, and he didn’t open the door. I had no choice but to go somewhere else if I didn’t want to be arrested for breaking and entering.

At this hour, I couldn’t even go to a bar, not that I wanted a drink. By now, I knew that alcohol and I didn’t mix. I just wanted somewhere to go other than home. It didn’t look like I would have a choice, though, since the bars were all closing any minute. They might let me through the doors, but they wouldn’t let me stay very long.

I drove back to my place and took a shower to see if it would help take my mind off of London.

It didn’t work.

I spent the whole time I was under the spray remembering the time I’d fucked her in my bathtub and how the water had made her skin glisten.

Which led me to jerking myself off.

Which in turn led me to wishing she were here with me.

She didn’t want anything to do with me, though. Not unless I played by her rules, and I had never been one to play by anyone’s rules unless they suited me.

London’s didn’t.

Instead of falling asleep once I got out of the shower, I lay in bed with all sorts of other memories racing through my mind. Especially the last night I’d seen her. Sleeping next to her the whole night. Holding her in my arms. The citrus-vanilla scent of her hair tickling my nostrils. Waking up with her soft body beneath me.

I glanced at the clock. Almost three in the morning. This was going to be a long night.

Probably the stupidest thought to cross my mind in ages—which was saying something—had me reaching for my phone and typing in a message for her.

Can’t stop thinking about you. I need you.

I felt like an idiot for saying I needed her, and I definitely didn’t like the thought of it, but now that the words were floating out there, I knew them to be the truth. I needed her in my life, even if she pissed me off and drove me absolutely up the wall.

She was probably asleep at this hour. She had to work in the morning, and she wasn’t all twisted and fucked up like I was. She could actually sleep at night, like a normal human.

I tossed my phone on the nightstand and plugged in the charger, determined to try one more time to get some sleep. We had a game tomorrow—or really, tonight, considering the hour—and it wouldn’t be good if I tried to play without getting at least
some
rest. I’d played like shit enough lately, just from not having my head in the game. Add exhaustion to that, and I’d be lucky to stay on my skates.

But before I even shut my eyes and tried to sleep, my phone buzzed with a message from London.

You know what you need to do if you want to be with me.

So she wasn’t ready to give in. Damn.

Not that I’d expected her to have a change of heart. I might have
hoped
, but I definitely didn’t
expect
it to happen.

I tossed my phone back on the nightstand and put my forearm over my eyes, hoping I could pretend I hadn’t sent her a message at all.

Easier said than done. My phone buzzed again about two minutes later and, glutton for punishment that I was, I rolled over and swiped my thumb over the screen to see what else she had to say.

I miss you, too. I keep hoping you’ll meet me in the middle somewhere, but then I think maybe I’m stupid for holding out hope. Maybe you’re more like Wade than I want to believe. Maybe you’ll never be able to move beyond your past. Maybe you’re happy being stuck in that night, reliving it over and over again. Or maybe you’re just too scared to see what life would be like if you could let yourself off the hook. I don’t know. I just know that I miss you and it’s killing me to have to remind myself that I can’t fix you. I can’t help someone who doesn’t want to be helped. I wish you would help yourself. Or at least try. Make some sort of effort. Right now, that would be enough.

I should never have texted her to begin with. I hadn’t accomplished a damned thing other than making myself think about her even more than I already was.

I lay there trying to figure out what to respond, but nothing came to mind. She wasn’t giving in. I wasn’t ready—willing?—to do the things she wanted me to do. Let myself off the hook? How could I do that? The legal system might have felt I’d already done my penance, but they didn’t have to see Sergei’s titanium leg. They didn’t have to watch him play hockey on a sledge instead of skating the way he used to do. They didn’t have to live with the guilt that I carried around every single day of my life.