Grinning, Gavin lifted a skeptical brow. “Your stomach’s perfect, so add that ‘less than’ statement to the list of things I never want to hear again. And you’re giving me the Yankees?”
“I’d give you the world if I could.”
Little did she know, she already had. Gavin guided her to his lips, kissing her deeply as he slid his hands along the glorious curve of her waist. With his thumbs stroking her beautifully perfect stomach, Gavin envisioned that tiny Yankees fan. His heart dipped, bringing with it a feeling so thirsty for this to be his child, he was sure he would drown in it.
Emily slowly pulled away, her lips flushed from their kiss. With soft eyes, she tilted her head, her voice a whisper. “Three: Yes, I think we need to call him, Gavin. Now that he knows, it’ll only further complicate things if we don’t. I’m not sure if I’m prepared for whatever crazy demands he might conjure up, but I promise I won’t bitch about them.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Gavin nodded. With a knot blistering hot in his gut, he reached for the phone.
Repositioning on Gavin’s lap, Emily swallowed nervously as she watched him hit the speaker button, followed by Dillon’s number. A few rings later, there it was, the voice Emily didn’t think she’d ever have to hear again.
“Ah. I figured I’d get a phone call today,” he said, his arrogance echoing through the office as if he was standing there. “So I heard our little trio’s expecting? What a tangled web we—”
“What the fuck do you want, asshole?” Gavin grit out, wrath wicked in his voice.
Silence blanketed the air, its presence as heavy as an elephant sitting on Emily’s chest.
“Let me explain something to you, Gavin,” Dillon said, his sneer ominously low, cold. “The game’s changed, motherfucker. You’re playing by my rules now. The first rule of the game? You and my beautiful ex are about to get in your fucking car and meet me at Big Daddy’s Diner on Park Avenue South between Nineteenth and Twentieth. Second rule: You pull anything funny, and I’m on the phone with the cops to report an incident from a few months ago. I’ll be at the diner in thirty. If you’re not there in forty, say peace to your freedom.”
The line went dead, the dial tone flat lining, whispering promises of death in Emily’s ear.
Breathe…
“Remember what I told you,” Gavin said, his arm wrapped securely around Emily’s waist. His towering frame shielded her from the blistering February winds howling through the city streets. “You don’t talk to him at all. Don’t even look at him.”
Shivering, Emily nodded, her eyes adjusting to the vibrant red and yellow neon sign in front of the diner. Gavin opened the door, his hold instinctively tightening on Emily as he scanned the retro, 1960s diner. His eyes slipped over an array of pastel vinyl booths and narrowed when he spotted Dillon alone in a back corner booth. Immediately, Gavin’s body went on alert. His pulse jumped, the blood in his veins speeding through his system. Flashes of what the fuck did to Emily dissected his thoughts as fresh as the day she told him about it.
“Two?” a young waitress wearing jeans and a T-shirt with the diner’s logo asked, her perky voice blending with the frenzied atmosphere.
“No. We’re meeting someone, and he’s already seated.” Gavin jerked his head in Dillon’s direction. “Thanks.”
Beaming, she whisked off, taking a seat at the chromed-out counter.
Gavin slipped his hand in Emily’s, leading them toward Dillon. “Remember, don’t say a word. Let me handle this.” He felt the clamminess coating her skin, and he stopped, looking into her nervous eyes. His heart slowed a moment, but with it came a crushing pain. He bent his head and kissed her soft lips. “I love you.”
Emily swallowed, her nerves pummeling her limbs. “I love you, too.”
Inwardly cringing and mentally calling Dillon every name in the book, Gavin approached the booth, his eyes pinned on Dillon. Wearing a cocky smirk, the asshole had his back against the wall, his long legs resting on the cushioned seat. Gavin slid into the booth first, making sure he was directly in front of him.
Without looking at either of them, Dillon stared at the front doors. “Kickass place, right?” His voice was eerily monotone. “You can’t deny kids eat this shit up. I mean, look at these cartoon logos everywhere.” He dropped his feet to the wood floor and swiveled to face Gavin and Emily. “All of these cereal boxes are vintage, you know. The food’s some of the best in the city. Maybe when the baby’s old enough, we’ll bring it here for a nice family outing. What do you think, Em?”
Emily jumped when Gavin’s fist thundered down against the table. The silverware and condiments jiggled from the impact. With his elbow digging into the table, and finger pointed at Dillon, she could see the veins in his neck bulging.
“You listen to me, motherfucker,” Gavin growled, his eyes alight with murderous venom. “I don’t give a fuck about your rules. I’ll gut you open with my fucking teeth if you talk to her again.”
Apparently unaffected by Gavin’s threat, Dillon’s mouth twitched into a smirk. His eyes never left Emily. Crossing his arms, his words came out unrushed, his tone almost a whisper. “Oh no, my friend. We’re all going to play by my rules, and I’ll tell you why.” He brought his gaze from Emily to Gavin, narrowing it like a hungry wolf. “I come from a long line of men who’ve served on the NYPD. Those men are extremely close with our local judges. Maximum sentence for assault in the third degree by means of strangulation is seven years. I can go ahead and push for attempted murder as well. I don’t know how many times you… fucked my ex while we were together, but considering you have a small chance at being the bastard’s father, I’m pretty fucking sure you’d hate spending almost a decade, or possibly longer, of its life upstate. Orange isn’t your color.”