Sitting in a metal camping chair, in the middle of lot, I nurse my drink, savoring it, enjoying it. Drinking straight from the fucking bottle, the only way to do it after the day I’ve had. I’ve been through a lot in my shitty life, but this motherfucker takes the goddamn cake. The best of the worst days.
Was the princess worth it? Worth the broken jaw? Worth the blood? Worth the pain? Worth the fight? I’d die for that girl, if that means any-goddamn-thing.
Watching the back door, I watch Samantha walk out of the club. Knew she’d come. I can’t see her face, but I can read her—she’s scared. Worried. Frantic. She’s worried I’m dead, buried out back of this place. Should be dead and buried, but here I am, still kickin’.
Getting out of my chair, I make the long and painful hike across the lot. I have a slight limp. Every part of my goddamn body is hurtin’ like a motherfucker. I’m sure more than my jaw is broken, but it’s all part of the game.
Jesus, she looks crazy, like she’s lost her fucking mind.
Her eyes find mine and she staggers, sobbing.
“You’re okay?” The princess asks me, touching my lip when I reach her. Her hands are on my face, searching me. “Why? Why’d you do this?” she asks, looking at my bloody mouth and black eye.
“For the baby.” I didn’t do this shit for Samantha. As much as I love the bitch and want every goddamn inch of her for the rest of my life, this fight wasn’t for her.
“What?” she breathes, confused, tracing the cut under my eye.
“This wasn’t about you,” I tell her, pulling her hands away from my skin.
“King, I don’t understand.” And she wouldn’t.
“If I have the baby then I’ve got you.” It’s fucking simple. They’re a package deal now. Months ago, it was just Samantha, but now it’s the two of them. That baby might be my blood, but she’s carried it, loved it, cared for it. The baby is hers. If I don’t have the baby, I’ll never have Samantha. I can talk and tell her until I’m fucking blue in the face, but actions speak louder than words. It’s all about the goddamn proof. She said it—she needs proof.
“I don’t know what to say.”
“There isn’t shit to say.” This is what it is. Shit fell apart and I’m picking up the pieces.
“You’re still bleeding.”
Shrugging, I move her hand, the one wiping the blood from my cheek. She loves me, I can tell, but it’s not enough. Not anymore. “I’m fine. Go home, Samantha.”
She blinks a few times, eyes wide. “You want me to leave? You and my brother just beat the shit out of each other and that’s it? You want me to leave?” Her voice is rising, panic washing over her pretty face.
She’s telling me shit I already know. Shit she shouldn’t be worried about. “Club business.”
Running a hand through her hair, she frowns, growling, “I wish everyone would stop sayin’ that.”
I wish I was more than I am, better for her, but right now, I’m not. I have nothing for her. Words, possessions, a life. I don’t have shit. I’m a fucking loser.
“Go home, baby. Go home, eat somethin’ and go to bed.” She’s tired, I can see it in her eyes. I want her and my baby good and healthy. She can’t stand here and worry about something she has no control over. Worry about someone not worth worrying over.
Taking a step back, away from me, she crosses her arms and looks at her feet, kicking at the rocks. “But are we okay?” Vulnerable and scared, she won’t look at me anymore. I don’t want to hurt her more than I already have, but I don’t have the answer she’s looking for right now. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?” she whispers, her voice small.
“I don’t fucking know, Samantha. Right now, I’m just survivin’. Just found out I’m about to be a fucking dad. I don’t know where my head’s at. So no, I don’t fucking know if we’ll be okay. All I know is I’m here. I fucking love you and I’m trying to work that shit out.”
“You l–love me?” she stutters, tripping over the words.
“Would look like it. I’m here, takin’ the beating of a goddamn lifetime, baby. Must be love. Either that, or I’m the stupidest man alive.”
“You love me,” she repeats, and this time it isn’t a question. She says it with conviction. With resolution. “Fuck, King. That’s heavy.”
“But that’s not what this shit’s about,” I tell her, erasing any hope she had. Am I here because I love her? Yeah. But there’s more. A bigger fucking issue. “Go home, baby.”
I hate that look on her face. She looks like I’ve broken her, stepped on her. Kicked her to the curb. When in reality, all I fucking want is for her to be okay, and for that to happen, she needs to go home. She needs to stay the fuck away from me right now.
She nods, accepting my words. “You’re right. We need time.”
Time. We need more than that shit. But it’s what we’ve got. What we get.
Grabbing her jaw, I tip her head back and kiss her. I kiss her like I missed her. “There’s something wrong with the both of us, yeah?” I ask, her lips soft and pliant against mine. Jesus, she fucking kills me. Melting. Molding. We need space, but in this moment, it’s the last goddamn thing I want.
Sam laughs around her tears. “We’re fucked.”
Touching her stomach, my baby, I tell her, “Beyond fucked, but we did one thing right.”
“Yeah,” she agrees, smiling.
I might never have her the way I want her, but at the very fucking least, I’ll have our baby, and right now, I’ll be okay with that.
“Go home.”
“Are you leavin’?” she asks quickly, panicked. This is why she needs time. She doesn’t trust me. And she won’t, not until I prove her wrong.
“No.”
Sam nods, but doesn’t trust my words and I don’t blame her. “I’ll see you later?”
“I’ll be around.”
I watch her walk away, and it’s the hardest fucking thing I’ve ever done—letting her go.