Page 35 of Dagger

Finally, he gestures toward the door. “We’re done here. Get out of my office and start figuring your shit out.”

I push back from the table, my steps heavy as I head for the door. Mason’s words echo in my head. It feels like the ground beneath me is crumbling.

Shit. I’m going to be a father.

The thought keeps hitting me like a hammer to the skull as I swing my leg over my bike and fire up the engine. The rumble beneath me is a comfort, something steady to drown out the chaos in my head. I need to ride, to get away for a while, to figure out how the hell I’m supposed to deal with this.

I tear out onto the road, the wind biting at my face, the roar of the bike in my ears. The open road has always been my escape, my way of clearing the noise, but tonight it’s not working. The words are still there, pounding in my skull.I’m going to be a father. Chloe’s baby. My baby.

I push the throttle harder, the bike growling as I speed down the empty highway. The dark stretches around me, but it doesn’t feel as big as the weight sitting on my chest.

Chloe’s carrying my kid.

The thought slams into me again, and I pull over, skidding to a stop on the shoulder. I kill the engine, leaning forward, my hands gripping the handlebars as I try to steady my breathing. The quiet is almost deafening now, and the reality I’ve been trying to outrun crashes down on me.

How the hell did I let this happen?

I scrub a hand over my face, sitting there on the side of the road, the bike’s metal frame still warm beneath me. Father. The word feels too big, too heavy. It doesn’t belong to me. I’ve spent my whole life avoiding ties like this, running from anything permanent, and now?

Now, I’ve got a kid on the way.

Eventually, I head back, the ride slower this time, my thoughts still spinning. When I get home, I park the bike and lean against the wall in the garage, trying to make sense of the mess in my head.

I think about Chloe, carrying my kid. I remember that night—the fire in her eyes, the way everything else just disappeared. It wasn’t just sex. Not for me.

But I didn’t have the balls to face it then. So I ran. Like the goddamn coward I’ve spent my life swearing I’m not. And Chloe? She had to deal with all of it on her own. She’s tough—tougher than I ever gave her credit for—but that doesn’t change the fact that I wasn’t there when she needed me most.

I let her down.

I letmy kiddown.

My fists clench at my sides, my jaw tight as anger and guilt twist together in my chest. I think about my own father—a mean son of a bitch who was more fists than words. He liked to beat the shit out of me and my mom for whatever pissed him off that day. Didn’t matter what it was—a broken bottle, a burnt dinner—he always found a reason.

He was a drunk. Dabbled in drugs when the booze wasn’t enough. Couldn’t hold a job to save his life. And the cheating? That was a given. He’d come home reeking of cheap perfume and bullshit lies, expecting my mom to just take it.

Growing up, I swore I’d never be like him. Never do to a woman what he did to my mom. Never destroy someone’s lifethe way he destroyed ours. So I made a choice—no attachments, no promises, nothing serious. Keep it about sex. No emotions, no commitments, no chance of fucking it all up like he did.

And for the most part, I’ve stuck to that. It’s easier to keep people at arm’s length, easier to make sure no one gets close enough to see the cracks. But with Chloe?

With Chloe, it’s different. It’s always been different.

It wasn’t supposed to be more than one night—that’s what I told myself. But it wasn’t just sex. Not with her. The way she looked at me, like she didn’t see the screw-up I’ve spent my whole life trying to outrun... it messed me up.

And now, there’s a baby in the mix. My baby. The stakes have never been higher, and this time? There’s no running.

Chloe deserves better. The baby deserves better. And I’ll be damned if I let history repeat itself.

I’m going to be a father. I’m going to do this right.

No more running. No more screwing up. Now, I just need to get Chloe on board.

THIRTEEN

CHLOE

Tank flips burgerson the grill, his movements slower than usual. He’s quieter too, like he’s got something heavy on his mind. Sophie and I finish up in the kitchen, putting the last touches on the mac and cheese and coleslaw. We’ve been doing this Sunday dinner thing for a while now—Tank grills, Sophie and I handle the sides. It’s easy, kind of comforting, like a routine. But tonight, something feels different.

Tank doesn’t say much once we sit down at the patio table. The food’s great, as usual, but the tension in the air is thick enough to choke on. Sophie keeps glancing at him, her brows pulling together like she wants to say something, but she stays quiet.

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