Page 56 of Devil's Dilemma

“Of course we fuckin’ are.”

“Then we’re going to stay friends. I’ve… lost my man.” It’s still so hard to say it. Every time I do, another little piece of my heart breaks, and maybe I’m drawing nearer to accepting it. “I need to come to terms with that, and I won’t be able to do that here. Not with every man wearing a cut the same as his, not with people talking the same as he did and not when I’m being referred to as Skull’s old lady, or when I know the only reason I’m here is because that’s what I am.Was,” I correct.

“I wear a cut and talk like a fuckin’ biker. You gonna shut me out too? Because I fuckin’ remind you of him?”

“No, Ro, no. I want to stay friends. If you will, I want you to come to the hospital visits with me. If you will…” I hesitate, wondering if I’m asking too much. “If you’d like to be, I’d like you there at the birth.”

Pyro’s eyes open the widest I’ve ever seen. He swallows before he answers, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, “You really want that?”

I swallow. “I do.” Then hold my breath for the answer. It’s a lot to ask of a single man.

But his face breaks into a huge grin. “I’d like that too. Seems I’m already invested in my niece or nephew.”

“I’m looking forward to finding out which it is.” But only because he’ll be at my side sharing the joy with me. On my own, I wouldn’t be able to cope so well. I don’t know why, but in this short space of time, Pyro’s become my rock.

“Me too, Mel. Me too.”

“I’d like you to come visit as much as you want. The only difference is I won’t be here, sleeping in your bed.”

He glances at me quickly, opens his mouth, then looks away. He sighs. “You need help getting anything ready. The nursery painted…”

“I’m not going to ask that much of you.”

“You can’t really see me waving a paintbrush around, can you?” His eyes open in mock horror. “I was going to say I’d send the prospects around.” He winks as I burst out laughing. “I’m going to fuckin’ miss you darlin’.”

“I’m going to miss you too,” I respond, genuinely.

“You planning on leaving straight away?”

I nod. “I’ll just call for an Uber…”

“No you fuckin’ won’t. I’ll take you.” He glances at me. “You can come on the bike if you’re feeling up to it, if not I’ll take a car.”

“I’m not ill. And I haven’t put on weight yet…”

“Mel,” he starts in a warning tone, “you could put on a good few pounds and still be fine to ride.”

I ignore him. Soon I will be gaining weight and there will come a time when I won’t be able to be behind anyone on their motorcycle. But for now, I’m fine. I’m looking forward to riding again.

He takes me home, removes my house keys from my hands and takes his time looking around while I stand rolling my eyes. What does he expect? A rapist hiding under the bed? He checks out the garage, makes sure my car starts, then, comes back inside.

“You sure?” His stare is intense.

“I’m certain. I’ll be fine, Ro.” Well, I’ll try to be. Try to summon up the will to get up every day and carry on with life, even though there’s a big part of it missing. I can see by the expression in his face that he understands, without me putting it into words.

After giving me a moment’s examination, he sighs. “Okay then. I’ll go. But you’ve got my number in your phone. Anything, Mel, anything. You need a carton of milk or have a fancy for ice cream? You’re feeling down and want another body around? Anything, just call me.” He pauses for a moment. “Not sure how good I’d be painting your nails but I’m willing to give it a go.”

I laugh, and mock punch his arm. “When I can’t see my toes, you might need to.”

His hand curls behind my neck, and he pulls me in closer, pressing his lips to my forehead for a second.

“Take care of yourself, Mel.”

“You too, Ro.”

When I hear the sound of his engine fade into the distance, I realise I’m truly alone for the first time since Skull disappeared. I shiver, hugging my arms around me. Glancing around my living room, it strikes me how little of Skull is left behind. Okay, so most of his stuff he’d kept in the club, but apart from the clothes I know are upstairs, there’s not much else here. An open Harley magazine, a candy bar wrapper in the wastepaper basket. No photos, no knickknacks.

At least there isn’t much to remind me.

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