Page 76 of Dash

“Anger is a useless emotion,” he says.

I glare at him. “I don’t have the patience for any fortune cookie bullshit, Diesel.”

“Did you know that fortune cookies were?—”

“Brother.” My growl is low.

“Right. But your outburst won’t pluck out the disease growing in the club.”

I freeze. It feels like the world holds its breath. He doesn’t say more, doesn’t need to. It just hangs between us, inflammatory and dangerous.

Is he saying this to test my loyalty? To see if I’ll bite?

“We almost died, and he doesn’t want to even ask why.” I’m walking a line now, but I want to test, to push him.

“Crank… isn’t a good president.”

I don’t confirm or deny what he says. Because now, we’re both hanging off the fucking edge of that line.

Diesel heads back inside, and I pull out my phone. Dayna’s been quiet today, so I don’t expect to see a message from her, but there’s one waiting. Some of my shitty mood is chased away, until I open it.

Dayna:

I have a migraine. Can we leave tonight?

Concern claws at me. Knowing she’s suffering and alone…

I want to take care of her.

You need me to bring you anything?

Dayna:

No, I’m good. All I need is a dark room and a good night’s sleep. Speak later x

I stare at the message, rereading what she wrote. There’s nothing weird in it, nothing that should give me pause, but the tone is very un-Dayna-like. My instincts are screaming.

You need me, I’ll be there.

She doesn’t reply. I pocket my phone.You’re just on edge because of everything that’s happened in the last week.

She’s got a migraine. She’s not pulling back. And even if she’s trying, too bad because I’m not letting her go.

NINETEEN

DAYNA

I’m buriedunder the duvet, contemplating whether I can disappear into the mattress if I will it hard enough.

Dash bought my migraine excuse without blinking, which is good because I need the night to spiral. Getting through both of my shifts was torture. All I could think about was the huge fucking secret growing inside my uterus.

Nausea swirls through me. I cannot be pregnant. I can barely take care of myself.

I burrow deeper into the blankets, pushing away the bone deep panic settling inside me.How the hell am I meant to have a baby?

There’s a knock at the door, and I unravel my burrito nest.

I don’t want to answer it, regret making the call because I’ll have to face the truth, but I need to spiral in company.

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