Page 51 of Rough Hard Fierce (Chicago Underground 1-3)
Oh, no. No no no. The only thing that could possibly make this bad situation worse was if Shelly were involved.
“You know him?” I choked on the words.
“I know him,” she confirmed, her face grim. “I’ve gotta run.”
“What? Now?”
“Yup.” She plopped a fussing Bailey into my arms and vanished out the back door as quickly as she’d appeared.
Well, shit.
I gave myself a tacit pat on the back for keeping that swear to myself. It was hard as hell, but I was learning. It twisted me up inside to want something better, but when I looked at Bailey, I couldn’t help but hope. It would hurt like hell to face my past—to start to heal—but being with Colin almost made it seem possible.
Chapter Two
I decided to tell Colin about the cops. After dinner.
It didn’t take a domestic goddess to realize a man was more amenable on a full stomach. Plus, spazzing out as soon as he got home just reeked of insecurity. However accurate that might have been, I wanted to show him I could deal with this. No problem. Detectives questioning me before snack time? Easy.
So when Colin came through the back door, I just called over my shoulder. “Hey, you. How was your day?” I dropped a spoonful of cookie dough onto the sheet. Look at me, so domestic.
“Not great,” he answered.
I froze, but the lump of dough slid from the spoon and landed on the tray with a plop. Colin was like Shelly. A faker. He said great when he meant fine, and fine when he meant total suckage. Not great was practically
a cry for help.
I turned around. He looked like…Colin. Sturdy, steady. Dependable. Or maybe it’s just that I had depended on him so much that I wanted him to be that way for me.
I walked over to him and reached up to cup his jaw. “What’s wrong?”
“Where’s Bailey?”
“Napping.” I smiled. Physical comfort, I could give.
“We need to talk.”
My smile fell. So much talking today and none of it good.
“Is there something you didn’t tell me about Andrew?” he asked.
Alarm bells clanged. There was a lot I hadn’t told him about Andrew, actually, but I had a feeling I knew exactly which thing he was talking about. The question was, how could he know? “Like what?”
“How long did you and Andrew date?”
Shit. He knew. But how? And perhaps more importantly, how the hell could I get around this? I tried to collect my thoughts, my lies. Lying about this felt more natural than not, but I wasn’t prepared for this direct questioning out of the blue. I wasn’t prepared for all this fucking security to shatter. It was too soon. I’d had just a taste, and it was too fucking soon.
“Colin,” I tried. “Has something happened?”
“Answer the question.”
I felt panic rise in my chest, and I tamped it down. “I’m not going to answer the question until you tell me what is going on. Something had to have happened. You’re acting weird.”
“I spoke to Andrew today.”
“You did what?” Jesus Christ. Colin and Andrew together. This was a cluster fuck of the first order. Fuck, fuck, fuck. “Why would you do that? What did he say?”
“We had to find out if he was going to pursue this.”
