Page 77 of The Clover Chapel (Jamison Valley 2)
What? Let’s go for three? Wasn’t this a hypothetical discussion? I didn’t realize we were talking about how many kids we were having together.
This divorce discussion couldn’t be stalled any longer. We were on different pages as to where our relationship was headed. Maybe not the end goal, but certainly the speed in which we were getting there.
I took a few deep breaths and worked up the nerve to start this discussion. This was going to cause a miserable fight.
“Nick, I’ve been wanting to talk—”
“What the fuck’s he doing here?”
I followed his gaze down the driveway to an enormous black truck sitting in front of his house. The vehicle was massive. Tinted windows. Chrome plating. Lifted frame. I would have to be hoisted into the passenger seat it was so tall.
“Who is that?”
“Stay here,” he said, parking the truck and jumping out. The door slammed shut behind him as he marched up to the man standing on his steps.
He was dressed completely in black. A chain hung from his front jeans pocket to his back. On top of his T-shirt, he wore a black leather vest covered with embroidered patches.
This had to be someone from his father’s motorcycle gang.
Given what Nick had told me about them, I was instantly nervous. I assumed that his association with the club was limited to family members but maybe I had been mistaken and this visit meant trouble.
As they talked, the visitor came down the steps to stand on equal footing with Nick. He was about the same height and had the same brown hair. Could this be his younger brother? It was too dark for me to compare their faces.
After another minute of talking, Nick relaxed and embraced the man with a quick hug and back slap. While Nick came to me, the man grabbed a duffel I hadn’t noticed and walked through the front door.
“It looks like we’ve got company for the night?” I asked when he opened the passenger door.
“Yeah. Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. It’s your house. Should I go home?” I asked.
“Abso-fucking-lutely not,” he said and helped me down. When we got inside, the man had already helped himself to a beer from the fridge and was waiting for us in the living room.
“Dash, meet Emmeline Austin,” Nick said. “Emmy, this is my brother Kingston Slater.”
Brother. Right.
“Hello. Nice to meet you, Kingston,” I said, extending my hand.
“Dash. Everyone calls me Dash. Except Nick here when he wants to be a dick. Nice to meet you too, Emmeline.”
The similarities between Nick and Dash were many. Even if he hadn’t been introduced as Nick’s brother, I would have made the assumption. They had the same hair and body shape, though Dash had numerous tattoos on his forearms, and his face was covered with light stubble, unlike Nick’s full beard.
“What’s with the crown, princess?” Dash asked.
“Oh.” I blushed and yanked the tiara from my hair. “We were at a princess-themed birthday party.”
“A princess party? You sure know how to live it up, Nick.”
“Fuck off,” Nick said. “You know you could find somewhere else to stay tonight, asshole. There is a motel here.”
“No way. Me and Emmy have a lot to talk about,” Dash said, sinking into the couch.
“Emmeline,” Nick and I both corrected.
“I’m getting a beer. Do you want something?” Nick asked me.
“Wine, please.”
