"Goddamn." Dex's long, masculine fingers tapped against the steering wheel. Lifting a hand, he pressed the back of it to his face. "That...that fuckin’ sucks, honey.”

I blew out a breath and laughed just a little, more nervous and resigned than anything. “It could have been worse. He could have been abusive, or...I’m not sure. I just know that it could have been a lot worse, I guess.”

Dex glanced at me out of the corner of his eye, jaw shifting in the brief silence that followed what I said before he spoke again. "My pa was a piece of shit, too. Always yellin' at my sisters, talkin' smack to my ma, tryin’ to beat my ass when he could. Constantly drunk, stealin' money from Ma or whoever was stupid enough to hang around him so he could hit up the bar and get so shit-faced he'd fall asleep on the floor most days. Worthless waste of life especially after they kicked him outta the Widows when they got tired of his shit.”

By about halfway through him speaking, I'd been so stunned that I'd shifted in my seat to look at him. Where the heck his honesty had come from, I had no clue but I was sucked in completely.

When there was an awkward break in the conversation, I blurted out a question. "What happened to him?"

He sighed so painfully, I wouldn't have imagined a man like Dex could harbor so much resentment in him. He'd never seemed like the type to be disappointed in others. He usually went from normal to straight up pissed off.

"He got arrested for distributin' when I was eighteen. Haven't seen his face or spoken to him since."

"Not once?" I asked him in a low voice.

Dex shook his head roughly. Anger and frustration seeped from his pores, stinging my chest with his unease over the past. "Not since he blamed me and Ma for his mess. Told us it was our fault for lettin' him get away with his shit for so long. Said we should’ve gotten him help. Can you believe that shit? I spent years tryin’ to get him to spend time with me and my sisters instead of with his vodka and he blames us for bein' a drunk motherfucker?

The last time I talked to him he said I should get used to bein’ a disappointment ‘cuz that’s all I’d ever be.” He snickered bitterly. “Just like him.”

Anger flooded my veins. “What a piece of shit.”

Holy crap. Did I really just say that?

I looked over at Dex to see him glancing over at me. Whether he was shocked or amused, I had no clue. All I got was a bob of his head. “You have no idea, babe.”

I didn’t know Dex well, but I felt confident with what I told him next. I wasn’t trying to suck-up to him—why would I?—or make him feel better, but I thought he should know I didn’t believe his dad’s prophecy. “You’re nothing like that—like him—you know that, right?”

“I hope to God I’m not.”

“You’re not,” I confirmed. “You’re a good man, Dex.”

He shrugged, but I could tell he was thinking, processing. “I don’t ever wanna be half like him. Back then, I was out on bail for some dumbass charges—," I wouldn't call assault a dumbass charge but I'd keep that thought to myself. "Hearin’ those words outta his voice. Doomin’ me to repeat his miserable, drunk life? I swore right then I was never gonna be like him. I have his temper. I say stupid shit I don’t mean sometimes but that’s it.”

I said the next few words without even thinking. “You’re not.” I looked at him. “At all.”

The silence after that was so crushing, it made me feel awkward. Heavy. Pressurized.  I knew this chance was rare, so for some reason, I kept going. “What happened after that?”

“After I got out of county, I left Austin, went up to Dallas for a couple of years and sorted my shit out. When I was ready, I came back home.”

His version of the story was so short and perfectly cut out, I couldn't wrap my mind around it. He'd paid his penance, and then gotten out and tried to steer his life in a different direction. That was admirable.

Dex turned to look at me over his shoulder. He looked at me so long I should have worried about him keeping his eyes on the road but there was no one there. “You think I’m an asshole, babe? Like really an asshole? Not just a grump or whatever the hell you call it?”

He was being serious. So serious, so innately vulnerable right then that I felt something warm and heavy paint over my insides, warning me that this moment was something for Dex. Something that I had a feeling, an instinctual confirmation, he didn’t share with anyone.

“I think you do some asshole things,” I answered him honestly. “But I don’t think you’re really an asshole, Dex.”

Truth. Truth. Truth. This was the man who sat me on the counter after I’d been yelled at, bought me a coke and fed me bread. This was the same man who bitched at me for walking to my car alone. The same man who carried me to my bed. Dexter Locke was the man who didn’t give me a hard time about not drinking and kindly praised my attempt at a tattoo.

He had more points going in the opposite direction of the asshole-meter than he did going toward it.

“You’re actually probably one of the kindest people I’ve ever met when you aren’t—“

“Bein’ a dick?” he suggested in a low voice.

It was impossible not to smile. “I was going to say grumpy but that works too. The point is, you two are polar opposites. I’m pretty confident you wouldn’t treat your loved ones the way he did.”

He cocked his neck from one side to the other as if trying to stretch the muscles. A long huff escaped from his mouth. "I've always told myself that when I have kids, I'm gonna to spoil the shit out of 'em."

I couldn't help but smile, though I kept my gaze forward. Dex as a dad? A bad-mouthed dad?

Dex smiled right then, morphing something inside of me that I couldn't completely recognize. The moment and intent was too heavy for me to bear. I didn't want to think of what all this honesty was doing to my insides. "You know what?"

He grunted.

"Your kids will probably come out of the womb saying the f-bomb."

"Fuck," he laughed loudly, confirming my guess. "You're probably right, babe."

I tilted my face to look at him, meeting those blue eyes that I knew even without the light, were the brightest blue I'd ever seen. "Little f-bomb dropping hell raisers. I can totally see it."

Chapter Fifteen

Don't vomit.

Don't vomit.

Don't vomit.

Oh God, I was totally going to vomit.

You will not throw up, balk, or gag, I told myself.

Over and over again.

The letter I'd typed up the night before shook in my hand. The paper that stated to my employer I was giving my two weeks notice to find a replacement. Ef me.

I'd felt so guilty the days before as I hooked up my laptop to Sonny's printer. I kept thinking about Slim and his friendliness, Blake and his patience, and Blue and her quiet nature.

But I'd be lying if I said the person I thought of the most wasn't Dex.

All I could think of was the version of Dex I'd encountered in the truck on the trip back and forth to Houston. The one who talked to me about installing cameras and putting in extra bills into the cash registers at Mayhem to find their thief. The man who had opened up to me about his own crap-ass dad.

That was the person I'd thought of as I waited for the printer to give me my notice.

And it was that man that had me shaking in my boots at just the idea that I had to tell him I was leaving.

To my surprise, only Blake and Blue were at the shop when I'd driven by on my first attempt to drop off my notice on Monday. When I'd shown up for work on Tuesday, it was Slim who opened with me.

Each moment longer I had to wait, the more nervous and guilty I felt.

So when Dex showed up about halfway through the evening at Pins on Tuesday, I had to double check to make sure my big girl panties were on and finally go break the news.