Free The Way Home (Lights of Peril Book 2) by A. C. Bextor Page A

don’t know what’s bothering him. He’s a closed book, damn it.
    “Can we change the subject? When I asked you to dinner, I wasn’t asking for you to have to relive all this.”
    I smile at him and he grabs my hand again for the third time , lacing his fingers with mine. I am not simple to the fact that his gesture, hand holding, has a deeper meaning behind it. I’m just not there with him on that. “Yes, please.”
    “So , how was labor for you?” I spit out the water I had begun to swallow before hearing the question asked.
    “ Damn, Ace, really? You want to ask a woman that over dinner?” Good thing he’s hot because his conversation skills are not how he would ever be able to reel a woman into falling madly in love with him.
    I can’t be infuriated with him. He’s making conversation. He just happens to suck at it.
    “Oh , I don’t know. I guess I could describe it being like getting your teeth pulled without a pain killer. Or maybe having your insides ripped apart for hours upon hours with no definite end in sight? Who are you, Ace? Why would ever ask a woman that question?”
    He raises his hands in surrender and I can see his biceps flexing again through his shirt. How did I never notice this before? He’s a beautiful man.
    We have finished dinner and I’m enjoying my third Mexican margarita , thinking to myself that I have to come here more often. These things are delicious. Ace has moved to my side of the booth and is sitting close, but not close enough to express to others that we are a couple. He is staring at me and the alcohol is racing through my system now and his heavy stare is causing me to blush. He lets out a sweet small smile at me, knowing what his gaze is doing.
    All of a sudden, as if someone is telling me to take a timeout, my phone rings in my purse. I know who this has to be. I look away as I rummage through it, at the same time, trying to gather myself before answering. Looking at the caller ID, I find I was right. It’s Honor calling.
    “Sorry. I didn’t mute it because I wanted to be sure if Honor and April needed anything I could hear it.” He looks dejected, but nods in agreement.
    Before I get even a ‘hello’ out, he starts speaking, “Sadey, Patrick hasn’t stopped crying and he’s running a slight fever. April and I can handle it until you get home and we don’t think there’s really anything to worry about at all, but she thought you would want to know anyway, in case you wanted to call the night short and get home.”
    “No, thank you for the call. I’m coming back now. We just need to get the ticket, then we should be home in less than thirty minutes. Don’t do anything other than put a cold cloth on him, okay?”
    “ Yeah, we got it. Be careful. No need to rush, he’s fine.” says the man with no children. When someone calls and tells you that your child is sick, a new baby, none the less, there is always a need to rush.
    “Gotta go, Ace. I’m sorry. Honor called to tell me he thinks Patrick is sick.”
    “No worries, b ug. Let me pay the ticket and we...” Before he finishes the sentence, his phone rings. Surely Honor wouldn’t have called him, too.
    As he looks at his screen, his face pales. “I have to take this. Can you take my wallet for the bill and I will meet you back here in five? I won’t be long.”
    I nod to him as I grab his wallet from his hand. He walks away and doesn’t look back to me as he heads to the front door. Once I look inside to find payment, I see an old photograph sticking out behind some other pictures and I gasp. It’s a picture of me. I’m at the club.
    I remember the night with great fondness, even if beyond my fondness, the hurt haunts me. This was the last time I ever saw Ace; the night of Hem’s tender proposal, the night I also told him he was going to be a father. The picture has me standing at the bar, getting Hem another shot of whiskey, of course. Mace and I are talking. Shame is wrapped up in her from