Dustin and I had spoken, just enough for him not to share with his mother (who would share with my mother) that I was blowing him off, not enough for me to actually fix a date with him.

However, this was something he was pushing more for as the days went by, our conversations became longer, his interest in seeing me again was more firmly communicated and I was beginning to run out of excuses.

I was, indeed, busy at work. But mostly, I was fucking another guy (that being after we ate together and hung out together) who I preferred to spend time with so I didn’t have time for Dustin.

I looked from my phone to the warehouse and decided one thing that annoyed me and reminded me my life really wasn’t my own at a time.

I let the call go to voicemail.

I would find it was really not my day when I made my way up the stairs that were open to the large, loud loading area where many men were being loud while loading things and I nearly bumped into Tommy at the top. This happened when I opened the door to enter the hall off which the offices were located.

“Liv,” he murmured, not moving, his arm out to hold open the door.

“Tom,” I replied, shifting to scoot by him.

He caught my arm.

I froze, my gaze cast to his hand on my arm.

I lifted it to him.

Even with the order I was giving with my eyes, he didn’t let me go.

“We have to talk,” he shared.

“We’ll make a meeting,” I replied.

His fingers tightened. “Not talk like that.”

I raised my brows, allowing mild curiosity to infuse my features.

He got closer. “Shit’s gone down. I shared somethin’ with you. Haven’t seen you since. It’s fuckin’ with you, I know it and I gotta know you’re good.”

“I’m good,” I assured him immediately, pulling at my arm in his hold.

“Liv—”

“Tom, let me go. I’ve got things I need to do.”

He didn’t let me go.

He kept hold of me with one hand as he let the door swing closed and lifted his other to lightly touch the marks on his face before he dropped it.

“I got a life to live and one choice how to live it, honey, but I gotta live it and you know I want kids,” he shared gently, but albeit gently, they were things I already knew.

I knew he wanted kids because we were going to have kids. Three of them.

And none of them were going to be gangsters.

“Then it’s good your wife is pregnant,” I remarked.

His chin jerked into his neck.