Page 37 of Sinner's Redemption
“Baby hog,” George huffed, looking menacingly at his wife, who ignored him entirely. Sitting in Montana’s lap, I leaned back against him, as Virginia said, “But it doesn’t make sense, son. Why would someone blacklist Tessa?”
“Mercy thinks it might be someone from my past.”
“You mean one of your many flings,” I muttered. Montana growled, gripping my hip firmly, but said nothing.
“Well, I’m not going to have my future daughter-in-law blacklisted. Fix it or I will,” Virginia stated firmly.
“Already on it, mom.”
“Virginia, Montana and I have no plans to get married. Right now, whatever we have is tentative at best. We are learning to co-parent York. Because I can’t find a job at any hospital in the city, I may have to commute or worse, move. I’ve heard from Philadelphia Regional, and they’ve offered me a position. I’m considering it, but I would rather stay in the city. If I can find a hospital to give me a chance, I will look for a suitable place for myself and York to live.”
Four eyes stared in shock at me.
Montana stiffened.
Virginia’s eyes narrowed. “Let me guess. You didn’t tell her?”
“No. Not yet,” he barely said.
Virginia stood with York in her arms. “George, boys, it’s time we leave and let Montana tell Tessa the truth. Because if he doesn’t, and my daughter leaves with my grandson, I’m going with her, and all of you will be looking for a new President.”
Watching as the older men gulped, Montana said nothing as he sat quietly, holding me firm against him. However, when Virginia and the Retirement Rejects started walking for the front door, Montana snarled lowly, “Drop the kid,woman.”
Virginia stopped dead in her tracks and turned sheepishly. “But he needs his Nana.”
Sliding out from under me, Montana got to his feet before walking over to his mother. “Love you, mom, but the kid stays.”
“Fine,” Virginia huffed before kissing York on his forehead, handing him to his father. Hiding my smile, I chuckled when Virginia added “But I get weekends and two weeks in the summer.”
Later that night, as I lay in bed next to Montana, curled around him, I asked, “What did your mother mean when she said, ‘you didn’t tell me?’ Tell me what?”
“It’s nothing babe. Go to sleep.”
He was evading the question. Which meant he didn’t want or wasn’t ready to have this conversation with me. I’d been with the man long enough to know his tells. The man could be straightforward and direct when the mood suited him, but put him in a position that he wasn’t ready for, and the man clammed up tighter than a virgin’s ass during Sunday mass
Sitting up, I leaned over and turned on the side table lamp.
Moaning, he rolled over, covering his eyes.
“Tell me what?”
“One night. Can I have one night where we don’t fight?”
“There won’t be a fight if you just tell me what it is your mother thinks I need to know.”
“It’s nothing. Just club shit.”
“What club shit?”
“You are the mother of my son. That means something. So, I’m claiming you, okay,” he said, as if he just didn’t drop a bomb in my lap. Claiming me? What the hell did that mean?
“Explain.”
“Tess, I’m tired. Can we please go to sleep?”
“No,” I huffed, throwing back the covers, and climbed out of the bed. Standing my ground, I waited for him to say something, anything. When he stayed quiet, I walked over to his dresser and grabbed a t-shirt.
Fine.