She frowned. “Yes, Polly and an excessive number of tacos would cheer me up. Where is she? I’ll call her. No, her phone is probably dead, and you’ve put some kind of tracking device on her in her sleep, right?”
Heath had been frozen the second she started speaking. “You haven’t been getting tacos with her.”
It wasn’t a question.
But Rosie answered anyway. “No, as you so shrewdly pointed out, tacos put me in a good mood. I’m not currently in a good mood,” she snapped. Her face dropped. “Why do you think that I’m getting tacos with Polly?”
He stood. “Because she fucking told me you picked her up from her meeting three hours ago.”
“Meeting?” Rosie parroted.
“Fuck,” he hissed, stabbing at his phone.
He got voicemail.
Of course he did.
“Keltan!” he all but roared into the intercom.
“Oh fuck, what now,” Keltan sighed.
“Polly’s missing.”
There was a pause. “Fuck,” he hissed. Heath heard that goddamn tapping of keys again. “On it.”
His mind went to that night in the desert.
Every inch of his skin went cold.
He couldn’t handle that shit again.
He fucking couldn’t.
No matter what shit he’d handled in a desert world’s away, on a fucking battlefield, it had nothing on opening the door of that truck and seeing her. Holding her and having her feeling so light, like someone had just scooped everything out of her. After they’d beat her bloody, that was.
“If Fernandez has her, I’ll kill him, fuck the plan you idiots have and fuck the fucking pregnancy,” Rosie hissed.
She was pacing.
It made him nervous.
She was fucking pregnant as fuck, she shouldn’t be pacing like that. The baby could just fall right out or something. Both her and Lucy were close to delivery. And that scared him more than he cared to admit. Not just because he might be the fucker who had to deliver the baby like Cade had with his wife in the Sons of Templar clubhouse.
No, because he knew what it was doing to Polly. He saw it, every time she looked at them. The joy in her face for her sister. The love. He saw it because she wore that love like she wore those fuckin’ dresses that drove him wild.
It fit her.
But sometimes it moved. Just a little so no one but him could see it. The sorrow. The pain so deep it speared through his bone.
She wouldn’t get that. She wouldn’t grow big with his baby, feel it inside her.
And it fucking killed him. Not because he felt like he was losing out on something. No, with her he had everything. But because of what the world was taking from her. The girl that radiated sunshine and love, who gave everything. The woman who would be the best mother on the face of the planet. And she didn’t get that.
It was too fucking cruel to bear.
She’d get that, though. He’d make sure of it.
He’d already been looking into adoption agencies. Sure, it might be too soon, but he wanted to be prepared, ready. Because Polly was getting back to Polly.
Slowly.
But she was getting there.
And he knew when she got there—and she’d fucking get there—she’d be ready to jump into things. When that day came, he wanted to be able to be ready for whatever she wanted. Which was why he’d been carrying a ring around for a month. One that he’d gotten from some obscure, vintage jewelry store, that only sold antique shit. And the ring was Polly. Simple. Understated. And mind-blowingly beautiful.
He knew she’d want a ring with history. With a story. Because she lived for stories.
And he was going to give her one.
Give her everything.
Hence him researching adoption agencies. Pulling every string he had to make sure that they could get on the list as soon as she decided. If that’s what she decided. It would’ve been easier if they were married.
And they would be married.
Heath was gonna make sure of that.
But no way would he rush her.
They had forever. And as long as she kept falling asleep in his arms, he could handle her not having his ring on her finger.
What he couldn’t handle, was Rosie pacing. No, what he couldn’t fucking bear was the fact they were back in that room, in that horrific fucking room and Polly was missing again.
“Rosie, Jesus Christ,” Luke seethed as he entered, face tight. “I told you to stay off your feet, and what? Now you think it’s a good idea to pace holes in the carpet?” He placed his hands atop her belly and looked down. “In fucking heels? I thought we talked about that.”
Rosie narrowed her eyes. “You talked. I did not listen since it was utter madness, and not the good kind. You get me out of heels, you get me out of this marriage.”
“I’m gonna interrupt here because this because my fucking woman is missing,” Heath hissed.