Her Silent Revenge novel Chapter 137

Arch parked his vehicle slightly crooked on the driveway. Same for Dexter, who's parked neatly beside it, almost like he wanted to make a point about Arch's terrible parking.

The thought makes me grin, though it vanishes a second later.

Before I know what I'm doing, I'm taking the steps to the front door two at a time and barreling inside.

"Daddy!" Arlo comes flying down the hall, his feet slapping the carpet.

His face is split by the widest grin and he—

Wait, what?

What the hell did he just call me?

He launches himself into my arms, clearly expecting me to swing him around.

There's a second where I'm too stunned to move, but after a breathless heartbeat, I grab him and press him to my chest. He smells like laundry and fresh cooking and that little kid smell that's distinctly his.

Fuck me, for the first time I can remember, I worry about tearing up.

"I told him," Salem announces quietly over his shoulder. She's standing back a pace, wringing her hands together, barely holding in tears of her own.

Well, hell, at least we make a great pair today.

Arlo has his hands around my neck. I'll be damn happy if he never lets

go.

"Delly knows, too. I couldn't wait to tell her, no matter what happens.

Even if"—her voice trembles—"even if you never want to see me again." "Mommy told me you're my daddy!" Arlo says cheerfully. "Does that

mean I'm gonna be a superhero, too?"

"Sure thing, buddy." My voice is thick, but I'm past caring. "Sorry I couldn't be around when your mom gave you the big news."

"It's okay. She said you were busy saving the world," he says smugly.

"Yeah?" I look at Salem, who watches me warily with a slight flush on her cheeks.

It hasn't been a full week since I saw her, but it feels like twenty years.

There's nothing I want to do more right now than swing her into my arms and kiss her until she can't remember her own name.

But a lot needs to happen first.

So I just take my sweet time hugging Arlo until he wiggles, then I set him down.

Privacy isn't their strong suit.

"Let's talk in the garden," I suggest, reaching for her hand, then stopping.

Slow and steady, that's the play here. We need to smooth out the wrinkles first before I can kiss her, even if her lips are constant torture.

And those plush lips part as she takes a breath. Her gaze drops to my hand, a hint of confusion forming before she nods.

We walk together in silence, giving me time to think about how I don't know what to say.

Feelings were never my strong suit.

I can do charm, I can do seduction, I can do grand gestures. But this— talking about what I really want and why it's her—it's foreign as hell when you've always kept a barbed wire fence around your inner self.

Before I can blink, we're in the garden and she's looking up at me expectantly.

I still have absolutely no idea what to say. Fuck.

I've never had a beautiful woman who means the world looking at me with so much hope welling in her eyes.

"Salem, I'm sorry," I say roughly. "For leaving. For flying off the handle and going rogue, even if I knew it was right. And I'm sorry for leaving you in the dark."