Vengeance (Burning Beliefs #2)

Chapter Twenty-Nine *edited*

GRACIE'S POV

Headphones in, headphones out. Inhale, exhale. Another song, another day, and another sunset. Giving up hunting hasn't been easy. But why should I put myself, and my son, in danger? Why should I risk running into them again? Sam and Dean were still a little on edge, and my sister was the iceberg to my Titanic the entire trip. No. I'm not stepping onto that kind of land mine again.

Although I haven't given it up completely. Sometimes people call me for crossreferencing, research, to promote their fake badges, or to create them. Six and a half months pregnant, and I'm turning corrupted, murdering lunatics into licensed FBI agents. It's a wonderful life.

D.C. has taken kindly do the baby. We keep an overwhelming stock of Lucky Charms, pickles, and coconut lollipops. We've even gone so far as to read Harry Potter to my stomach every night. After all, I will not have my child grow up as an innocent muggle. D.C. understands when my mood shifts from "rainbow unicorn cupcakes for everyone" to "death to all who dare to look upon me" in a span of three seconds. He doesn't get upset when I accidentally snap at him, when I overeat (and regret it later), even when I can't shave my legs because I can't touch anything above my ankles — excuse me — cankles. He just laughs when I complain. Which is an extreme relief from the lecturing-every-five-seconds-and-the-oh-yeah-I'm-still-mad-at-you-and-everyone-else atmosphere back with my family.

"Singin' in the Rain?" he asks.

The microwave beeps and the warm, buttery scent of popcorn fills the apartment.

"Hell yeah. One large bowl of Orville Paupenbacher and two cokes with swirly straws?"

"What's life without swirly straws?"

"Simply offensive."

I'll admit, after suddenly leaving for three days and introducing him to my family all while dealing with what happened before I left, Demitri has really got his groove back, concerning his position as pregnant girl's ultimate best friend.

We fall into the tattered cushions of the couch in sync. The movie starts up, with all of the lights turned off, and I get to enjoy another night of popcorn fights and endless giggling with the man who's blessed me with a second home.

"Good night, my dear," as he teases every night.

"See you in the morning, love," is always my reply.

Warm woollen blankets, two separate beds, until the dawn wakes us, he leaves for work, and I pretend that I'm doing something useful during the day. Then he comes home, we talk about our days, we watch a movie, talk more, and go to sleep.

I always find it strange how D.C. and I have talked about everything there is to talk about, yet we've never run out of conversation.

Today might be different. A month and a half, but their faces, their voices, repeating phrases they thought weren't important, haunt my every thought.

The door clicks behind him. Demitri sets his coat on the chair, smiles at me, and asks what's for dinner.

"Fishsticks," I respond. "They're in the oven."

"We don't have any tartar sauce."

"I made some, it's in the fridge."

"Looks like you had a productive day, G."

"What did you do at the drugstore?"

He joins me sitting at the kitchen table. His hair is ruffled from a long, probably boring shift, and his eyes are dry and red. Somehow, the minty green irises still light up as dynamically as always when his smile graces his lips.