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So, I poke. “What if I don’t want you to be part of KORT?”
“Fuck.” He cackles, as if I asked him how he’d handle me becoming a unicorn, and abandons me on the hood of the car to retrieve our bags. He closes the trunk and saunters by me, smacking my leg so I scurry after him. “You really don’t get it, Carver. First of all, I’m a lifer with KORT. No going back. And so is the rest of our family. Including you. You’ve been named and claimed, baby girl.”
I’m nearly a dewy-eyed puddle from the our family comment. Not the first time he’s said it, but it hits different after he declared he loves me. And yet that’s not what trips me up as I dash into the house behind him, unwilling to pause to drink in the stunning decor—walls of windows jutting out into the scenic view, soaring ceiling, rich woods, and warm stone. Paling in comparison to this discussion though. I’ll explore later.
“You claimed me? I thought—”
“Yes. It’s done, and so is this conversation.” He makes for the steps, carting our duffel bags over his shoulder. “Get upstairs. And strip.”
Okay, so he’s going to fuck his rage out on me, like last night. That does nothing to solve the drenched situation in my panties.
I chase him up the stairs, rounding the corner into an unbelievable master suite with a view of the mountains that practically cements me in a trance before I regain my spark. “So, by anything, you actually mean—”
He drops the bags with an irate thud that crashes through my snark. “All the shit you were actually asking about.” His arm waves around like my current state is a nuisance. “I’m not sure what this feisty pushback is. If it’s some urge to rile me up so I fuck you like an animal, done.”
God, this man melts me into a sick little slut.
“But,” he continues, hands in his pockets as I stare at the beauty of him against this awe-inspiring backdrop, “none of that is what you’re wondering. You’ve spent too much time with politicians, waltzing around issues instead of just fucking pulverizing them. Too cowardly to ask for what you really want. Not sure if that’s because you’re afraid or you think you’re not allowed to want things.”
Cowardly? My skin heats with my fuming, hands gripping my hips. “What the hell does that mean?”
He swaggers closer, erasing the breathable space between us. “It means, as much as you love your family, you’ve suffocated every dream you ever had to fulfill whatever fucked-up plan they devised. Your aspirations were nothing more than phantom whispers. And those people you have on a pedestal let you, but I won’t.”
That is a spearing truth, gutting me to my core. They did. I already came to that conclusion, but I also know who they had been before. Grief changes the best of us. I won’t stop loving them for that.
“And you think you know what I want?”
“Yes.” He slides one hand across my lower back, anchoring our hips together, and lifts my chin to him with the other. “You want to know where I stand on marriage and kids and living in the same house as Ivy and the guys. You want a role, not just at the shelter, but also with the business side of our operation. And you want to know that I’ll love you even if you’re not perfect.”
Holy hell. How does he do that? My thrashing heart plummets into the depths of my stomach, sloshing around with all my unease and hope, as tears prick the back of my eyes.
“I see you, Carver. Every infuriatingly beautiful facet of who you are. And whether you like it or not, I’m your forever. I told you our first night together that I’d take whatever you offered. If that’s you settling, so be it. I’ll make my peace with that. But I sure as hell would like to see you fight for us. That’s when you’ll get your goddamn epic love story.”
I can’t seem to speak. So much has happened in the short time we’ve been together. And all he wants is for me to fight for him. He’s waited his whole life for someone to do that. It’s such a simple request.
Letting me go, he saunters to the door. “I’ll be back in twenty minutes. You’d better not have any clothes on.” With that, he shuts me in the room, alone with my racing pulse. All I’ve ever wanted is to be truly seen, and he’s gifted me that.
If he needs me to fight for him, I will. He’s worth it.
Keith’s words about Liam hammer into me, far more impactful now. Wisdom from the fallen. “Seems like if you were going to pick a time to fight, it’d be when the stakes were the highest.”
LIAM
Celeste has tried my patience since our first meeting when she was the snarky hourglass goddess, refusing answers about Ivy and accusing me of faking my death. But I’ve also summoned superhuman strength to extend patience at times, contrary to my instincts.
Too many fucking times.
When I stepped away because I knew how firm her parents stood on her not being mine.
When I allowed her to leave my home to date other men. Twice.
When I gave her space to heal and come to terms with her place in our family.
Maybe I should practice more patience now. She lost two men dear to her, had to cut communication with her family when those relationships had already been on rocky ground, was held captive, and discovered that Easton Lancaster is alive and that her brother was murdered. She’s barely reacted to most of that. I know her mind is spinning, trying to make sense of it all. Numb to the chaos and anguish.
But I can’t stand by while she reels and not insist that she clutch me. Trust me. I want her talons so stuck into me, and mine in hers, that removal would be excruciating. Deadly. I hoped we were already there. We don’t have the luxury of time. This life doesn’t afford that. She’s claimed. That comes with expectations.
Expectations she’ll fail if we don’t reconcile shit between us quickly. A wishy-washy attachment could get us both killed, so things have got to change.
