She held up a hand. “I know you weren’t flirting with her. You might not be the world’s suavest man, but as I’ve seen for myself, even you have better game thanthat.”
Good she at least trusted him not to be her father. Still,somethingwas clearly wrong. He watched her warily, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Once he ran out of patience, he prompted, “But...”
“But I... I can...” Her jaw ticked, a faint tell. “I can bow out if you want.”
For two heartbeats, he couldn’t do anything butgapeat her, unable to understand what the hell she was even talking about. Then he somehow managed to parse her bullshit, at which point he nearly lost his goddamn mind.
“What?” he shouted, throwing his hands in the air and ignoring another way-too-bright flash of light from the side.
Her voice lowered to a hushed whisper. “She’s local, unlike me—”
“She lives inBaltimore,” he snarled, incensed.
“—and pretty, and smart, and clearly into you again.” Her shoulder hitched in a jerky shrug. “You could do way worse, Karl. That’s all I’m saying.”
In the white stillness of another blinding flash-burst, he envisioned it. A future without Molly. A life with Becky or one of the other women in this room, who were all—yeah, okay—pretty enough. Some of them were even beautiful. Smart too. Friendly. Funny. Kind.
But they weren’tMolly. None of them made him feel like Molly did, and always had.
Even if one of them wanted him—doubtful, despite Molly’s claim about Becky—he didn’t wantthem, and he certainly didn’tneedthem the way he needed Molly fucking Dearborn, who was slipping through his fingers with each moment that passed.
He had to say something. Had to fix this shitshow, ASAP.
“Come with me,” he told her, and she didn’t resist this time as he marched them away from the wall, hand in hand. Didn’t questionhim as he forged a path through the crowds, to the gym’s entry, then down one dimly lit hall after another, until he’d reached their old homeroom.
It was unlocked, which was a mistake on the school’s part—chances of drunk people banging in here later tonight were damn near one hundred percent—but handy for his purposes. Which might or might not include some non-drunken banging of his own, depending on how the next few minutes went.
Moonlight illuminated the classroom, so he didn’t flip the light switch before closing the door behind them. Did flip the deadbolt, because they needed privacy for this conversation.
Palm sweaty against hers, heart thudding against his rib cage like it was trying to escape, he gathered all his courage and forced the words from his reluctant throat, one by one.
“Stay,” he told her. “Stayin Harlot’s Bay, Molly.Please.”
26
Everything Molly wanted, so damn much it terrified her, was almost within her grasp. She and Karl were finally—finally—discussing what a future together might look like.
To be fair, it wasn’t the first time he’d mentioned wanting her to stay in Harlot’s Bay. Two weeks ago, after their steamy bakery encounter, he’d raised the topic. Back then, though, she hadn’t been ready to throw her life into upheaval for him. Hadn’t trusted either him or her own heart enough to make that leap.
Circumstances had changed. So had she.
At this moment, there was only one more thing she needed to know, needed tohear, before she let herself tumble heart-first into a commitment with a man she’d never forgotten, but had reunited with less than one month ago. And his near-trembling intensity, the pleading shine in his intent brown eyes, finally gave her the courage to address her last remaining uncertainty.
The single word took all her bravery. “Why?”
Before she dug out the fragile roots of her life in LA and transplanted herself into fresh soil a continent away, she needed to know she’d be safe. Sheltered from inevitable droughts by his love, not simply left to wither in the unforgiving sun on her own. Because she could do that in Los Angeles quite easily, no move required.
“W—” He drew back a fraction of an inch. “Why?”
How in the world could he sound so startled, when it was the most obvious question imaginable?
“Yes.Why.” Her fingers felt numb against his, and her blood pressure was probably through the freaking roof. “Why should I stay?”
He shifted his weight. Started to say something. Hesitated. Then—after one last, convulsive squeeze—loosened his grip on her damp-palmed hand.
In that moment, the balance of her emotions tilted away from hope. So she was braced, fortunately enough, when the words he finally dredged up weren’t anything like what she so desperately needed from him.
