Page 82 of Rescuing Mary

He pulled out his ace card.

“I love you, Mary Weston. Even not knowing our history, I love you.”

Tears welled in her eyes, but she stayed stubbornly silent.

“The last few weeks have been great. I’ve loved getting to know you…again. Everything is new for me, and it’s been exciting to learn your likes and dislikes and your quirks. I love your hair. I love the way you smell. I love your snarkiness and the way you’d do anything for your friends. I love how you look at little Annie, and I love how you think of everyone but yourself first. You stand up for the little guy, the oppressed. I see you, Mary. I see how you might tell off a man who didn’t bother holding open the door for someone after he went through it, but then turn around and be polite and respectful to a single mother who looks like she’s at the end of her rope. I love the way you snuggle up to me when we’re watching television, and I love how you argue with me about every fucking thing. It’s you, Mary. Not what you look like. Not how big your tits are. You.”

She stared at him for a beat, then said, “I need to go.”

“Dammit, Mary! Don’t.”

“It’s been a hell of a day and I should go. I need to call Emily and see how she’s doing. And Annie too. They’re having a party this weekend, if the baby is home by then, and I need to see what she needs me to do.”

This seemed familiar too. Mary backing off when things got intense between them. Truck didn’t like it, but he knew he wasn’t going to get anywhere now. Not when the iron shields she held around her were up.

He stood back and gestured to the door. “Running isn’t going to make me love you less, Mare,” he told her. “Running isn’t going to make your decisions any easier, either.”

“Thanks, Einstein,” she mumbled, then headed for the door.

She didn’t say goodbye, and neither did he. She just opened the door, walked through, and softly closed it behind her.

The second he heard it click, Truck let out an exasperated yell and turned and kicked the couch as hard as he could.

Mary heard Truck’s yell of frustration before she’d taken three steps away from his door, but she didn’t slow down. Didn’t go back, even though everything in her was screaming to do just that.

She could barely see where she was going because of the tears in her eyes. She wanted to tell him that she cared. That he’d literally saved her life. That she couldn’t imagine her life without him in it. That his apartment felt more like a home even without her things in it than her own did. That she was proud and happy to be his wife…but she couldn’t.

There was something seriously wrong with her. Every time she opened her mouth to tell him, she froze up. Maybe it was the years of conditioning by her mama when she was little. Maybe it was because the one and only time she’d told someone she loved them, that love was thrown back in her face. She didn’t know.

But she knew she’d just walked out on her one shot at being loved. Truly loved. And she had no doubt Truck loved her. He’d proven it again and again with his words and actions. She knew he wouldn’t give a shit that she didn’t have boobs. Knew that he’d stand by her no matter what her decision was about the reconstruction.

The tears fell from her eyes in a steady stream. Her phone rang with Rayne’s special ringtone, but she ignored it. She couldn’t talk to her best friend right now. Rayne would tell her she was being an idiot. That she should go back and talk to Truck. But she couldn’t. She wanted to be alone. Needed to be alone.

She needed to get used to being alone, because after walking out on Truck, there was no way he’d want to be with her. She was a pain in the ass and she’d just rejected him.

It was better he didn’t know they were married.

Chapter Thirteen

Truck stood in the middle of his destroyed bedroom with his hands on his head, panting. He’d gone a little crazy after Mary left, kicking things, turning over furniture, breaking shit. When he’d run out of things to take his frustration out on in his living room, he’d moved to his bedroom.

He was frustrated that he didn’t remember all the details about Mary being sick. Frustrated that he couldn’t take away her pain. Frustrated that he couldn’t shield her from having to make tough decisions like whether or not to have her breasts reconstructed. But above everything else, he was frustrated that his memory wasn’t coming back as quickly as he wanted.

Taking out those frustrations on his belongings felt good. Turning his dresser over. Picking up his mattress and flipping it up against the wall. The lamp next to the bed had broken, but Truck didn’t give a shit. There were clothes all over the floor and the one picture he had on his wall now had a fist-sized hole in the glass covering it.

Truck was irritated with his doctor and his teammates. He wanted things to be the way they had been…even if he couldn’t remember them. They might not have been perfect, but they had to be better than this.

How could he be with a woman if she wouldn’t even tell him how she felt?

The bottom line was that he wasn’t sure he could be. He needed the words as much as she did.

But the shit thing was, he knew Mary cared about him. She wouldn’t have defended him so staunchly at the bar if she didn’t. She wouldn’t have spent the last few weeks letting him get to know her if she didn’t. She wouldn’t have told him about her cancer if she didn’t.

Cancer.

She’d had fucking cancer. And he’d forgotten about it. How in the hell could he have forgotten that? The woman he loved more than life itself had suffered for months, and he’d fucking forgotten it. And if the few memories that had flitted through his brain were to be believed, it had been one hell of a fight. And he’d been there every step of the way. He had no doubt about that.

The truth hit him like a sledgehammer—and Truck backed up until he hit the wall and slid down it. He sat on the floor and stared blankly at his bed. The box spring was still in place, but the mattress was pushed up against the far wall.