Page 45 of Wild for the Knight

“You look gorgeous, Han.” My voice is softer than I intended, laced with something fragile. The loss of my friend, the knowledge that when she comes home from her honeymoon, all her stuff will be gone, and I’ll be alone for the first time in over a decade.

Her eyes meet mine in the mirror, brimming with emotion. Her lips part, and for a second, she doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t have to, though. Because in this quiet moment, it’s not about me. It’s about her. And that is something I can hold onto.

“I do.” Hannah squeals out, with a smile so wide I’m surprised her face hasn’t split open yet. Greyson has been crying since she walked down the aisle, not even trying to hide the effect she has on him. His suit is a navy version of the black tux that Tate is wearing. His hair has been freshly cut, giving him that “bad boy” vibe, even though that man is the biggest teddy bear I know. It’s still long enough that it hangs in front of his forehead, but doesn’t cover his eyes.

He jumped in on the “how long can we grow our hair this season” competition that Reed and Monroe have going on. Hannah turned on the puppy dog eyes and asked him to cut it for today. She wanted to be able to run her fingers through it instead of getting stopped by a hair tie. Sucker can’t say no to her to save his life.

Their vows were beautiful, both fully painting the other and all they’ve overcome perfectly. Their love is pure and contagious every day, but today, it’s blinding. Out in full force with no apologies. I bite into my cheek with a bit more force than necessary as my eyes are pulled toward the Best Man. His are focused on the back of his brother’s head, eyes misty as he tries to keep up the facade that he’s unbothered. I wonder what he’s thinking? I wonder if he’s imagining me up there the way I’m imagining him.

Would he feed me line after line of poetic genius like Greyson did for Hannah? Or would he keep it short and to the point? Would he cry as I walked down the aisle, or would a frown be deeply set on his face? Then like a sucker punch I didn’t see coming, the realization that I’m imagining marrying the man across from me hits. What the hell?! We aren’t even together for real. I mean, he hasn’t asked me to be his girlfriend or anything...

Is that still a thing when you’re almost thirty? Do they still have to ask, or is it just an implication at that point? Is it like a “Hey, I like you, you like me... Let’s only see each other, yeah?” Or what? Oh good Lord, I’m freaking pathetic.

Chapter 23 - Tatum

The newlyweds have been on their honeymoon for a week, which means I’ve been with Abby every day. Seven full days of learning every little thing about her, like the fact that she hums quietly when she’s lost in thought. Or the way she scrunches up her nose when she reads something she doesn’t like, and that she puts on her right shoe first and hates untying the laces. Seven blissful nights of her curled up against me, like she was custom made to fit perfectly in my arms. Seven mornings of waking up earlier just so I can watch as she stirs awake.

This morning, however, she fed me some BS about needing some time to herself. She’s going boxing and doesn’t want to be distracted. While I get it, I could have also gone to the gym and done my own thing. I try to tell myself it’s not a big deal, that it’s normal for people to need space, but that does absolutely nothing to quiet the nagging voice in the back of my head.

The possessiveness I feel over her borders on obsessive. I know she can defend herself, I know she can take care of herself. But I want to be the one to do it for her. I want to be the protective barrier that stands between her and anything that threatens to hurt her, the one she looks to when she needs someone in her corner. That realization terrifies me.

I’ve done this before, I’ve been the doting boyfriend. I’ve let someone in, I’ve trusted, and I believed I was enough for someone. And how did that end? I was gutted, lied to, and completely humiliated. I swore I wouldn’t ever put myself in a position to feel that way again. Swore I’d never give power to someone where they could rip me apart faster than I could blink.

Then came Abby. She’s in my bed every night, and something about the way she fits, the way she tucks herself into me like I’m her home, makes me want to try again, just for her. She sleeps on the right side of the bed, and curls into me with her head on my right arm in between my bicep and my elbow. She throws her leg over mine at some point during the night, and I let her. I let my arm fall asleep beneath her because she belongs there. I never want her to be anywhere else.

She sat quietly on my bed as I painted, watching with those gorgeous eyes of hers, as if she were committing every brushstroke to memory. When I painted the two of us sitting by the edge of the cliff in Georgia, the very same perspective as the one I drew in the dirt, she hung it in her room. I catch her staring at it with a dreamy smile every time we’re in there.

I don’t know how I’m supposed to go back to not having this when Hannah and my brother get back. Not that it’ll stop. I’d like to see anyone try to take her from me. I need to figure out how to tell them, I don’t want to pretend I can’t stand her in front of our friends. I don’t want to pretend like there isn’t something here when she’s everything.

Tonight is our date that she planned in the car on the way home. Hibachi, exactly one margarita, a walk on the beach, then we’ll come back and she’ll lay her head on my lap, demand butt rubs and smile when I tell her how pretty she is. It’s embarrassingly domestic, but I can’t pretend it’s anything other than a perfect night.

I grab the keys to my bike, heading out to put gas in it so we don’t have to stop later. I’m a block from the gas station when I see him. River Owens. Something ugly brews in my gut. Why is he here? We aren’t playing the Osprey this week. I don’t like it. I don’t believe in coincidences, and I certainly don’t like unanswered questions. And right now, my gut is telling me he’s a threat.

I turn my bike away from the gas station so I can ask him what his business is here, but before I can, a black car pulls up and he hops inside. The car takes off like a bat out of hell, and a thought slams into me like a freight train. Is he who’s been threatening Abby?

A growl vibrates through my chest. I’m sure as hell going to find out.

“Hey!” My girl calls as she skips into my apartment, her arms fly around my neck, before she presses up on her tiptoes and plants a kiss on my lips. She’s happy, and I love that. When she pulls away, my eyes dance around her face, memorizing the softness of her features, the brightness in her eyes, as I simultaneously think of all the ways I can keep her safe without her catching on.

I need to figure out how to get a hold of her brothers, they’d probably rat me out, though. And even then, what would I say? I saw some douchebag from college today, he tried to ruin my life once, and now I’m concerned he’s after her? What proof do I have of that? I can handle him trying to ruin me, but hurting her? God, if anything happened to her because of me, I wouldn’t be able to live with that guilt.

“Hi, pretty girl,” I say before dropping a kiss on the tip of her nose. I force my tone to stay light, ignoring the way my muscles coil under the tension every new thought brings my way. “How was your day?”

Her smile blooms as she twists out of my arms. They fall by my side, and I immediately miss her warmth. “Good. I made a new friend, she’s nice, we have similar interests.” She shrugs like making friends is a common occurrence. “We had coffee after my workout.”

A new friend, huh? At least it’s a girl, not that it makes it any better. A new friend means less time for me, not a fan of that prospect. I try my best to look unbothered, but apparently, I fail because a knowing laugh falls from her as she takes in my face. “What’s that look for?”

How do I tell her that I saw a ghost from the past today? How do I tell her that every instinct in my body is screaming at me to hold on tighter, to protect her from the man who once tried to take everything from me? How do I tell her I don’t trust the world not to take her from me? How do I tell her I’m falling for her so hopelessly that the thought of losing her is almost too much to bear?

“Nothing.” My voice comes out clipped, and she flinches. Damn it. “Let’s go.” I grab the keys off the counter and head for the door without another word. I can already feel it, those walls going back up, brick by brick.

A soft hand lands on my back, and my heart clenches when I see the look on her face. Her brows knit together, a slight crease coming into view between them. Her eyes widen slightly as she searches my face for a reason as to why I’m all of a sudden being so cold. She rolls her shoulders back before asking, “Did I do something wrong?”

I blink at her, not knowing how to answer that because no, of course she didn’t. This is a me problem. A mess of my own making, problems I haven’t dealt with but certainly should have before I jumped into this with her. But my stupid pride won’t let me admit that. It won’t let me reach out for her the way I want to. To pull her into me and tell her I’m sorry and everything is fine.

Her hand falls at the same time her face does. The happy, smiling woman who walked in here is gone. I did that. I caused that. Shame and guilt wash over me, settling deep in my bones. I want to take it back, I want to tell her I didn't mean to lash out at her. But the damage is done; she’s already pulling away from me. Retreating like I just proved every negative thing she’s ever believed about me to be true. I can’t let her leave, I can’t take her walking away from me.

“I should go,” she says to the floor as she tries to sidestep me.