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“Why do you not want kids. You’re fiercely protective of those you love.”
“Because I raised my brother. I don’t need to do that again. I have me, and it’s me who now needs the attention. At least, that’s what I’ve always told myself…”
“You have a habit of saving those you love.”
“I don’t think I loved my fiancé very much.”
“I don’t think you did either, considering you never kissed him.” Her lips purse at that.
“Did I kiss you?”
Oh, how I wish I could lie to her.
“No, you didn’t. Not that I didn’t try.”
“Interesting,” she says as I get up out of bed. I feel her eyes on my back, and when I turn around, I see her cheeks go red at being caught. “I keep on seeing the look in his eyes as he was driving. He was crazy. So furious that I didn’t want to go along with his plan. I think he knew then that I no longer could do it… whatever we were.”
“He cheated on you?” I ask for confirmation.
“Yep. That’s what keeps on playing like on repeat in my head. How could he be mad at me? I wasn’t the one who impregnated another woman and expected my fiancée to raise the kid.” She shakes her head.
“Brody is on his way over. I have to go out,” I say, shooting a message to Brody. He messages straight back, and when I put the phone down, she’s watching me.
“What does that say?” She points to a tattoo over my heart.
“It’s Italian. It means mine forever.”
“You have a lot of tattoos.”
“I do.” I nod and walk around to her side of the bed. Leaning down, I kiss the top of her head, lingering like I always do. I inhale her scent, and she takes a deep breath. “I’m going to cook you breakfast before I go. If you need a hand using the bathroom, yell for me.”
Chanel’s cheeks are pink, and she has a soft smile on her face before I leave her in bed.
“You,” he spits.
“Me,” I reply, smiling.
The fuckhead has hardly anything wrong with him. There are a few scrapes on his face, and that’s it. How is that even fair? I walk into Farris’s house, and he gasps, then reaches for his phone. “I would put that down if I were you.”
“Fuck off. You’re in my house, so I’m calling the cops.” So I turn, raise my gun, and shoot his hand. The phone drops to the floor when a scream rips through his throat, and his hand is now bleeding profusely.
Nice shot.
Keir would be proud.
“Now, sit down. I have a few things I want to discuss with you.” He steps back, trembling, as I stalk closer to him. I pick up his phone from the floor and glance down at the cracked screen. His screensaver is a picture of himself. Why does that not surprise me? As he had already unlocked it while trying to ring the cops, I navigate to his photos, where there are several of himself but only a couple of Chanel.
“She remembers you.” Farris’s cries stop, and he looks up at me. “The accident, dickhead. She remembers everything,” I inform him. “You got another woman pregnant.”
The asshole has the audacity to look away before he lifts his shirt and wraps it around the wound on his hand. “That is none of your damn business.”
“It is, though. It became my business the minute you put her life in your hands and decided to be reckless with it.”
“I have no idea what you are on about.”
“So, are you telling me you weren’t driving like a fuckhead with Chanel in the car because she doesn’t want kids?”
“She’ll change her mind. She did about marriage, and she will about kids too.”
