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“How . . . How do you know my name? How do you know where I live? How do you know I have a sister?”
Good. Progress. At least her protective instincts are coming back to her. I hate this meek, silent version of my girl.
“Layla, I don’t have time to answer a round of twenty questions. Your buddy, Will, told me when I asked him why you were a no-show at the diner this week. I got worried about you and wanted to drop by to see if there was anything I could do to help. Imagine my surprise when I see you perfectly content walking to your side gig at the strip club!”
“Stop yelling at me!” she retorts, the fighter I know her to be finally making an appearance. “You don’t know me. You don’t know anything about me or my life. How dare you sit here in your two-hundred-thousand-dollar car and pass judgment on the choices I have to make to care for my sister.”
“Oh, I don’t know you? Okay then. Tell me what possible good reason you could have to shake your ass in front of all those pervs. Tell me, Layla. I’m dying to know,” I growl, our faces so close in anger it only amps up my need to kiss her.
“She’s sick, okay? My sister is very fucking sick, so sick she needs surgery if she’s going to make it. So excuse me if my need to keep my baby sister alive prevails over some dude coming in his pants while watching me dance. I couldn’t give a rat’s ass, and because of you, tomorrow I’ll have to grovel to get my job back, seeing as being lifted off stage like a bag of potatoes is a big no-no and a sure way of getting me fired.”
“Zoey’s sick?” I whisper, the winds of fury completely knocked out of my sails.
Layla’s fiery green gaze softens at the sound of her sister’s name.
“Yes, very,” she responds, her voice lowering an octave.
I should have known.
Every decision Layla ever made can be linked back to her sister’s well-being.
I run my hand over my face, hating how I let my imagination get the better of me. Layla would have only resorted to stripping if she didn’t see another alternative. Her back is against the wall, and here I am making her feel like shit for not having come up with a better solution to her problem.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I shouldn’t have talked to you like that,” I apologize, her eyes beginning to glisten with unshed tears.
“No, you shouldn’t have. You have no clue what the past few days have been like. You have no idea what it’s like to feel so useless and helpless, watching the only person you love in the whole world deteriorate before your very eyes,” she sobs, unable to keep her suffering at bay for another second. “She’s all I have. She’s my everything. And she’s going to die because I can’t save her.” Her tears fall freely now, stabbing a ragged knife into my heart, each tear slicing a new, fresh lesion into it.
“Shh, baby. Everything will be alright,” I coo, cupping her face as I dry her cheeks with my thumbs.
“No, it won’t. Haven’t you been paying attention? I’m about to lose my job at the diner because I can’t leave Zoey alone throughout the day. I had to beg my neighbor to sleep at my place just so I could take a shift at the strip club in the hopes I could save enough money for her surgery, but now I’m out of that job too. My life is crumbling, and worst of all, I’m failing Zoey worse than my mother ever did because I’m going to be the reason she dies. Me! And there is nothing I can do about it!”
Her misery is a living, breathing thing hanging in the air between us, making me choke with emotion with every word that leaves her lips. In her mind, she’s as good as lost, alone and adrift in her harsh existence.
But she’s wrong.
She’s not alone.
She never has been.
Because she has me.
Before I have time to talk myself out of the crazy plan I just concocted, the words are out of my mouth.
“I can help you. I can help Zoey and make sure she has her surgery and everything else that you two could possibly need,” I tell her while continuing to dry her tears.
“I don’t understand. You want to help us? How? More importantly,whywould you want to do something like that? You don’t even know us.”
“I know enough. And I’ll help you because I can. All I ask is for one thing in return.”
“What?” She arches a suspicious brow.
“Marry me.”
CHAPTER12
Layla
Sitting in the dim lighting of his Aston Martin, I can’t be sure if he’s joking or not. I push him away as I wipe my face, drying the useless tears as best as I can. I feel the weight of his gaze on me the entire time. I don’t know why I suddenly began crying. I haven’t cried this whole week, needing to be strong for Zoey, but as soon as I was with this man, I found myself breaking apart, and I hate it. I hate that this stranger has that power over me. Maybe it’s because I’ve finally reached my limit. Or maybe . . . it’s because I feel safe with him sitting so close to me. I ignore the whole calling me baby thing, or how he knows my sister’s name . . . for now. Especially since he just dropped a hot coal on my lap that I have to deal with first. I narrow my eyes on his face in utter disbelief.
