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We could chalk this up to a bad call on Dougie’s part, and they could find me someone different to play this game with—someone I have no connection to, someone free of the ghosts of our pasts—or I could just figure something else out on my own.
I’ve never wanted to be that guy. The one who rebelled against the help of people who really did know what the fuck they were talking about because he’s too damn stubborn to listen, but this entire time . . . I’ve been fighting the process. All because I haven’t given myself the chance to move on and forgive the rash decisions of a teenage girl.
The broken heart and self-pity that I’ve carried when it comes to Braxton has blurred my judgment, and it’s abundantly clear to me now as I watch her face crumple and her eyes well with tears that I’ve hurt her along the way.
I’ve never wanted to hurt Braxton. The thought alone used to tear me up inside; eight years later, it still does. You don’t spend thirteen years with someone and not still hold a light to them somewhere inside of you.
This is a woman who I planned to spend my entire life with. Who I knew inside and out and, in turn, knew me the exact same. Love like that might dull after what we went through, but it didn’t fade. Not with distance or time or the trail of broken pieces left behind.
I was a fucking idiot to think I could keep her from peeling back the covers and revealing those feelings again. And for her to think she misread me all those years ago? Fuck. That.
I’d been planning my proposal since I was twelve. Her thinking she wasn’t my entire universe for the better part of my life is just offensive. To both her and me.
The realization strikes deep, and I have to focus on not passing out on the pavement at the intrusion of it.
“Nobody is going their own way. You’re not leaving me again.” My tone is sharp, focused.
Braxton blinks slowly, clearly confused with my sudden change in demeanour. I don’t blame her.
“Then what? All of a sudden, you’re ready to move forward? I’m not in the mood for pity, if that’s what this is.”
“It’s not pity. It’s me hating the way your eyes don’t shimmer with happiness as you stare at me right now but with tearsI’mresponsible for. It’s me accepting that I’ve been a surly fucking dickhead since I saw you in your clinic and wanting to do better. It’s me telling you that you’re a goddamn idiot if you think for one second that you were misreading me. That if I knew you would have said yes and that both of our families wouldn’t have killed me, I would have gotten down on one knee and asked you to marry me when we were teenagers. I might not ever forget what happened, and it might take me a little while to fully forgive you, but I want to move on. With you.
“That’s real. That’s raw. That’s the furthest thing from pity. We’re going to do this damn thing, and I’m going to get my best friend back in the process. There’s nowhere for you to run that I won’t find you this time. You got that?”
My chest is heaving, but I don’t let that stop me from storming toward her and trapping her against the truck door between my arms like back in her office. It’s not arrogance that has me noticing the rapid rise and fall of her chest as I dip my head and look into the blue depths of her eyes but simply my inability to focus on anything else. When she’s close, she’s the only fucking thing I see.
“Say something,” I breathe, nerves alive in the words.
She rolls her lips and swallows, and like a horny idiot, I follow the curve of her throat to watch it bob, pulling tight before relaxing.
“You’ve stunned me to silence. Some would say you’re a lucky man.”
My jaw ticks. “Lucky? I want as many words from you as possible. Tell me the name of the person who told you it was lucky to have you be silent, Curly.”
“I don’t need you to vanquish my enemies,” she whispers.
“I want to. Every single one of them.” It’s blunt. Honest. Real.
Gentle fingers prod my side, searching for something that I don’t care how long it takes her to find. Her touch seeps into my bones, and I press our foreheads together, finding it hard to breathe with our closeness but not ready to back away quite yet.
“Do you really think you can do this?” she asks, breath hot on my jaw.
“Yes.” I don’t hesitate. “But only if you don’t chicken out of this bet because I’m starving, and I can’t wait to see you in my jersey again.” Smirking, I drop a quick kiss to her forehead and step back, offering her my arm. “Shall we?”
Her laugh is more of a harsh snort, and her cheeks redden as I laugh with her.
“Aren’t we taking the truck?” she asks after a moment, suspicion growing in her eyes.
“That wasn’t in the rules. It’s such a beautiful night that I thought we could walk there.” My smile is pure evil.
Her eyes bulge. “That’s most definitely cheating.”
“Cheating or using the lack of rules to my advantage?”
“Both.”
“Nah, you’re just a sore loser.”
