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"I'm all ears." God knows all my solutions have backfired. I am out of ideas.
He looks at my ears with a frown, then shakes his head and meets my eyes, determination written all over him. "We should get married."
8
JONAS
I don't plan to say it. But truly, it is the most logical option in this case. "We should get married." Judging by the way Janey's mouth drops open, she doesn't see the logic. This isn't how proposals go in the movies I've been watching. I don't have any roses or a ring, and she's not happy crying. I'm fucking it up already. But I've let my cards show. If she walks away now, I don't think I'll get another shot.
"Your concern is his legal connection to you, correct? If you are married, your husband would be your next of kin. Your brother couldn't do anything to you. His threat would be nullified."
I wonder if I'll look back on this moment years from now, and recognize it as the moment that I became the bad guy. I always like watching those old westerns on TV late at night. My sleep patterns have always been strange, and there's only so long you can stare at the wall in the middle of the night. Those shows were simple. The guy in the white hat was the good guy. The guy in the black had was the bad guy. When you examine it, really, no one should be wearing a white hat. Thundering around on horses, everything would get covered in dust. Really, the black hat was more practical. If you take away the gunfights, it's really a story about the impractical versus the practical.
But practical and right maybe aren't the same thing. Marrying me would be an easy, practical solution to Janey's problem.
Is it right? I don't know.
I do know that I could offer her all kinds of other protection. My money and the weight of the Brash name would be more than enough to protect her. But she won't ask. And I already know I'm not going to offer.
Is it right? Maybe not. But this might be my only chance to show her how good I could be to her.
I want that chance. So maybe, just this once, I’m okay with being a bad guy.
"You...I...What?" she sputters.
"I think we should get married. It makes a lot of sense. Then you'll have a home. And I can make sure you're safe. No one would ever hurt you again."
Her gentle sigh drifts between us. "Jonas. You're too good." Her hand comes to rest on top of mine, and electricity runs up my arm. Her skin touching mine is the best feeling I've ever felt. Better than standing on my head. She's touched me before, but usually, it's over my sleeve or a quick brush of my hand. But this? She's holding my hand, and I never want her to stop. "I can't marry you. It's not fair. Besides, it's just ridiculous, isn't it? The idea of you marrying me?"
I've worked hard to become a man I can be proud of. But I forget sometimes that people don't always see me the way I see myself. They look at me and see a label. They see odd behavior.
I thought Janey truly saw me.
She's just made it very clear that she doesn't.
Mourning the loss of her touch, I pull my hand away and push the ignition start. We're silent on the ride home. I pull into the underground garage and wait, staring straight ahead as the secured gate for our section opens. I can feel Janey's eyes on me, but I'm not capable of looking at her.
I think I'm dying.
Maybe not my body, but the other part of me. The part that dreams and hopes. The part that imagined sitting next to her on the couch, watching whatever show she likes, while I hold her feet in my lap, stroking her soft skin.
Pulling into my spot, I cut the ignition and clench my hands in my lap, letting my mind focus on the logistic of getting Janey settled. I'll have to track down the landlord, and get her stuff, though it's unlikely he's kept any of it. And we'll have to put some legal protections in place, but Maverick can handle that. She doesn't really need me at all.
Her soft, pained voice breaks the silence. Her voice is low, almost as if she's talking to herself. "It would be ridiculous. Someone like you, marrying me. It makes about as much sense as a lion marrying a rabbit. They just don't belong together."
I'm weak. The sadness in her voice makes me want to make her feel better, despite getting stomped on. Thankful for the light in the garage, I turn to her. Silvery tracks of tears are etched on her cheek. She looks down and laughs, wiping her skin roughly with the palm of her hand.
I take her hand, pulling it away from her red cheek. "Don't do that. You'll hurt the skin."
She sniffs, and I wish I were the kind of man that carries a handkerchief. The idea of carrying something around that's full of snot is horrifying. Janey's snot wouldn't be so bad.
Okay, yes, it would be.
But love means sacrifice, so for her I would do it. But I don't have one. All I can do is pull the sleeve of my sweater down and gently dab at her skin. "Why are you crying?"
She sniffs again and leans her head back. Her eyes slide to me. "I feel stupid. And I'm tired. And you're being too nice to me."
"Too nice? That's not possible. You deserve to be treated well, always."
