Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 56257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
CHAPTER
TWENTY-EIGHT
MARY
Because fight week is so busy for the city, Brad and I couldn’t get adjacent rooms. When I hear the knock on the door, I don’t know who it is, Brad or Rust. If it’s Rust, I need to remember not to act on my feelings. Because I’ve spent five long weeks longing for him, I don’t have to crumple and melt into his embrace.
But when I open the door, that’s precisely what I do. He sweeps me into his arms. The door has hardly closed behind us before he’s pushing me against the wall, kissing me passionately. Our tongues brush against each other, the love flaring. He grabs my hips and then pushes himself away from me, trembling with the effort.
“Where is he?” Rust asks.
“In his room, I think,” I murmur, grabbing the front of his shirt. “I know it’s not the right time, but did you—”
“I meant every single word,” he says, leaning down, looking intensely into my eyes before he kisses me again. Then he ends the kiss, but we’re still close, his breath so warm and inviting. “I fell in love with you that night. Hell, it might’ve been before, when you walked down the stairs, looking so different, so you. I love you, Mary.”
“I love…” Then I stop myself, biting down as if physically trapping the words. “I can’t say it, Rust. Not until I know…”
Some use I am. I can’t say that either, but Rust doesn’t need me to. He knows I’m talking about the impossible scenario where Brad gives us his blessing.
“We need to speak to him,” Rust says.
“Together? Now? He made it clear he wanted to be left alone.”
“We have to try, at least,” Rust snaps. “He’s the only person I’ve ever even considered a friend—best, best friend. That doesn’t do it justice. It’s more than that. I have to try.”
“I’m just so scared he’ll hate us forever. He’ll never get over this.”
Rust puts his hand on my belly, looking intensely into my eyes. Tears glimmer, and then, unbelievably, one starts to fall. It’s like a fairy tale. I’ve melted the beast’s cold heart.
“No matter what,” he growls, “I’m going to be with you and our child.”
“Rust…” I clutch onto his chest and stare up into his eyes. “You’re crying.”
He motions to rub the tears away, but then I lean up, kissing them.
“I got a call on the way here. My dad’s dead.”
“What?”
“A bar fight gone wrong. He brought it on himself like he always did. He was lying about being sober, too, but it really brought it home. I’m going to be a good dad. I swear. Even if it means sacrificing everything else, I will do right by my children and by you.”
He pulls me close to him, letting me feel his powerful heartbeat slamming in his chest. His muscles feel so firm and tight like all the protective impulses are bubbling up in him.
I love you, I try to say, but I can’t. Not yet. I can trick myself into believing that not crossing this line makes it all okay, but it doesn’t. Nothing will except Brad being there as an uncle, my parental figure, and the rock Rust has always leaned on.
“Let’s go,” he says, taking my hand and releasing it immediately. I try not to let that sting. Obviously, we can’t hold hands or be lovey-dovey in any way. In an ideal world, there wouldn’t be any space between us as we walked down the corridor, rode in the elevator, and went to Brad’s room.
Rust pauses outside, sighing. He’s wearing the shirt and stylish pants from the press conference, looking so handsome. I imagine telling strangers in the future excitedly, Can you believe he’s my husband? I know he loves me. I feel it.
Reaching forward, I touch Rust’s hand, guiding it to the door. He meets my eye, smiles tightly, and then knocks.
“Yeah?” Brad snaps.
“Uh, it’s us,” I say.
“Us?”
“I’m here, too,” Rust says, his voice breaking a little. Then he gathers himself and hardens. “Brad, we need to talk. Please.”
“I’ve watched the video,” Brad says bitterly. “You love her. You got her pregnant. What else is there to know?”
“Brad, please,” I say, my voice quivering, struggling to contain all the heartache. “I know it’s not fair to expect this. We didn’t want you to find out like that. I, just, I… please.”
That’s what we’re reduced to, begging to see him because he doesn’t owe us anything. After everything—the storm, the ink, my virginity, the connection, our sweet baby—he could tell us to go to hell and never speak to him again. There would be nothing we could do.
Slowly, the door opens. Brad’s features are tight. There are bags under his eyes, as though the stress has instantly made them appear. His cheeks look hollow and miserable.
“Rust, old buddy, fancy seeing you here.” He turns and walks into his hotel suite without a backward glance.