SecondDraft

C.M.Seabrook

CarterBlake

Copyright(C)2017C.M.Se abrook,Carte rBlake
ISBN978-1540768506

Thisbookisaworkoffiction.Names,characters,places,andincidentsaretheproductoftheauthor's
imaginationorareusedfictitiously.Anyresemblancetoactualevents,locales,orpersons,livingordead,is
purelycoincidental.

Allrightsreserved.Nopartofthisbookmaybereproducedortransmittedinanyformorbyanymeans,
electronicormechanical,includingphotocopying,recording,orbyanyinformationstorageandretrievalsystem,
withouttheauthor'spermission.

Warning:Thisbookisintendedforreaders18yearsandolderduetobadlanguage,violence,andexplicitsex
scenes.

chantelseabrook@gmail.com
authorcarterblake@gmail.com

“It’smucheasiertobecomeafatherthantobeone.”–KentNerburn

“Sometimesyougetasecondchance.Sometimesyoudon’t.Sometimesall

youcandoisforgiveyourselfforthethingsyoucan’tchange.”–C.M.

Seabrook

Chapter1

Layla

Idon’tseethecar,onlyhearthescreechoftires,thehornblaringrightbeforeI’m
beingtossedtotheground,alarge,verymuscularbodyrollingwithme.

Gravelbitesintoskin,andthebookIwasreadinggoesflyingfrommygrip.
Theworldflipsafewtimes,andthenstills.
Alargehandcupsthebackofmyheadprotectively,anevenlargerbody

pressesheavilybetweenmythighs.

Aboveme,thesunshinesbehindtheman’shead,andittakesafewsecondsfor

myeyestoadjust,butwhentheydomybreathcatchesinmythroat.

Darkscruffshadowshisface,butitonlyamplifiesthesharpedgesofhisjaw,

thesmall,sexyscarthroughhislefteyebrow,theslightcleftinhischin,andsoft
fulllipsthatarepartedslightly.Butit’shiseyes,thelightestshadeofblue,that
seemtoradiatewithalmosthypnotizingspark,thatignitessomethinginsideofme,
andsendslittleshockwavesofdesirethrougheverynerveendinginmybody.

Maybeit’stheadrenalinerushofalmostdying,orthefactthatit’sbeenforever

sinceI’vehadamanbetweenmylegs,butatingle,orratheranexplosionofheat,
thatIhaven’tfeltinyears,racesthroughmycore,allthewaydowntomytoes.

Myherostaresdownatme,blueeyesdark,intense,lookingatmelikehe

doesn’tknowwhethertochastiseorkissme.

Kissme.Thethoughtpopsintomyhead,andIquicklysuppressit.Badidea.
Myheartispoundinginmyears,andIknowifIdon’tgetthishulkinggiantoff

mesoon,I’mgoingtodosomethingevenstupiderthanwalkingstraightintomid-
daytraffic.

Ipushonhischestandwigglebeneathhim,butthatonlymakestheache

worse,becauseIcanfeeltheenormouserectionhe’ssporting,diggingintomy
mostintimateparts.

Asmallmoanbubblesupinsidemythroat,andIhavetoclenchmyteethto

holditback.

Isweartheguychuckles.Idon’thearit,butIcanfeelitrumblingthroughhis

chest,andeventhoughhemayhavejustsavedmylife,Icouldslaphimforit.

Withslow,deliberatemovements,hepusheshimselfupandawayfromme.
Damn,butIwishedhe’dstayedthereforjustafewsecondslonger.

Badthoughts,equalbadconsequences,mymother’svoicereprimandsme.
Andisn’tthatthetruth.Nooneknowsbetterthanmehowquicklyagoodthing

canturnintoadisaster.It’soneofthereasonsI’veswornoffsex,offrelationships
–offmen.

“Youokay?”Hisvoiceisdeepandresonatesthroughmyentirebody.
Inod,unabletospeak.Notbecauseofmyalmostneardeathexperience,but

becausetheguycrouchinginfrontofmemayjustbethemostgorgeous,sexy,
dangerousmanI’veevermet.

Dressedindesignerjeansthathanglowonhisnarrowwaist,andatightblack

t-shirtthatfitssnugagainsthisbroadshouldersandchest,exposingtheinkonboth
arms,he’sgotthatdark,smoldering,I’lleatyouforbreakfastlook.

AndIhavenodoubthewould.
He’stheepitomeofeverythingmymothereverwarnedmeabout.
Butdespitemycurrentvowofcelibacy,evenI’mnotcompletelyimmunetoa

manwhopracticallyreeksofsex,especiallyonewhojusthappenedtoswoopin
andliterallyknockmeoffmyfeetwhilesavingmylife.

Yeah,I’mintrouble.Bigtime.
“Canyousitup?”Onedarkeyebrowiscocked,hisgazeneverleavingmine.
“Ithinkso.”
Wordlessly,hehelpsmetoasittingposition,hislarge,inkedhandsnever

leavingmybody.Hetiltshischin,studyingme,causinghisalmostblackhairto
fliptooneside.Hairthat’slongontop,andshavedonbothsides,whichonly
accentuatesthebadboyvibehe’sgotgoingon.

There’sagroupofspectatorswatchingusnow,includinganervouslooking

manwhogetsoutoftherusty,silverToyotathatalmosthitme.

“Issheokay?”Thelittlemanstringshishandstogether,sweatbeadingonhis

brow.

“She’sfine,”myheroanswersforme,thenpracticallygrowlsatthecrowd,

“Moveon.There’snothingtosee.”

Thecommandhaspeoplescattering,carryingonwiththeirdayasifthey

hadn’tjustwitnessedatwenty-one-year-oldwomanwalkdirectlyintooncoming
trafficbecauseshewasnosedeepinchaptertwenty-twoofViKeeland’snewest
book.AbookthatnowlaysscatteredacrossMainStreet.

Damnit.Iwasonlyhalfwaythroughittoo.
“Whatthehellwereyouthinking?”Myinkedsaviorisstaringatme,alldark

andbroody,likeitwasmyplantoalmostberundown.“Youcouldhavebeen

killed.”

Iwince,knowinghe’sright,butIbarelygetanytimetoread.Notwithjuggling

twojobs,andtryingtogetmyGEDcertificateatnight.

Hegrunts,stillwatchingmewithaheavinessthatmakesmyskinwarm,and

myinsidesknot.

Unsteadily,Istand,anddustoffthepiecesofgravelthatsticktomyjeans.

“Thanksforpullingmeback.”

Hismouthquirksup,inthefirstsemblanceofasmilehe’sgivenme.ButI’m

notfooled.Iknowwhat’scoming.Icanseeitinhiseyes,inthewayhisbody
leansclosertome,drawingmetohimlikeamagnet.

Theguyhasdangerwrittenalloverhim.Yeah,Iwouldn’tdoubtit’swrittenin

inksomewhereonthatbeautiful,sculptedbody.

Hisblueeyestwinkle,despitetheintensityinhisgaze.Slow,andpredatory-

like,heclosesthedistancebetweenus,andIcanfeeltheheatheproduceslikea
flameonmyskin.

“Icanthinkofawayyoucanmakeituptome.”Histoneisbothplayfuland

drippingwithpromise,andIcan’thelptheshiverofanticipationthatracesdown
myspine.

“I’msureyoucan,”Imumblesarcastically,eventhoughmybodyisbeggingto

findoutjusthowmanywaysIcanmakeituptohim.

“Havedinnerwithme.”Theslantofhismouth,thelookinhiseyes,issoself-

assured,soconfident,it’sclearthatheisn’tusedtobeingturneddown.

“Justdinner?”Iraiseaneyebrow,knowingthere’salwaysacatch.Amanlike

him,wouldneverwantjustdinner.

Hepinsmewithafulloutsmile,onethatshowsoffthedimpleinhischeek,

andleavesmykneesturningtojelly.“Unlessyou’dlikebreakfasttoo.”

Thereitis.IfIwasn’tsodamnhotandbotheredrightnow,I’dprobably

chuckleatthepredictability.

Heleansincloser,hissmileconfident,almostarrogant,asifhe’susedto

gettingwhateverhewantswithjustasinglerequest.

Tobehonest,ifIwasanyotherperson,onewhowasn’tcompletelyterrified

ofwhatamanlikehimcoulddotoawomanlikeme,I’dprobablytakehimupon
hisoffer.

“Thanksagainforhelpingme.”Istarttoturn,buthereachesformywrist,and

athousandboltsofelectricityracethroughmyveins,sendingastabbingheat
straighttomycore.

Damnhim.Anddamnthewaymybodyresponds.Allwarmandtingly,and

willingatanysecondtothrowitselfintohisarms.

Histhumbstrokesmyskin,andhiseyessearchmine.Histouchislikeataser,

makingitimpossibletomove,orevenspeak.

“Atleastgivemeyourname.”Histone,darkanddeep,skatesovermelikea

ruggedcaress.

Mymouthparts,andittakesmeafewsecondstofindmyvoice,“Layla.”
“Layla.”Mynamerollsoffhistongue.Hisgazefilledwithwickedintent.
Anothershiverracesdownmyspine,andIsearheknowsit,becausehisgrin

onlybroadens.

Thismanwoulddestroyme.Thesmall,unbrokenfragmentsthatareleftofmy

heartwouldn’tstandachanceagainsthim.

Electricity.
Fire.
Thosethingsdestroy.I’dalreadybeenburnedonce,andIwasn’tabouttoletit

happenagain.

“Ihavetogo.”Breakingthecontact,Iturn,anddespitehowridiculousit

seems–Irun.

Chapter2

Carter

Thecrowdedbarthrobswithhousemusic,pulsatingthroughmelikethehighI’m
lookingfor.Ineedsomething.Anythingtodulltheconstantachethatpresses
betweenmyribs.

Thepastfouryearshavebeenagoddamnavalancheofheartbreak.Tonight,I

justwanttodrownmypainwithboozeandmaybeanicepairoftits.Because
tomorrowIhoponaplanetoNewYorktostartmynewlifeasasportsjournalist.

Whatafuckingjoke.
Thepayisshit.Soisthemagazine.ButI’mnotdoingitforthemoney.That’s

notwhyItookthedamnjob.Itookitbecauseit’smyonlywaytostayconnected
tomyoldlife.

Hockey.
It’stheonlythingIcaredaboutforyears.Untilfatedecidedtoscrewnotonly

withmyfamily,butmycareer.Nowthatit’sgone,it’slikethere’sapieceofme
missing.AnemptinessIcan’tseemtofill.It’sstupid,Iknow.It’sonlyagoddamn
sport.Butit’swhatdefinedmeforsolong,thatsometimesIdon’treallyknow
whoIamwithoutit.

Isnapopenmyprescriptionbottleandpopmylastoxycontin,chasingitback

withbeer.

Ashatteredkneecapafterbeingcheckedintotheboardslastspringendedmy

careerintheNHL.Twosurgeriesandtenmonthsofrehab,andmylegisstilla
mess.Chronicpain,andsidelineviewofthegameareallIhavetolookforward
tonow.

Peoplearedancing,grinding,asthelightsflashandpulsetotherhythmicbeat

thatthumpsthroughthespeakers.

It’snotmytypicalscene,butbeingmylastnightintown,Iletmybrotherdrag

mehere.Butrightnow,IneedasmallbreakfromTravis,who’scurrentlydoing
Jagerbombsonthefarsideoftheroomwithsomechickhepickeduptwenty
minutesafterwegothere.

Attwenty-one,thekid,ifIcanstillcallhimthat,islivingeveryteenageboys’

dream–onmypaycheck.Unemployed,livingoffthemoneyIgivehimeach
month,screwingcountlesswomeninthehouseIboughtforhim.Travis’only
responsibilityisnotgettinghimselfarrested–again–fordisorderlyconduct.

Sometimesthesevenyearsthatseparateusfeelmoreliketwenty.Butthen,I

wasneverassetonself-destructionasTravisis.

That’snottosayIhaven’tdonemyshareofdrinkingandscrewinghotwomen,

butineverythingIdo,there’sorderandcontrol.

Likenow.Mygazescansthecrowd,seekingthewomanI’lltakehometonight.

Blonde,brunette,redhead,Idon’tcareaslongassheknowstherules–nostrings
attached.Onenightofpleasure.Nophonenumbersexchanged.Justsex.

Becauseit’sallIhaveroomforrightnow.
NotthatIplantostaysinglefortherestofmylife.Oneday,I’llsettledown,

haveacoupleofkids,butthatrealityissofarfromwhereIamrightnowthat
there’snosensepretendingIwantanythingmorethanagoodscrew.

Sittingdownatthebar,IorderanotherHeineken,andgrinattheblondeonthe

stoolnexttome.Shegivesmetheeyes,theonesthatsayfuck-me-please,and
leanscloser,practicallyshovingheramplecleavageinmyface.

“Hi.”Shebatsherfakeeyelashesatme.“Wanttobuymeadrink?”
It’salmosttooeasy.Ilikeabitofachallenge.AndthewayI’mreadingher,it

wouldonlytakeafewflatteringwordstohaveherblowingmeinthebasement
restroom.

NotwhatI’mlookingfortonight.
Igruntandshakemyhead,causinghertopout,thenturnbacktotheguyshe

waspreviouslyhittingon.

Payingforthebeer,I’mabouttowalkawaywhenmygazelandsonafigure,

sittingintheshadowsatthefarendofthebar.Layla.Thegirlwho’dpractically
runfrommeafterI’dsavedherlife.ThegirlIhadn’tbeenabletogetoutofmy
headforthepasttwoweeks.

Lightbrownhairhangsinwavesoverhershoulders,andherbrowsturned

downintentlyashergazeskimsthepagesofthebookshe’sreading.She’sfucking
reading,inabar.Ialmostchuckleathowoutofplaceshelooks,untilsheglances
upandmeetsmygazewiththoseeyes.

It’snotjustthecolor,whichinthislightlooklikeasoftbrown,thecolorof

caramel–

it’swhat’sbeneaththem.

Innocence.
Warmth.
ThecompleteoppositeofeverythingIam.
Thoseeyesgowidewithrecognitionwhentheylandonme,andIseeit,the

sparkoflustthatshehadn’tbeenabletohide,despiteherattempt.

Igiveheroneofmycrookedsmiles.Theonethatusuallyhasgirlsbeggingme

tofuckthem.Hercheeksturnred,andshequicklylooksbackdownatthebookin
herhand.

Asmallchucklerumblesinmythroat,becausenomatterhowhardshetriesto

hideit,Icanseeshe’sintome.IfeltitinherbodywhenI’dbeenontopofher.
Theheat.Theneedthatradiatedoffherwaves.

ButIknowwhatsheseeswhenshelooksatme–danger.
It’snotonlythatI’mbig,atsixfootfourItowerovermostmen.Ortheinkthat

coversmyarmsinfullsleeves.It’snoteventhemusclesthatbunchandcoilwith
myeverymovement.It’sthedarknessIcarrywithme,likeablackaura,pushing
everyoneaway.Evenmyowndamnbrother.

She’srighttobeafraid,becauseinallfairness,she’stooyoungforme.Too

innocentforthethingsIwanttodotoher.

Hell,shebarelylooksoldenoughtobeinthisplace.
Andme?Imayonlybetwenty-eight,butI’mastaintedastheycome.
Broken?
No.
Mywoundshavehealed,butnotwithoutleavingthick,impenetrablescarson

mybodyandmysoul.

Ishouldwalkaway.Butmycockwon’tletme.It’sbeggingmetocrossthe

fifteenfeettowardsher,andmakehermine–atleastfortonight.

I’mnottheonlyguywho’snoticedher.
Withgrittedteeth,Iwatchasameathead-looking-dudeapproachesher,a

cockyassgrinonhisuglyface.Acrosstheroom,atableofrowdyguysyellouta
fewcrudecomments,edginghimforward.

Heleansonthebarinfrontofher,gettinginherpersonalspace.
Ifitwasn’ttherebefore,itisnow.Thebigfuckoffsignplasteredonher

forehead.Buttheguyeitherdoesn’tnoticeordoesn’tcare.

Yeah,sonotgoingtohappen,buddy.Ialmostfeelsorryforthebastard,until

heputshishandsonher.

Hereachesoutanddragshisfingersdownherbarearm.It’sasubtletouch,but

itstirstheinnercavemaninsideofme.

Walkaway,Carter,Itellmyself.Nogirlisworththefight.Especiallynota

barfight.

Buthell,ifthatoverprotectiveNeanderthalpartofmybraindoesn’tkickinto

highgear,mutingoutallcommonsense.

TheguyispracticallymaulingherbythetimeIcrossthedistancebetweenus.
“Comeandhaveadrinkwithus,”heslurs,wrappingameatyarmaroundher

shoulders,andleaningheavily.

There’sfearinhereyeswhensheplacesherhandsonhischest,tryingtopush

himaway.“I’mwaitingfor–”

“Me,”Igrowlout,myvoicerumblingabovethemusic.
Theguyturnsinmydirectionandgivesmealookthatsayshedoesn’tbelieve

me,thenhiseyeswidenslightlyinrecognition.

Fuck.Itdoesn’thappenveryoftenanymore,butit’salwaysuncomfortable

whenitdoes.

“Ohshit.You’re–”
“Yourworstenemyifyoudon’tgetyourhandsoffmygirl.”Idon’tneedhim

announcingtothewholebarwhoIam.Ormoreaccurately,whoIwas.

CartertheCrusherBennett.NewYorkRangersseconddraftpickalmosta

decadeago.Isentmoreguyshomeonastretcherthananyrookiethatfirstyear,
whileplacingagianttargetonmybackdoingit.

“Sorry,man.Ididn’trealize.”Theguystandsabruptly,puttinghishandsinthe

airandtakesacoupleofstepsback.Buthe’sstillwatchingme,andsoisLayla.

“Hey,sweetheart.SorryI’mlate.”Iplaceanarmpossessivelyaroundher

shoulders.

“You’rerightontime.”Shegivesmealookthatsaysshedoesn’tknowifI’ve

justsavedher,orputherinmoredanger.

Moredanger,sweetheart.Muchmore.
Iwatchherdoe-likegazeasIleaninandpressmylipsagainsthers.
Herhandscomeuptomychest,butshedoesn’tpushmeaway,insteadshe

leansintothekiss,andIfeelherbodytrembleagainstmine.

LikeIexpected,thechemistrybetweenusisoffthechartsintense.
Deepinsideofmesomethingstirs,andsomethingforeignshiversthroughmy

senses.

Damn,butthewomandoessomethingtome.SomethingIhaven’tfeltbefore.
Hatingtobreakthecontact,butknowingthedouchebagisstillwatchingus,I

slowlypullback,gazelockedonhers.

“Youmind?”Iraiseaneyebrowattheguywho’slookingatmelikeI’ma

celebrityorsomething.

WhichI’mnot.
Atleastnotanymore.

Heturnsbacktohisbuddies,andIhearmynamebeingtossedaroundamong

them.

“Youokay?”Ileanagainstthebarandseehergazelingeracrosstheinkonmy

forearm,followingthepatternuntilitdisappearsbeneathmyt-shirt.

Herlipstightenandsheswallowshard.
“Youdidn’thavetokissme,”shesays,tryingherbesttofeignindignation,but

hergazerestsonmymouth,andIcanpracticallyfeelherbodybeggingmefor
more.

“No.”Igrin,tryingtosuppressthesmallchucklethatrisesinmythroat.“ButI

wantedto.”

Shelicksherlips,amixoffearandexcitementinhereyes.“Apparentlysitting

alonemeansI’mlookingforsomeonetotakemehome.”

“Areyou?”
“No.”Sheshakesherhead,butagainhergazetrailsdownmytorso.
“Yousureaboutthat?”Iraiseaneyebrow,andsmirk.
Immediatelyhercheeksturnscarletandshelooksaway.“I’mjustwaitingfor

myroommate.SheworkshereandI’mpickingherup…”Sheletsoutasmall,
frustratedbreath.“Idon’tknowwhyI’mexplainingmyselftoyou.”

She’sdefinitelygotthegoodgirlactdown.Ifitisanact.She’spretty

convincing.Istayawayfromhertype,becauseIknowtheyalwaysexpectmore.
She’snotthekindofgirlthatjusthooksupforanight.Andthat’sallI’mlooking
for.

ButmymindraceswithallthethingsIwanttodotoher.Mybodyacheswith

theneedtotasteheragain,tohearmynameonherlipswhenImakeherdrive
myselfballsdeepinsideofher.

You’llonlybreakhermybrainwarns.There’ssomethingfragileabouther,

somethingthatmakesmewanttodomorethanjustfuckher.Anunfamiliarneedto
bothpossessandprotecther.

IknowIshouldwalkaway,leavehertoherbook,butshehasmeintrigued,

andwantingtoknowmoreabouther.

“CanIbuyyouadrinkwhileyou’rewaitingforyourfriend?”
“I’mgoodwithwater.”
Ichuckle.
“What?”Hereyesnarrow.
“You’reanenigma.”
“Anenigma?”shefrowns.

“Amystery,apuzzle.Somethingdifficulttounderstand.”
“Iknowwhatthewordmeans.”There’sahintoffrustrationinhervoice.“I

justmeant,how?”

“You’rereadingabookinabar.Youkindofstandout.”
Sheglancesdownatthenovelandshrugs.
“Italsodoesn’thurtthatyoulooklikea…”
Herheadjerksup,gazehardonmelikeIwasabouttoinsulther,whichisthe

furthestthingfromthetruth.

“Likeawhat?”shedemands.
“Nothing.”
“No.Sayit.Likeawhat?”
Likeagoodgirlthat’sjustbeggingforarealmantofucktheinnocenceout

ofher.

“Likealibrarian.”
“Alibrarian?”Sheglancesdownatthewhitebuttondownandblackskirt

she’swearingandfrowns.

“Oraschoolgirl.Butnotoneofthenaughtyones–”
“Okay,Igetit.”Sherollshereyes.“Ijustcamefromwork.”
“Atthelibrary?”Ichuckle,teasing.
“No.”Shetucksherhairbehindherearnervously,andadmitswithasmall

smile,“Abookstore.”

Ofcourse.That’sthefirstthingaboutthegirlthat’smadesensetome.
Withoutthinking,Ireachoutandtracethecurveofherjaw,andfeelher

tremblebeneathmytouch.

Hereyeswidenandshesucksinashudderingbreath,expressionchurnedwith

uncertaintyandconfusion.Desire.Need.Fear.

Everythingaboutthegirlscreamsinnocence.
Ipullmyhandback,andsheletsoutthebreathshewasholdingin.
“Areyouevenoldenoughtobeinhere?”
“I’mtwenty-one.”Herchinjutsoutdefensively.
ThesameageasTravis.Andyettheycouldn’tbemoredifferent.There’sa

vulnerabilitytoher,butalsoastrength.

Ileanback,elbowsrestingonthebar.“So,you’retwenty-one.Youliketo

read…inabar,onaSaturdaynight,whiledrinkingwater–”

“Itoldyou,I’mwaitingformyfriend.”

Friend.Notaboyfriend.
“Whatelsedoyoudo?”
“Why?”
“Youintrigueme.AndIwanttoknowmoreaboutyou.”
Herbrowsaretightlydrawndownandshe’swatchingmelikeshecan’tfigure

outthegameI’mplaying.Butthetruthis,itisn’tagame.I’mgenuinelyinterested
toknowwhatmakeshertick.

Sheglancesdownatthebookinherhand,suddenlylookingextremely

vulnerable.“Iwrite.”

“Really?”
“Iwroteabook.”Hercheeksflameattheadmission.
“Impressive.”
“Notreally.Itnevergotpublished.”Hertonguedartsoutacrosshersoft,pink

lips,andIcan’thelpthefilthythoughtsthatfillmymind.Heronherkneesinfront
ofme,lipsstretchedaroundmycock.

Holyhell,whenwasthelasttimeI’dhadthisreactiontoawoman?Maybe

never.

Iclearmythroat.“What’sitabout?Thebook.”
Asmallgrinplaysatherlips.“Youknow,thewholegoodgirlmeetsthebad

boyinabar,theyfallinloveinstantly,andlivehappilyeverafter.”

Ipause,somethingstirringinmychest.
“Really?”
Shelaughsandshakesherhead.“No.I’mkidding.Butthatwouldprobably

getpublished.Becausethat’swhatpeoplewant.”

“Badboys?”
“Yeah.”Shenods.“Andhappilyeverafters.”
“Ahthestuffoffairytales.”Itakeaswigofmybeer.
“Exactly.”
“So,writethatstory.”
Sheshrugs.“Ican’twritewhatIdon’tbelieve.”
Interesting.
“Youdon’tbelieveinhappyendings?”
Sheshrugs.“Lifeisjustsomuchmessier.Thinkaboutit.Howmanypeopledo

youknowwhoarelivingtheirdream?Orwho’vefoundtheone.”

Iopenmymouth,thenshutit,becauseshe’sright.Ican’tthinkofone.Except

maybemyparents.Theyhadthemarriagebooksarewrittenabout,butthenbam.
Onedrunkdriver,andbothoftheirlives,weresnuffedouttoosoon.

Mychesttightensatthememory.Fouryearshasdonelittletodullthepain.
“Maybethat’swhypeoplewanttoreadthatstuff.”
“Why?”
“Awaytoforgettheshittinessoflife.Tobelieveinsomethingthatwillfillthe

gapingwoundintheirchests.”

“You’reprobablyright.”Shetiltsherhead,studyingme,likeshecanseeright

tomycore.

It’sunnerving,andyetsofuckingtempting.ToremovethedetachmentI

usuallycarryaroundwithmelikeashield,andletherseethedarkest,mosttainted
partsofme.Maybeit’sbecauseIseeitinhertoo.Secretsanddemonsthathaunt
thosebeautifuleyes.

“Andyou?”Sheasks,gazeboringintominewithanintimacythatmakesmy

heartrace.“Isthatwhatyou’relookingfor?Tofillthegapingwoundinyour
chest.”

“Idon’treadromancenovels.”Igrin,untilIrealizehowclosetothetruthit

actuallyis.Insteadofbooks,Ijustusealcoholandpillstopushthroughthehaze
ofregretandloss.

“Layla,youready?”Astrawberryblondestandsattheedgeofthebar,

watchingus,browsraised.

“Coming.”Laylaslidesoffthestool,andgivesmeasmallsmile,thenstarts

towardsherfriend.

AmIreallygoingtoletherwalkaway?It’sbeenyearssinceI’vefeltanything

butgrief,butthiswomanstirssomethinginsideofme.

Hope.
Adesiretochange.
Adesireformorethanjustunbridledsexwithnamelesswomen.
“Layla,”Igrowlouthername,watchingherbodyreactinawaythatmakesmy

cockhardenpainfully.

Sheturns,drawingherbottomlipbetweenherteeth,browsraised.“Yes?”
Igrabapenthat’ssittinginacuponthebar,thenscribblemynumberonone

ofthepapercoasters.

“Here.”Ihandittoher.“I’mgoingoutoftownforafewmonths,butwhenI

getback,I’dlovetoreadyourbook.Iknowareallygoodpublicist,andI’msureI
couldgethimtolookatit.”

Sheblushes.“LikeIsaid,it’snotverygood.Theending–”
“Canalwaysbealtered.”Ileandown,mymouthclosetoherear,“Andmaybe

Icanchangeyourmind.”

Shelooksatmewithconfusion.“Aboutwhat?”
“Happyendings.”Icupherchinandtiltherchin,thenleaninsothatourlips

ouralmosttouching.“Findingtheone.”

Becauseascrazyasitseems,partofmewondersifI’vejustfoundmine.I’ve

neverbelievedinloveatfirstsight,orfairytales,butI’mprettysurethiswomanis
awholelotofeverythingthatIneed.

Herbreathhitches,eyeswidening.
“Layla,comeon.Maxiswaiting,”herfriendcomplains,poppinghergum,and

textingfranticallyonherphone.

Shegivesmeanapologeticsmile.“Ireallyhavetogo–”
Icrushmylipsagainsthers.Thistimethere’snothingsoftorinnocentaboutthe

kiss.It’shard,demanding,apromiseofwhatIwanttogiveher.

Oneabreathysigh,herlipspart,andshemeltsagainstme.
Pure,undilutedpleasure.
WhenIpullback,Igrindownather.“Callme.”
Shenods,eyesglazed,faceflushed,thenturnsandwalksaway,glancingover

hershoulderbeforedisappearingintothecrowd.

Idragmyfingersthroughmyhair,andletoutaheavybreath,hatingthatI’m

justlettingherwalkaway.Eventhoughshehasmynumber,there’snoguarantee
thatshe’llcall.

Mynumber…
Shit.Irealizemyscrewup.Ichangedserversafewdaysagoformynewjob,

andI’mprettysureIgavehermyoldcellnumber.

NormallyIwouldn’tcare.It’snotlikeIdon’thavealineupofwomenbegging

tojumpinmybed.Butthethoughtofnotseeingheragainmakesmystomach
clench.

Imovethroughthebarquickly,andpushopenthemetaldoor,shiveringwhena

coolblastofairhitsme.

Theparkinglotispackedwithpeople,butnoneofthemareLayla.
Damnit.Icombmyfingersovermyfaceandcurse.
She’sgone.AndIhavenoideaifI’lleverseeheragain.

Chapter3

Carter

Oneyear…

Alineofcarsoutsidemyhouseismyfirstindicationthatmybrotheristhrowinga
party.Thesecondisthethumpingmusicthatvibratesthroughthebaywindows.

Fuck.
IwashopingtogetTravisalone.
Hewouldn’ttellmeoverthephone,butI’mprettysurehe’sdughimselfin

anotherhole.OnethatI’mgoingtohavetobailhimoutof–again.

Thisshitisgettingold.AndsoamI.Toooldtobecleaningupafterhim.
Sure,I’vedonethingsI’mnotproudof,buttherecomesatimewhenyouneed

togrowthehellup.

Fromthefoyer,Icanseeahandfulofpeopleinthelivingroom,andanother

halfdozeninthekitchen.Butnosignofmybrotheranywhere.

Idropmyluggageatthefrontdoor,andafewheadsturntolookinmy

direction,thencontinueonwithwhateverthey’dbeendoing,whichconsists
mostlyofdrinkingandsmokingup.

Thehousesmellslikeagoddamnfraternity.Beer.Cigarettes.Pot.Sex.
There’sagroupofthreeguyssharingabongonthelivingroomcouch.Acouch

IjustreplacedsixmonthsagobecauseTravis’buddiessetfiretotheoldone,
nearlyburningdownthedamnhouse.

“DoyouknowwhereTravisis?”Igrowlout.
Oneoftheguyslooksup,eyesglazed.“He’swithsomechickupstairs.”
Ishakemyheadwhenheraisesthebongformetotake.
Thisshithasgottostop.
Itakethestairs,andpoundonTravis’door.
“Busy,”isthemuffledreply,followedbyawoman’smoan.
“Travis,openthefuckingdoor.”
There’safewcurses,followedbyacouplethumps,beforethedooropens,and

mybrotherstandshalfnakedinfrontofme.

“Niceparty,”Isaysarcastically,gettingafullglimpseoftheredhead’s

breasts,beforeshepullshertopoverherhead.

Hereyesrakeovermeandshegivesmeanappreciativesmile.
Ignoringher,IglancebackatTraviswhotakesthet-shirtthewomanhandshim

andshrugsiton.

Hemotionsforthegirltoleavewithadismissivetiltofhishead.
“Ididn’texpectyouuntilnextweek,”hesays,dragginghisfingersthroughhis

shaggy,brownhair.

“Obviously.”
Hegrabsahalfemptybeerbottleoffhisdesk,andchugsitback,thenlooksat

meandslurs,“What’reyoudoinghere?”

Technically,it’smyhouse.Idon’tneedareason.ButI’velethimlivehereso

longthatIswearheforgetswhopaysthebills.

“Yourtextsoundedprettyurgent.”
Heshrugs,butIseetheguiltthatcrossesherexpression.“I’mjustdealingwith

alotofshitrightnow.”

Fromthewayheshiftstoleanagainstthewall,I’mthinkinghe’sgotagoodsix

orsevenbeersinhim.

“You’renotinjail,soIassumeit’saboutmoney.”
“Ouch.”Hewinces,rubbingthebackofhisneck.
“Howmuch?”
“Wantadrink?I’llgrabyouone–”
“Howmuch,Travis?”Ihatebeinganass,butIneedtoknowthedamage.Ido

wellenough,butthelasttimeIreceivedatextliketheoneIgottheothernight,it
endedupcostingmefortygrandinpropertydamageandanotherfiveinlawyer’s
fees.

“It’snotaboutmoney.”Travissuckshistoplipoverhisteethandlooksaway.
Shit.Thisisgoingtobebad.
“Whatisitthen?”Mystomachtwists.
“Youjustgothere.Wecantalkaboutittomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”Soitisn’tthaturgent.Thesqueezinginmychestsubsides

slightly,butinthebackofmyheadthere’saflashingneonsignwarningmeit’snot
goingtobeasimplefixthistime.“Fine.”

I’malreadyinapissymoodafteranhourdelayonmyflight.Andmykneeis

throbbingfromsittingforsolong.I’llprobablyhandlewhateverhehastosay
betterafteragoodnightsleep.

Istartdownthestairstowardsthekitchen,andsayovermyshoulder,“You

mindtellingyourbuddiestotakethepartysomewhereelse?”

“Seriously,bro?”Travis’handsslamdownonmyshoulders.“Comeon,have

acouplebeerswithus.When’sthelasttimethetwoofusgottankedtogether?”
Hegivesmeoneofhiseasygoinggrins.“Orbetteryet,stoned.”

“Onebeer.”
“Goodman.”
Igrunt,followinghimintothecrowdedkitchen,chokingonthefumes.
“I’llmeetyouinback.Ineedsomefreshair.”
Travisnods,beforebeingdraggedintoaconversationwithaguysuckingback

ajoint.

Iheadthroughtheslidingdoorsthatleadtothebackyard,andbreatheinthe

freshair.

Boxesofemptybeerbottleslinethebackofthehouse,butotherthanthatit

lookslikeTravishasactuallykepttheyardup.Thereareevenflowersinthefew
potsthatsitonthelargewooddeck.

Ifrownatthat,becauseIknowthere’snowayinhellthatTravisplantedany

damnflowers.

Maybethey’rejustweeds.Ipickoneofthem,andlookatitmoreclosely.
“Definitelynotaweed,”Imutter.
“They’reBegonias,”awomansaysbehindme.
Iglanceovermyshoulder,followingthesoundofthevoiceandfreeze.
AllIseearehereyes.Thosesoftbrowneyesthatcouldpierceaman’sheart,

andmakehimwishhewereabetterman.

I’dknowthemanywhere.
Layla.
Sittingontheoldwoodenswing,withanotherdamnbookinherhands,she

blinksupatme,eyeswide.“You?”

Ican’tbelievemyluck.IdoubtedI’deverseeheragainwhenshewalkedout

ofthatbar.

“Whatareyoudoinghere?”It’sastupidquestion.Theanswerisobvious.

She’sfriendswithTravissomehow.Thethoughtmakesmystomachtighten.

“I–”Herfaceturnsashadeofred,clearlyasflusteredbymypresenceasIam

byhers.Sheshutsherbookandstands.Asmallfrowntuggingatherlips.“Ilive
here.”

“Here?”Iblinkinconfusion.
Travissaidhewasgettingaroommate,someonetohelppaythebills.Which

isridiculous,becauseIalreadypaythem.ButIcouldn’tfaulthimforbeing
resourceful.

“Yeah.”Shecontinuestofrownupatme.

“Youlivehere,inmyhouse?”Ilaugh,becausewhatarethefuckingodds?
“Yourhouse?”Herfacepales.“OhmyGod.You’reTravis’brother?”
There’ssomethinginthewayshesaysitthatmakesmeuneasy.Apremonition

thatleavesmyheartthuddingpainfullyinmychest.

“Heis.”Traviscomesthroughtheslidingdoors,carryingtwobeers.Hehands

meone,thenslapsmeontheback,hardenoughthatitmakesmegrunt.“Mybig,
perfect,brother.SaintfuckingCarter.”

“Don’tbeanass.”Igivehimalookofwarning,buthe’stoodrunktonoticeor

hedoesn’tcare.

“Butit’smything.”TravisgrabsLaylaaroundthewaistandplantsahardkiss

onhercheekroughly.“It’swhatthegirlsloveaboutme.Right,darling?”

“You’redrunk.”Shesquirmsinhisarms,tryingtogetaway.
“Notyet.ButIplantoberealsoon.”Hetakesadeepswallowofthebeerhe’s

holding,thenreleasesher.

Ican’tfigureoutthedynamicsbetweenthem,butIknowinstantlythat

somethingisup.Thetensionispracticallytangible.

Isshesleepingwithhim?FromthelittleIknowaboutherIwouldn’thave

thoughtshe’dgoforsomeonelikeTravis.ButthenIreallydon’tknowanything
abouther.Justthatshe’sobsessedwithreading–andshe’slivinginmyhouse.

Layla’sgazeflickerstomine,clearlyuncomfortable.
SomeoneshoutsatTravisfromthehouse.
“I’llberightback.”Hehitsmeagainontheshoulder,andIswearI’mgoingto

puthiminagoddamnheadlockthenexttimehetouchesme.“Makeyourselfat
home.”

Ishefuckingserious?
God,thekidhaditcomingtohim.
AnawkwardsilencestretchesbetweenusbeforeIfinallyask,“So,youand

Travis?”

“No.”Sheshakesherhead,andhercheeksreddenbeforeshelooksaway.“It’s

complicated.”

Complicated.
Shit.Iknowwhatthatmeans.
RememberingthegirlTraviswasprobablyscrewingupstairs,I’dsay

complicatedwasanunderstatement.

Best-casescenario,shehasacrushonhim.Worst,she’ssleepingwithhim.

Butthere’snodoubtinmymindthattheyareinvolvedsomehow.

Iwanttoask,todigdeeper,butthere’salsoapartofmethatdoesn’twantto

know.

“Howlonghaveyoubeenlivinghere?”Itakeadeepsipofmybeer,watching

her.

“Afewmonths.TravisletsmestayforpracticallynothingaslongasIcook

andclean.”Shefidgetswiththebookinherhand.“Ididn’tknowyouandhim
were…Iwouldneverhave…”

“Youdon’thavetoexplain.”
Hercheeksarestillred.“Areyoustayinghere?”
“Iwasplanningonit,butifit’sgoingtobeawkwardIcangotoahotel.”
Sheshakesherhead.“Thisisyourplace.Ifyouwantmetoleave–”
“No,”Isayalittletooroughly.“It’sfine.”
Ijustfuckingfoundheragain,thelastthingIwantisforhertodisappear.A

yearoffantasies,aneedIcouldn’tshake.Iobsessedabouther,wantingtopossess
everysweetinnocentinchofherperfectbody.Consumeheruntiltherewasn’t
anythingleft.

Istilldo.
ButifshereallyiswithTravis,Imayjustbetorturingmyselfbysticking

around.

Iscrubahandovermyface,feelingthehairscrapeagainstmypalm.
Shepullsherbottomlipintohermouthandlooksatanythingbutme.Iwonder

ifIshouldmentionthewrongcellnumber,butthenifshehadn’ttriedcalling,it’ll
justmakemelooklikeajackass.

“I’mgoingtoturninforthenight,”shesaysawkwardly,pointingwithher

thumbatthehouse.

Saysomething,asshole.
“It’sgoodtoseeyouagain.”
Shegivesasmallsmilethatdoesn’treachhereyes.
“Layla?”
Shestopsattheslidingdoorsandglancesoverhershoulder.“Yeah?”
“ImeantwhatIsaid.Idowanttoreadyourbook.”Ihadn’tliedaboutthat.In

fact,itwasoneofthethingsIhadn’tstoppedthinkingabout.Whichisfucking
weird,becauseIdon’tevenlikereading.

Asmallfrowntwistsherlipsandsheshakesherhead.“I’vegivenuponthat.

Writingjustisn’tmything.”

Iwanttocallbullshit,butshedisappearsbeforeIgetthechance.Thethought

offollowinghercrossesmymind.Butifshe’swithTravis,inanyway,Ineedto
stayasfarawayfromheraspossible.

Ifinishthelastofmybeer,andgoinside.
Travisisinthelivingroomwithhisbong-buddies,smokingthethingbacklike

it’soxygen.

AsmuchasIwanttorightnow,Ican’tleave.Istillhavetodealwithwhatever

shithe’sgothimselfinto.

Pickingupmybags,Itrampupthestairstowardsmyoldroom.Travis’dooris

open,andaquickglanceletsmeknowthatLaylaisn’tinthere.That’sone
positive.

Thethirdbedroom,attheendofthehallisclosed,andthere’sasoftlight

underneaththedoor.

AtleastIknowshehasherownroom.Notthatit’smuchofacomfort.Because

themoreIthinkaboutit,themoreIrealizethatcomplicatedcanonlymeanone
thing–sex.

I’veneverbeenjealousofmybrother.Notuntilrightnow.
Itossmybagsinthecornerofmyroom,thenshutthedoor.
Shewassupposedtobemine.Thethoughtcomesunbidden,fromaprimalpart

ofmybrain.Thepartthat’sbeatingitschestrightnow,demandingthatIclaimher,
fillherwithmycock,andmakeherscreammynamesoloudshe’llforgetall
others.

Swipingahandovermyface,thenthroughmyhair,Iletoutaheavysigh.I’m

usedtolifethrowingcurveballs,butthisoneIdidn’tseecoming.

Chapter4

Layla

Travisglaresatmeoverhiscoffeecup,andleansagainstthekitchencounter.
Obviouslysportingawickedhangover.Hiseyesarerimmedred,andhishair
stickingupinalldifferentdirections.Thegirlwhowasinhisbedlastnightlefta
fewminutesago,andnowhisfullattentionisonme,andIcanseehimstewingfor
anotherfight.

Nottoday,please.Iwanttobeg.Notwhenhisbrother,themanI’vebeen

dreamingaboutforthepastyear,issleepingrightaboveus.

“You’vegottogetridofit.”Travis’wordsarecasual,likehe’stalkingabout

anoldsweater,orpieceoffurniturethathewantstakentothedump,andnotan
actualhumanbeing.

“Ican’t.”We’vehadthisargumentmultipletimessinceItoldhimIwas

pregnant.Andeverytimeitendswithhimstormingoutofthehouseandmein
tears.NotbecauseIreallycarewhatTravisthinks,butbecauseIhavenoidea
howI’mgoingtoraisethisbabyonmyown.

“It’snotevenababyyet,”hesneers,dragginghisfingersthroughhisbrown

hair.“It’sjustamassofcells.Idon’tgetwhatyourproblemis.”

Ican’texplainthewayIfeel,nottohim.EvenifIdid,Iknowhe’dnever

understand.

“You’rebeingsofuckingselfish.”Heslamshiscuponthecounter,hisvoice

gettinglouder.“Thisismylifetoo.”

“Itoldyou.Idon’twantanythingfromyou.”
“Bullshit.”HegrabsthebottleofVodkaoffthecounterandpourssomeintohis

coffee.

It’snotevennineinthemorningandhe’salreadydrinking.Butthat’swhathe

does.Drinks.Parties.Sleepswithcountlesswomen.Itwasamistaketomovein
withhim.Ourlivesaresocompletelydifferent.ButthenI’vemadealotof
mistakesinthelastfewmonthsaswell.MistakesIpromisedIwouldnevermake
again.

Ineedtogetoutofhere,andnotjustrightnow.Ineedtofindanewplaceto

live,ASAP.

“I’llmoveoutassoonas–”
“SothenI’mtheassholewhokickedhispregnantgirlfriendoutofthehouse?”

“I’mnotyourgirlfriend.”Ineverwas.Itwasjustsexbetweenus,andonly

once.

I’dbeendrinking–myfirstmistake.Idon’tdrink,orIusuallydon’t.ButI’d

hadareallyshittyweek.I’donlymeanttohaveone,maybetwobeers,butthen
Travis’friendscameover,andtheykeptofferingmedrinks.

BythetimeI’dstumbledtomyroom,andstrippedoffmyclothes,Iwas

plastered.WhenTraviscrawledinbesidemeIdidn’tpushhimaway–mistake
numbertwo.

Travisswearsheusedprotection,butIcan’trememberifhedidornot.Either

way,hegotmeknockedup.I’mjustgladIdidn’tgetsomethingworse,likean
STD.

“Fuck,Layla.”Hebeginstopace.“I’mnotreadytobeafather.”
“I’mnotaskingyoutobe.”
“Ifyou’rekeepingit,youare.”
“Ididn’twantthiseither,but–”
“I’mstartingtowonderifmaybeyoudid.”
“Excuseme?”Ishekidding?I’veneverbeenaviolentperson,butrightnow

I’mreadytoslaphim.Myfingerswraparoundthebackofakitchenchair,my
knuckleswhitening.“YoubetternotbesayingIplannedthis?”

“Itjustseemsodd.Weonlyslepttogetheronefuckingtime,anditwasn’teven

thatgood–”

“Youreallyareanasshole.”
“Andyou’rebeingaselfishbitch.”Travis’eyesburnwithamixofangerand

fear.“Ifyouthinkyou’regoingtotrapmeintomarryingyou,thinkagain.”

“Ididn’tevenwanttosleepwithyou.AndIwouldn’thaveifIhadn’tbeen

drunk.”

“Youdidn’tsayno.”
“BecauseIwaspracticallypassedout.”
Travis’sfaceisbrightred,butIcanseetheguiltthere.Becauseheknowsit’s

thetruth.

“Everythingokayinhere?”Carterstandsinthedoorway,lookingbetweenus,

adarkscowlmarringhishandsomefeatures.

He’swearinglow-risejeans,andadarkt-shirtthatdoeslittletohidethe

cordedmusclesandbroadshouldersbeneath.Darkhairhangsindampwaves
overhisforehead,butit’shiseyesthatholdme.Blueandpiercing.

“Everything’sjustpeachy,”Travissaysderisively,crossinghisarmsoverhis

chestandlookingoutthewindow.

“Layla?”Carterasksme.
“Fine,”Imumble.Hadheheardwhatwe’dbeentalkingabout?
Iknowhe’llfindouteventually,butIprefernottobearoundwhenhedoes.
WhatterribleluckthatthemanI’dbeenfantasizingaboutforthepastyearis

thebrotheroftheonemanI’mreadytostranglerightnow.Themanwhosebaby
I’mhaving.

Cartermovesaroundthetable,thengrabsacoffeecupfromthecupboards.

“I’mgoingtogetaroomattheRadisson.StaythereuntilIfigureoutwhereI’m
goingnext.”

“Why?”Travis’browsdrawdownandhescowls.
Sidebyside,Iseetheresemblance.
Carter’shairisdarker,hiseyesalightershadeofblue,hisbodycoveredina

beautiful,twistedpatternofink.Buttheyhavethesamebonestructure,thesame
lushbottomlip,andthesamesullenbroodinessthatmakesthembothinsufferably
sexy,andincredibledangerous.

“Ijustthinkit’sbetterthatway.”Carterwatchesmeoverhiscoffeecupashe

takesafirstsip.

“Whatever.”Travisglowersathim,thentosseshismuginthesink.“Youcan

dowhateverthehellyouwanttodo.Youalwaysdo.”

“Someonewokeupinashittymood.”Carterleansagainstthecounter,one

anklecrossedovertheother,bicepsbulgingwhenheliftshiscuptohislips.

“Screwoff.”ThetensionradiatingoffTravisisalmostviolent.“Bothofyou.”
I’vegottogetoutofherebeforeIsaysomethingIshouldn’t.Orworse,startto

cry.

“Whereareyougoing?”TravisglaresatmewhenIgrabmypurseoffthe

table.

“Someofushavetowork,”Isnap.
HegrabsmyarmwhenIwalkpasthim.“We’renotfinishedtalking.”
Ipeelhisfingersback.“Yes,weare.”
IgnoringCarter’swatchfulgaze,Islipoutofthekitchenandmakeabeelinefor

thefrontdoor.Angrywordsfollowmeout,butthistimeit’sCarteryellingat
Travis.Ican’thearexactlywhathesays,butIcantellheisn’thappy.

IalmostmakeittomycarwhenIhearthefrontdooropenbehindme.
“Layla.Stop.”Carter’svoiceisdeep,commanding,likeliquidheatpractically

strokingmyskinandmakingmyinsidesturntomoltenlava.

Iturn,mygazeliftingoverhispowerfulchest,uphisinkedthroat,tohis

handsomeface.

Damn,whydoeshehavetobesofreakinghot?
Hisdarkbrowsaredrawndown,blueeyesfullofconcern.
Ican’tdothisrightnow.Myhandsarealreadyshaking,andtearsburnmy

vision.Istillcan’tbelievethathe’sTravis’brother.Iswearfatehasitinforme.

AlmostayearI’vespentdreamingaboutthoseeyes,thetasteofhislipson

mine.

I’veneverbeenkissedlikethat.Ever.
I’dbeenonahighfordaysafterwards,debatingwhetherornottocallhim.A

weeklater,Ifinallybuiltupthenervetodialthenumbers.Buthisdamnphonehad
eitherbeendisconnected,orworse,he’dgivenmefakedigits.

Inaway,Ibelieveditwasforthebest.Ididn’texpecttoseehimagain.But

hereheis,standinginfrontofme,allsexyandbrooding–andthebrotherofthe
manwhosebabyI’mcarrying.

Fuckingperfect.
“Areyouallright?”Hetiltshishead,studyingme.
“I’mrunninglate.”Ifidgetwithmykeys,andlookdownatmyhands.
“What’sgoingon?”
MybackteethgrindtogetherandIlookaway.“YoushouldaskTravis.”
“I’maskingyou.”Heleansin,socloseIcansmellhisscent,feelhiswarm

breathonmycheek.

“It’s…complicated.”
“Yeah.”Herubsthebackofhisneck.“Yousaidthatlastnight.”
“Look.Idon’twanttogetinthemiddleofyouandTravis.You’rehisfamily,

andI’m…”Iswallowhardandlookaway.“I’mjustsomegirlthatgotmixedup
withthewrongguy.”

Ormorespecifically,thewrongbrother.
Carter’snostrilsflareandheglancesbackatthehouse,eyesnarrowed,like

he’sreadytobeattheshitoutofhisbrother.“Idon’tknowwhathedid–”

“Hedidn’tdoanything.”That’snottechnicallytrue,butitisn’tmyplacetotell

himwhathappened.Godthisisawkward.“YoureallyneedtotalktoTravis.I
knowyoutwoaren’tthatclose,but–”

“Hetoldyouthat?”
Ishrug.“It’skindofobvious.Butyou’restillbrothers.Andthiswhole

situationisjustgoingtogetmoredifficultonce…”

Shit.
“Oncewhat?”hedemands.
OnceIhaveyourbrother’sbaby.
“JustgivemeacoupledaystogetmystufftogetherandI’llbeoutofhere.”I

openthedriver’ssidedoor,thengetin.

Cartershoveshishandsinhisjeanpockets,butdoesn’tmove,evenasIstartto

pulloutofthedriveway.

OnceIturnthecorner,farfromCarter’spryinggaze,IletouttheshakybreathI

washoldingin,andwithtremblingfingers,IpulloutmycellanddialKira.

“Barguyisback,”Isaywhensheanswers,tryingdesperatelytosuppressthe

emotionsthatstirinmychest.

“Really?Yousawhim?”Ofallthepeopleinthismessedupworld,Kira

knowsmethebest.Shealsoknowswhatthatnightinthebardidtome.Forafew
shortdays,itmademebelieveagain.Believethatlifeisn’talwayssocruel,and
thatmaybetherereallyarehappyendings,evenforgirlslikeme.

Whatbullshit.
“So?”Kirapushes.
“He’sTravis’brother.”Thereitis.Thebigcosmicjoke.Iswearifthereisa

God,he’ssomewhereuptherehavingagoodlaughatmyexpense.Ormaybethis
ismypunishmentforbeingthelittleslutmymomalwaysaccusedmeof.

There’salongstretchofsilencebeforeKiraresponds.“Oh,shit.”
Oh,shitisright.
“Whatareyougoingtodo?”
“Nothing.Exceptmoveout.”
“But–”
“Ican’tstaythereanylonger.EspeciallynotwhenCarteristheretoo.”
“Carter?”
“Barguy.”
“Right.”There’saheavybreathontheotherend.“YouknowI’dletyoustay

withusiftherewasroom.”

“Iknow.”Kiramovedintoabachelorapartmentfourmonthsagowithher

currentboyfriend,Max.It’sthereasonIhadtofindanewplace,becauseI
couldn’taffordtherentattheoldonewithouther.

I’mhappyforherthough.Thetwoofthemarecutetogether,andtheguyseems

togenuinelycareabouther.Whichissomething.

ItwasMaxwhointroducedmetoTravisandsuggestedImoveinwithhim.

Traviswaslookingmoreforamaidthanaroommate,buttherentwascheap,and
itwasthefirsttimeI’dactuallylivedinahouse,andnotsomerundown
apartment,sinceI’drunawayfromhomesevenyearsbefore.

Everythingwasgoodatfirst.Traviswaseasytogetalongwith,ifIignoredhis

excessivedrinking,smoking,andtherotatingstringofwomenhebroughthome.

Ilikedhavingabackyardtoplantflowers,andalargekitchentomakemeals.

AndtocookforsomeonewhoactuallyenjoyedthedifferentrecipesItried.

Kirahadalwaysbeensopicky,preferringKraftDinneroverthefanciermeals

Imade,likeChickenParmesanorEggplantLasagna.

I’dbeenwarnedthatTraviswasaplayboy,butI’dmovedinonroommateonly

terms.AndI’dspentthelastsevenyearsrunningfromtemptation.Ididn’thave
anyworrieswherehewasconcerned,becauseIneverintendedforanythingto
happenbetweenus.

Travis,beingTravis,hadotherideas.
Twoweeksintolivingwithhim,IknewIwasintrouble.Hewasalloverme.

Itstartedoutasinnocentflirting,butquicklyescalatedwhenherealizedIwasn’t
fallingforhistypicalmoves.

Itwasn’tthatIdidn’tfindhimattractive.TravisisgorgeousinthatCalifornia

surferboyway.Dimples,rockhardbody,andacarefreecharmthatmakesyou
wishyoucouldspendyourdaylounginginthesun.

Buthewasn’tmybarguy.Theonewhohauntedmydreams,withhisintense

bluegaze,andsoftfulllips.

Theone.
Atleastthat’swhatmyoverdramaticbrainbelieved.Andthisiswhylittle

girlsshouldneverbereadfairytales.Becausethey’recompleteandutterrubbish.

“Layla?”Kira’svoicebreaksthroughmythoughts.
“Sorry.Iwasjustthinking.”
Shesighs,butthere’sonlysympathywhenshesays,“You’resureyouwantto

gothroughwiththis?”

No.I’mnotsure.I’mnotsureaboutanything.
Iblinkbackthetearsthatareblurringmyvision.“Ican’tgetridofit.”
“Iknow.”Andshedoes.She’soneoftheonlypeopleinthisworldthatknows

whyIwon’thaveanabortion.WhyI’dneversurvive.“Ijustmeantthatthereare
otheroptions.”

Adoption.It’ssomethingthatcrossedmymind.Butthethoughtleavesablack

holeburninginmychest.

“I’mtwenty-two.Notfifteen.There’snoreasonIcan’traisethisbabyonmy

own.”

“YouknowI’mhereforyounomatterwhatyoudecide.”
“Iknow.Thankyou.”IendthecallasIpullintotheparkinglotoftheAnimal

Shelter.

I’vealreadymademydecision.Iknowitisn’tgoingtobeeasy,butthechoice

isminetomake.I’llsignwhateverpaperworkTraviswantsmetosigntorelieve
himofallobligations.It’sprobablybetterthatway.

Icandothis.
WithoutTravis.
WithoutCarter.
It’sthesecondonethatmakesmythroattighten.BecauseIrealizenowthat

despiteeverything,upuntilthemomenthetoldmehewasTravis’brother,I
actuallybelievedthatonedaymyBarGuy,theguywho’dsavedmylife,myown
darkhero,wouldwalkintomylifeagain,andmaybe–justmaybe–Ireally
wouldgetmyhappyending.

Iswipemytearsawaywiththebackofmyhands,andlookinthemirroratthe

blotchyfacethatstaresbackatme.

Timetotoughenup,becausetherealityis,there’snowhiteknightcomingto

myrescuethistime.

Chapter5

Carter

“She’spregnant?”Istareatmybrother,unbelieving.Jealousywarswithanger.
Andthatfuckingcavemaninsidemebeatshischestinoutrage.

Everypossessive,territorialboneinmybodywantsittobealie,butlooking

atmybrother’spathetic,guiltyface,Iknowit’sthetruth.

“Yes.”Hepacesthelivingroom,andhisfingerscurlintofistsathisside.
Helookslikehe’sreadytohitsomething.
Inaway,Iwouldn’tmindifhetookaswingatme.Atleastitwouldgivemea

reasontohithimback.Becauserightnow,Ireally,reallywantto.

“Andit’syours?”Igrowlout,mythroatconstrictingoverthewords.Idoubt

Laylawouldlieaboutsomethinglikethat,butIhavetoask.

“IfitwasanyotherfuckinggirlI’dwonder,butLayladoesn’tsleeparound.

Shit,Ipracticallyhadtoforcehertosleepwithme.Itwasliketryingtoget
MotherTeresatospreadherdamnlegs.”

“Didyouforceher?”Itakeasteptowardshim,andtheremustbemurderin

myeyesbecausehequicklytakesastepback,handsraised,palmstowardsme.

“Whatthehell,Carter?Itwasajoke.”
“Notafunnyone.”Inarrowmygaze,notknowingwhattobelievefromhim

rightnow.

Thethoughtofhimforcinghimselfonhermakesmeseered.Hemaybemy

brother,butI’mprettysureI’dgotoprisonforthethingsI’ddotohimifIever
foundoutthatwasthecase.

“ThetotallymesseduppartaboutthiswholethingisthatIonlyfuckedher

once.Whogetspregnantafteronelousyscrew?”

Ihavetoshovemyhandsinmypockettokeepmyselffromknockingthepitiful

lookoffhisface.

“Ican’tdothis,”Traviswines,sittingdownonthecouchandplacinghishead

inhishands.

“Thenyoushouldhavekeptyourdickinyourpants.You’regoingtobea

father.It’snotlikeyouhaveachoice.”

“Shesaidshe’sgivingmeone.”
“Whatdoyoumean?”Somethingdarkstirsinsideofme.

“She’sgoingtotalktoalawyer.Icanwaivemyrightsand–”
“You’renotseriouslyconsideringit?Shit.Thisisyourkidyou’retalking

about.”

“Butitdoesn’thavetobe,”hesays,likesomedamnpaperwilljusterasethe

factthatthebabyishis.“I’mtwenty-twoyearsold.I’vebarelystartedtolive.”

“Sowhat?You’rejustgoingtopretendlikethisneverhappened?Walkaround

likethere’snotsomekidouttherewearingyourface.Jesus,Travis.MomandDad
wouldbesofuckingproud.”

Heglaresatme,thenleansbackonthecouchandpincheshiseyesshut.“If

she’djustgetanabortion,everythingwouldbefine.”

“Issheconsideringit?”Idon’tknowwhy,butthethoughtmakesmychest

tighten.

“No.”Hethrowshishandsintheairandstandsagain,startingtopace.“Idon’t

getit.She’snotevenreligious.”

“Youdon’thavetobereligioustowanttokeepyourchild.Tohaveafamily.”
“Herewegoagain.SaintfuckingCarteronhismoralhighhorse.”
“Don’tdothat.We’vebothmademistakes.”
“Yeah.”Henarrowshiseyesonme.“Wehave.”
Iknowwherehismindgoes.Thesamedarkmemorythathauntsmydreams.

Theonechoicehe’llneverforgivemeformaking.

“I’mjustsaying,thiskidisyourfamily.”
“Sincewhenhaveyoucaredsomuchaboutfamily?”Travis’lipscurlupina

snarl,andthere’ssomethingalmostferalinhisexpression.

Hiswordsbite,becauseIknowthere’struthtothem.
Ihaven’tbeenaround.MaybeifIhadthingswouldhaveturnedoutdifferently.
Itwasashitthingtodoleavinghimalonewhenhewasonlyseventeen.No

parents.Norules.Noonetobeaccountableto.

ButIhadmycareer.Andbackthenhockeywaseverythingtome.Iwasn’t

abouttogiveupmyshotplayingwiththeprostocomehomeandtakecareofakid
thatwasalreadypracticallygrown.

“Whatdoyouwantfromme?Anapology?IdidwhatIhadtodo.”
“Youdidwhatyouhadtodoforyourself.Don’ttryandtwistitanyother

way.”

Istaysilent,becausehe’sright.
Travispullsoutapackofsmokesfromhisbackpocket,andlightsone.
“I’mjustsayingwearen’tthatdifferent.YouweremyagewhenMomandDad

died.Youdidn’twanttobesettleddownwithakid.Igetitnow.”

“WhatIdidwascompletelydifferent.Youweremybrother,andyouwere

seventeen.”

Travisshrugs.“Maybe.”
Ishakemyheadathim.“Sowhat’reyourplans?”
“Idon’tknow.IjustknowIhavetogetoutofhere.Maybetravelabit.”He

buttsthecigaretteoutinadirtyglassthatsitsonthefireplacemantle.“There’sa
jobupnorthI’mlookinginto.”

“Whatkindofajob?”Hehasn’tbeenabletoholddownajobformorethan

threemonthsatatime.Withthemoneyfromourparents’accident,he’sbeenable
toliveprettycomfortablywithouthavingtoo.

Untilrecently.
Thewayourparentshaditworkedout,he’donlyreceivedsmallchunkseach

monthuntilhewastwenty-one,afterthathehadaccesstothewholelumpsum,
whichheblastedthroughonGodknowswhatoverthepastyear.

“There’saconstructionsiteupinBritishColombia–”
“Canada?”
“Yeah.”
Iwanttopunchthelittlebastard.“You’rekiddingme,right?”
“It’sgoodmoney.”
“Anditwouldgetyououtofhere,”Isay,knowingthat’sthemainreasonhe’s

evenconsideringit.

Henodsslowly,andlooksoutthelargebaywindow,blueeyesunreadable.
“AndLayla?Whatdoyouplantodoabouther?”
“Ithoughtshecouldstayhere.Atleastuntilshefindsaplaceofherown.”He

doesn’tlookatme,justkeepsstaringoutthewindow.

“You’rearealasshole,youknowthat?”
“Yeah.Iknow.”Hedragshisfingersthroughhishairandturnstomeetmy

gaze.Forthefirsttimesincehetoldmeaboutthepregnancy,Iactuallysee
remorseinhiseyes.“Willyouletherstay?”

“I’mnotgoingtokickheroutifthat’swhatyou’reasking.”
Hegivesasmallnod,hisexpressionrelaxingslightly.“Idocareabouther.”
“You’vegotafunnywayofshowingit.”
Ignoringme,hecontinues,“She’sdifferentthantheothergirlsI’vebeenwith.

There’ssomethingabouther.Youknow?”

Yeah,Iknow.IsawitthefirsttimeIlaideyesonher.

Travisrubshistemples.
“Ican’tbailyououtofthisone.Youknowthat.Whetheryoulikeitornot,

Laylaandthiskidarepartofyourlifenow.”Andmine.

Hisjawtightensandhenods.
“I’mnotsayingyouhavetomarryher–”
“Yeah,that’snotgoingtohappen.”Hestandsabruptly,clearlyagitated.“I’m

goingtohaveashower.”

“Travis.”Thecommandinmyvoicestopshim.“Thisdoesn’thavetobeabad

thing.”

Hesnorts.“Youcansaythatbecauseit’snotyourlifeshe’sfuckingwith.You

wanthertohavethekidsobad,thenyoutakecareofit.”

Mychesttightens,andsomethingstirsinsideofme.Yeah,it’sthatdamn

cavemanagain.GrowlingtocomplywithTravis’request.

Youtakecareofit.
WatchingTravisskulkupthestairs,Iknowthere’snothingIcansaytochange

hismind.Andthere’sasmallpartofmethatdoesn’twantto.Becauseif,or
whetherwhen,hewalksaway,Ihavenointentionofjustofferingherthedealhe’s
laidout.

Ihaveadealofmyown.Onethatwillfinallymakehermine.

Chapter6

Layla

ThehouseisemptywhenIcomehomefromwork.Whichisn’tthatunusual.If
Travisisn’tthrowingaparty,he’stypicallyoutataclub,oratoneofhisstoner
buddies’houses.ButtheminuteIwalkintothekitchenandseethefoldednoteon
thekitchentablewithmynamescribbledonit,myinsidesclench.

Iplacemypurseonthechairandpickupitup,slowlyunfoldingit.

Layla,
Ican’tdothis.
I’msorry.
Stayinthehouseaslongasyouneed.
-Travis

That’sit.Nolongapology.Noexcuses.Justthecold,brutalfactthathedoesn’t

wanttobeapartofhischild’slife.

Myfingersflutterovermystillflatstomach,andIletoutalongunevenbreath.

WhenIleftforworkthismorningIneverthoughthewouldjustupandleave.

“Sothat’sit,”Imutter,feelingthefirstpricksoftearsatthebackofmyeyes.I

swipethemawayangrily.

Idon’tknowwhyI’mcrying.Traviswasatbestafriend,buttherewasnever

anythingmorebetweenus.Justonestupidnightthatmeantnothing.

Andhe’sright.Heisn’tmatureenoughtobeafather.Maybeheneverwillbe.
IflinchwhenIhearthefrontdooropenandshut,andthefootstepsbehindme.
“Layla?”Carter’sdeepvoiceisfullofconcern.
Itakeadeepbreath,thenletitoutslowlybeforeturningaround.
Carter’sfacetightens,andhetakestheremainingstepsthatseparateus.

“What’swrong?”

Nottrustingmyvoice,Idon’tsayanything,justhandhimthenote.
Hiseyesgrazeoverthewords,andhisexpressiongoesfromconcernedto

furious.

“Fuck.”Hisfistballsoverthenote,andforaseconditlookslikehe’sreadyto

hitsomething.Afewdeepbreathsandheturnsbacktome.“Ididn’tthinkhe’d
leavesoquickly.I’msorry.”

“Itiswhatitis.”Itrytoactcasual,likeI’mnotcompletelyfreakingoutinside.

ButIhavenocluewhatI’mgoingtodo.

Ihavesomemoneyinsavings.Enoughforadownpaymentforfirstandlast

month’srentsomewherenottooexpensive.Butneitherofmyjobs,waitressingat
thediner,ormanagingthebookstore,haveanymedicalcoverage.

Thenthere’salltheotherexpensesthatcomewithbabies.
Irubmyeyeswithmypalmsandshakemyhead.There’sstilltimeformeto

thinkaboutallthat.Rightnow,IjusthavetofigureoutwhereI’mgoingtolive.

“IfIcanstayhereforafewmoredays,it’llgivemeenoughtimeto–”
“I’mnotkickingyouout.”Hestaresatmewithallthebroody,intensenessthat

makesmykneesgoweak.

Silencestretchesbetweenus,andIfeellikethere’ssomethingthathewantsto

say,butdoesn’t.WhatIwouldn’tgivetohavehimwrapthosestrongarmsaround
me.Tocomfortme.ButIknowthatwouldbeareallybadidea.

Justbeinginthesameroomwithhimishardenough.Addinganyphysical

contactwouldbeatemptationIdon’thavethestrengthforrightnow.

Isitdownonthekitchenchairandplacemyhandsonthetable.
“Ican’tstayhere.”
“Whynot?”Hepullsoutthechairbesidemeandstraddlesit,armsrestingon

theback,blueeyeswatchful.

“Becauseit’syourplace.WithTravisgone–”
“Itchangesnothing.”
“Itchangeseverything.”Iholdhisgaze,tryingnottoflinchattheintensityofit.

“Iappreciateyouwantingtohelp,butthisisalreadyweirdbetweenus.”

“Itdoesn’thavetobe.Withmyjob,I’mgoneforweeks,sometimesmonthsat

atime.Plus…”Hisjawtenses,mouthtightening.“OnceTravisgetshisheadout
ofhisassandrealizeswhathe’sgivingup,he’llbeback.”

Notlikely.
Ishrug.
Carter’smouthtightens,andhebreathesoutheavilythroughhisnose.“Thisis

yourhome,foraslongasyouneedittobe.”

“Youdon’thavetodothis.”
“Yeah.Ido.”Hisfrowntightens.“YouwererightearlierwhenyousaidTravis

andIaren’tveryclose.It’smyfault.Ilefthimalonewhenourparentsdied.IfI’d

donethingsdifferently,maybehewouldn’tbesuchaself-absorbed,asshole.”

Ican’thelpbutsmileatthefiercenessinhistone.Travishadn’tspokenmuch

abouthisparents.Iknewtheyweredead,thatthey’ddiedinahead-oncollision,
butthat’sallhehadsaid.

“Whathappenedtothem?”
Carterletsoutalongsighbeforeanswering,“Theywereinacaraccident.My

momwaskilledinstantly.Shewasn’twearingherseatbelt,and…”Helooksupat
theceilingandshakeshishead.“Shewasejectedfromthecar.Brokeherneckon
impact.”

“I’msosorry.”
“BothTravisandmyDadwererushedtothehospital–”
“Traviswaswiththem?”Hehadn’ttoldmethatpart.
“Hehadafewfracturedribs,aconcussion,andabrokenarm.Hewaslucky.If

yousawthewreckage…”Hedragshisfingersthroughhisdarkhair.“It’sa
miracleanyonesurvived.”

“Andyourdad?”
“Theypronouncedhimbrain-deadatthehospital.WhenIgotthereIwasgiven

theoptionofunplugginghim,orkeepinghimhookeduptothemachines.”Hiseyes
godistantandhislipstighteninathinline.“IknewmyDadwouldn’thavewanted
tolivelikethat.SoImadethedecision.”

“God.Thatmusthavebeenterrible.”
“Yeah.ButwhatwasworsewaswhenTraviscameoutofsurgeryandfound

outwhatI’ddone.Heneverforgavemeforit.”

“Howoldwashe?”

“Seventeen.Notoldenoughtobealone.ButIlefthimanyways.Iwasconsumed
bymyownlife.Myownneeds.Ipracticallylefthimonhisownafterthat.Imade
surehehadeverythingheneeded.Cleaneduphismesseswheneverhecalledfor
help.ButlookingbackIthinkthatonlymadethingsworse.Whatheneededwas
family.”

Icanseetheguiltinhiseyes,heartheloveforhisbrotherinhisvoice,but

therearesomemistakesthatcan’teverbefixed,especiallyifonepersonisn’t
willingtoforgive.

“Haveyoutoldhimthat?”
“ProbablynotasgentlyasIcouldhave.”Hislipstwistupslightly.“Travis

andIhaveacomplicatedrelationship.”

“Thatseemstobetheonlytypehe’scapableof.”

Cartergrunts.“Youmayberight.”
Wesitinsilenceforafewmoments,bothcaughtupinourownthoughts.
“I’msorryforthewayhetreatedyou.”Hisgazeisonmeagain.
“Youcan’tblameyourselfforhisactions.Nomatterhowmanymistakesyou

mayhavemade,he’shisownperson.”

“True.ButIcanmakesurethathischildistakencareof.Thatyou…”He

reachesoutandtakesmyhand,makingmyentirebodyturnintoaninferno.“Are
takencareof.”

“I’m…”Iswallow,findingitdifficulttoconcentrateonanythingbuthistouch.

“We’renotyourresponsibility.”

“UntilTraviscomesback,youare.”Heletshishandrestonmine,gazeso

intensethatdespitethewarmththatfloodsthroughme,ashiverracesdownmy
back.

Thewayhelooksatmemakesmeforgeteverything.
WhoIam.
Whoheis.
ThatI’mcarryinghisbrother’sbaby.
Mybodypracticallyhumswithneedathistouch.Andtheprotective,almost

possessivewayhe’slookingatmerightnowmakesmyinsidesmelt.Makesme
wantmore.MorethanIcaneverhave.

Warningbellsblare.
Danger.Danger.Runasfastasyoucan.
Ipullmyhandaway,andstand.
“Thankyouforlettingmestayherefornow.”
Idon’twaitforhisresponse,becauseIneedtogetasfarawayfromhimas

possible,toclearmyhead.

MaybeI’mreadinghimallwrong.Maybethetouch,thelook,isjusthim.

There’snodenyingthemanoozessexappeal.Andmyhormonesarealloverthe
place.Maybehe’sjusttryingtobetheresponsiblebrother,cleaningupTravis’
mess.

Ishutmybedroomdoor,lockingitbehindme.
Yeah,that’sallitis.Nothingmore.Becausewhatmaninhisrightmindwould

beinterestedinawomancarryinganotherman’sbaby?Especiallywhenthatman
ishisbrother.

Unlesshe’sjustinterestedinsex.
ButthenthereareamillionwomenouttherethatI’msurewouldbemorethan

willingtojumpintobedwithanincrediblyhotexNHLplayer.

Layingdownonmybed,Icurlintoaballandclosemyeyes.ButtheminuteI

do,Carter’shandsomefaceisthere,staringatmewiththosefuckmeeyes.

Damnhimforbeingsoincrediblysexy–andsweet.
Thatwastherealkicker.Ifhewasajackasslikehisbrother,itwouldbeeasy,

wellnotcompletelyeasy,buteasier,nottothinkabouthim.ButunderallCarter’s
broodiness,thedarkscowlhewearslikeauniform,isamanwhocaresdeeply
aboutothers.

AmanthatIcouldeasilyfallfor.

Chapter7

Carter

“I’mnotrenegingonmycontract.Ijustneedaweektodealwithafamilysituation
that’scomeup.”

“Christ,Carter.We’rerightinthemiddleofplayoffs.”Myboss’voiceisnear

hysterical,andIcan’treallyblamehim.“Ineedyouhere.Ineedyoudoingthe
damnjobI’mpayingyoufor.”

Payingmeshitfor.
“Oneweek,”Ibarter.
“Fourdays.IwantyouinNewYorkonMonday.”
Ihangupandcurseundermybreath.Idon’tneedthisdamnjob.Ihavemore

thanenoughmoneyinsavings,andevenwithconstantlybailingTravis’assoutof
debt,Icangetbyontheinterest.

Butthisjobistheonlythingthatkeepsmeconnectedtomyoldlife.
ThemagazineIwriteforisapieceofshit.Butitgetsmethroughthedoorsof

prettymuchanysportingeventIwanttoattend.Anditgotmeoffthecouchandout
ofthedepressionthathadbeenmylifesincemyinjury.

ButrightnowthelastthingIwanttothinkaboutisleaving.
Travisisn’tansweringhiscell.Knowinghim,heprobablytrashedthedamn

thingsoIwouldn’thaveawayoftrackinghimdownandbeatingtheshitoutof
him.

UnlikeLayla,Ididn’tgetanote,justavoicemailtellingmehewassorryand

nottolookforhim.OfalltheassholethingsTravishasdone,thishastobethe
worst.

Thesoftpaddingoffootstepstravelsdownthehall,andIhearLaylaopenthe

doortoherroom,thenshutit.

FuckifIknowwhatI’mgoingtodoabouther.
There’snowayinhellI’mlettingherleave.IwasseriouswhenItoldherthis

isherhomenow.Mynamemightbeonthemortgage,butI’dalwaysintendedon
givingittoTravisoncehegothisshittogether.Butthatdoesn’tlooklikeit’sgoing
tohappen.Atleastnotintheforeseeablefuture.

It’sonlyrightthatthehousegoestohiskid,ortothemotherofhiskid.
Thethoughtofjustgivingittoher,signingthepapersinhername,crossedmy

mind.Itwouldbethecleanestsolution.Laylaandthechildwouldbetakencare
of.

Butthenwhat?
I’dgobacktoNewYork.Travel.Work.Maybecomevisitonceortwicea

year–ifsheletme.

Thethoughttwistsmystomach.
Myparentswouldberollingoverintheirgravesrightnowiftheycouldsee

what’sbecomeofTravis…ofme...ofouroncehappy,normalfamily.

Familywaseverythingtothem.Theypouredtheirheartsandsoulsintomaking

sureweknewwewereloved,thatwebelonged.SometimesIthinkTravisforgets
allofthat.Thathismemoriesaretwistedanddistortedbecauseofhispain.

Layla’sdoorcreaksopenagain,andIcanhearhertiptoeingdownthehall

towardsthebathroom,thesoundoftheshowerturningon.

Igroanatthethoughtofhernakedonlyaroomaway.
RememberingtheheatinhersoftbrowneyeswhenI’dkissedherinthebar,

andagainwhenshe’dseenmeforthefirsttimetheothernight.

Theconnectionisstillthere–maybestrongerthanbefore.
Butthiswholesituationisonebigclusterfuck.
Ishouldletmylawyershandleit.GobacktoNewYorkandnotlookback.

Thatwouldbethesmartthingtodo.

Whoisshetomeanyways?Theonlythingthatconnectsusisanunforgettable

kissandachildthatisn’tevenmine.

ButdamnifIwisheditwas.Idragmyfingersthroughmyhair,notknowing

wherethethoughtcamefrom.

Sure,thewomanisgorgeous,andthere’snodenyingthechemistrybetweenus.

Thatthere’ssomethingaboutherthatmakesmewanttoprotecther.

Butshe’spregnantwithmybrother’sbaby.
Gettinginvolved,morethanjustfinancially,wouldn’tjustbestupid,itwould

beemotionalsuicide.

AndIjustfinallysteppedbackfromtheedgeofdarkness.ThelastthingIneed

inmylifeismorebullshit.

Layla.Me.Itcan’twork.
Andyet,evenasIthinkit,IknowI’vealreadymadeupmymind.Themoment

IknewTraviswasgone,I’dmademydecision.

I’mnotgoingtowalkaway.
Theinnercavemaninsideofmeclaimedhermonthsago–thefirsttimeIsaw

her,thefirsttimeItastedher.

Mycockhardensatthememory,mybodypulsingwiththeneedtofillher.

Seeingthosebig,innocenteyeswatchingmeasIfulfillallmydark,wicked
fantasies.I’veneverwantedtolosemyselftoawomanasmuchasIdoLayla.

Sickasitis,that’smyreality.
Butshe’sgoingtoneedtime.
ThelastthingIwantistoscareher.Andfromthewayshetiptoesaroundme,

tryingnottomeetmygaze,Iknowthatwouldn’tbedifficulttodo.

I’mnotnormallyapatientman,butIknowI’mgoingtohavetobewithher.
Despitemybetterjudgementtellingmetorunintheoppositedirection,Iknow

exactlywhatIhavetodotomakehermine.I’mamanwhowouldgotoany
lengthstogetwhathewants.AndI’veneverwantedanythingmorethanIwant
her.

Chapter8

Layla

IstareattheblankscreeninfrontofmelikeI’vedoneforthepasttwentyminutes.
ButtheharderItrytothinkaboutastorytowrite,themoremybrainbecomesa
fuzzofstatic.

Nothing.
Frustrated,Islamthelaptopcoverdownandpushmychairback.
It’spointless.Ican’twrite.
Igrabapaperbackofftheshelf,andlaydownonmybed.Butafewpagesin,

I’mreadytotossitacrosstheroom,becauseI’msosickandtiredofreading
aboutotherpeople’slovestories.Foronceinmylife,Iwantmyown.

Mystomachgrumbles,andIglanceattheelectricclockbymybed.
It’salmostmidnight,butIcan’tsleep.
I’mrestlessandnotjustbecauseofthewholeTravisleavingshenanigans,but

becauseI’mconstantlyawareofthesexy,tattooed,badboythat’scurrentlyliving
undermyroof.

Ratherhisroof.
Travishadn’ttoldmethathisbrotherownedthehouse.Butitmakessense,

consideringTraviscan’tseemtoholdajob,letalonepayamortgage.

Irolloutofbed,andslowlyopenmybedroomdoor,peekingoutlikeI’mten

yearsoldagain,expectingtogetreprimandedforbeingoutofbedpastmy
bedtime.

Allthelightsareoff.EventheoneunderCarter’sdoor.
AssilentlyasIcan,Itiptoedownthestairstowardsthekitchen,openingthe

fridgeandpullingoutthecartonofchocolatemilk.

I’minthemiddleofpouringaglasswhenthelightsflickon.
Withmyalreadyfrayednerves,Istartle,andboththeglassandthecartondrop

frommyhands,bouncingoffthekitchencounter,spewingmilkeverywhere,before
landingonthefloor,theglassshatteringinahundredlittlepiecesbymyfeet.

“Shit.”Cartercurses,rushingtowardsme,thendemanding,“Don’tmove.”
Ihearhim,butit’sasifmyfeethavemindsoftheirown,andIquicklytakea

stepback,thenyelpwhenapieceofglassslicesintomyheel.

“Damnit.Itoldyounottomove.”Withtheagilityofatrainedboxer,he

maneuversthroughthebrokenglassandchocolatemilk,andIdon’tknowwhat
he’sdoinguntilhishandsareonmywaistliftingmeup,thenploppingmedown
onthecounter.Hepointsafingeratme,“Stay.”

Iswallowhardandnod,nowrenderedspeechlessbecauseIfinallytakeinhis

appearance.

Wearingonlyapairofnavypajamabottomsthathanglowonhiships,his

muscularchestisbare,exposingallthegloriouspatternsIhaven’tseenbefore.

He’sevenmorerippedthanI’dimagined.WhileTraviswastonedandonthe

thinnerside,Carterisallripplingmuscle.

Ashesweepsuptheglass,heglancesupatme,andcatchesmestaring,andhis

blueeyesgodark.

Iwanttolookaway,butIcan’t.It’slikehe’sgotsomesuperpowertocontrol

mybody.Infusingitwithheatwithasingleglance.Ishiftmypositiononthe
counter,feelingallthatheatgostraightbetweenmylegs.

Hislipstwistupjustslightly,andIswearhereadsmythoughts.
Heatsuffusesmycheeks,givingmethestrengthtolookaway.
“Youscaredme,”Isay,breakingthetensesilencebetweenus.
“Icamedowntogetadrink,”hegrumbles,dumpingtheglassinthetrashcan.
Morestrainedsilence.
Whenhe’sfinishedmoppingupthemess,hepullsoutacleandishtowelfrom

thedrawer,thenrunsitunderthetap.

He’sbesideme,onlyafewinchesseparatingus.Ringingoutthetowelhe

looksatme,thendownatmylegs,whichIrealizenowarebareandsplatteredin
chocolatemilk.

“Whatfootdidyouhurt?”
“Myright.”
“Letmesee.”Hisexpressionisstoic,hardandunyielding.
Iliftmylegandhecapturesmyankleinhislargehand.Allmymusclestense

asItrytocontroltheshiverthatracesdownmybackandthroughmylimbs.

Hecrouchesslightlytoinspectthedamage,thengentlypressesthewet

dishtowelagainstmyheel.

“Itlookslikeacleancut.Idon’tseeanyglass.Where’syourfirstaidkit?”
Inodatthecupboardbesidethefridge.“Secondshelf.”
Hepullsitout,andrummagesthroughituntilhefindsaBand-Aid,thenmoves

backtome.

“Holdthis.”Hehandsittome,thenmovesbacktothesink,andrinsesoutthe

towel.

Hisnostrilsflareslightlywhenheturnsbacktome,takesoneofmylegsinhis

handagain,andstartstowipeitdownwiththedishtowel.

“Whatareyoudoing?”
“Youhavemilkalloveryou.”
“Oh.Right.”It’sastupidthingtosay,butthenhistouchdoesthattome–

makesmesayanddosenselessthings.

Onecallousedhandcupsthebackofmycalfgently.
Ican’tthink.
Can’tbreathe.
AllIcandoiswatchhimashedragsthetowel,inslow,deliberatemovements

acrossmylowerleg.

Energyspinsbetweenus,fillingthespacewithaheatthatmakesmybodyfeel

feverish.

Ineedtogetawayfromhim.Becausewitheverysmalltouch,he’sdistorting

myjudgement,makingmefeelsthingsIhavenobusinessfeeling.

Asofthumvibratesinmythroat,andIpraytoGodthathedoesn’thearit.
Hisgazeremainsonmylegs,liftingtheotheroneandspendingjustasmuch

time,ifnotmore,onit.

Whenhefinallyreleasesme,everycellinmybodyisvibrating,cryingoutfor

moreofhistouch.

Holyhellbutthemanishot.
Andsweet.
Andsofreakingofflimits.
Hetossesthetowelinthesink,thenlooksupatme,onepalmout.Afterafew

seconds,oneeyebrowgoesup.“TheBand-Aid.”

“Right.”Crap.Ihandittohim,watchingashetakesthewrapperoff,then

gentlyplacesitonmyheel.

Hisfingerslingeronmyankle,hisgazeonceagainonmylegs.
“Allbetter.”Aslightashiswordsare,hisexpressionisjustasdark.
“Thankyou.”Iswallowpastthelumpinthebackofmythroat.
Henods,thenhishandsgoaroundmywaistagain,liftingme,thenslowly

slidingmedownhisbodyuntilmyfeethitthefloor.

There’snohidingthehugeerectionhe’ssporting,orthefactthatit’sdigging

intomybellynow.

Ilickmylipsandlookupathim,lustwarringwithfear.

“GotobedLayla,”hisvoiceisadeep,barelycontainedgrowl.
Awarning.
Hetakesasmallstepback,butfromhisexpression,Icanseeittakesallhis

strengthtodoit.

IdotheonlysensiblethingIcanthinkof.Iturnandwalkawayfromthe

hulkingtemptation,knowingI’mgoingtoneedtokeepalotmoredistance
betweenusifI’mgoingtosurvivehimbeingheremuchlonger.

Chapter9

Carter

ItrytogiveLaylaspace,whichisn’thard,becauseIrealizeprettyquicklythat
she’sjugglingtwojobs,aswellasvolunteeringafewhourseachweekatthe
localAnimalShelter.

That,andshe’savoidingme.
She’sgoingthroughalot.Igetit.WhichiswhyI’mnotpushingthings.Atleast

notyet.

Sittingonthelivingroomcouch,Irubthebackofmyneckandreadthroughthe

pieceI’mcurrentlyworkingon,scratchingoutthelastlinethatIwrote.

Thewholearticleisshit.MostlybecauseIcan’tfocus.TheonlythingIcan

thinkaboutisLayla,andhowI’mgoingtoplaythis.

Slowandsteady.It’snotmytypicalspeed,butI’mgoingtohavetobepatient.

There’smoreatstakethanjustgettingherinmybed–whichwillhappen.

ButwhatIreallywantishertrust,andeventuallyherheart.
TwothingsthatIcantellshekeepssafelyguarded.
ThreedaysI’vebeenhereandIstillknowbarelyanythingabouther.WhatIdo

knowisthatshe’sgotherwallsup,andit’sgoingtotakeafuckingmilitiatotear
themdown.

IcrumplethepaperI’mworkingonandtossitonthecoffeetablebesidemy

laptop.

Workisonme,pressuringmetocomebacktoNewYork.I’veusedthefamily

emergencyexcuse,butIhavetoleavesoon.

Thecreakoffootstepsonthestairshasmygazejerkingup.
Wearingblackpantsthathughercurvyhips,andaloosefittingblousethat’s

buttoneduptoherneck,Laylastridesintotheroom,alookofdetermination
tighteningherfeatures.

Mysexylibrarian.
ThethingsI’mgoingtodotoherwhenIfinallygetherinmybed.
“Here.”Sheleansoverandplacesapileofbillsonthecoffeetablebesidemy

laptop.“I’mtwentyshort,butI’llgetittoyoubytomorrow.”

Sheturnsandstartstowalkaway.

Ifrowndownatthebills,notunderstanding.
“Layla,wait.”Myvoiceisgrufferthanintended.Italwaysiswithher,even

thoughIkeepremindingmyselftobegentle.

Shestops,backturnedtome,andhershouldersriseandfallonaheavybreath

beforeturningtolookatme.

“Whatisthis?”Ipickupthebills,whichafteraquickcountisaroundfive

hundreddollars.

“Rent.”
Issheserious?
“I’mnotchargingyoutostayhere.”
“It’swhatIwaspayingbefore,andit’slessthanI’dpayanywhereelse.So

takeit.Please.”

There’ssomethinginhertonethatstopsmefromarguing.
“Allright.”Iputthemoneybackonthetable.“Ifthat’swhatyouwant.”
“Ido.”Herexpressionisstoic,buteventhoughshetriestohideit,there’sa

flashofemotioninhereyeswhenshefinallymeetsmygaze,andhercheeksturna
cuteshadeofpink.

That’sright,sweetheart.You’remine.You’rebodyknowsit.I’mjustwaiting

foryourheartandmindtocatchup.

Shelicksherlipsandlooksdownatthefloor,asifshewantstosay

something.

“What’swrong?”
“Iwaswondering…”Sheshiftsnervously,fromonefoottotheother.
God,she’sfuckingbeautiful.Shedrawsherplumplowerlipbetweenherteeth

andIhavetosuppressthegroanthatrumblesinmythroat.

“Justask,Layla.”
“I’mnotsureifyounoticed,butthewashingmachinedoesn’twork.Idon’t

mindusingaLaundromat,butitmightbeeasier…”

NoIhadn’tnoticed,becauseIhadmyownclothesdrycleaned.
“I’llbuyanewonetoday.”Frustrationbubblesinsideofme.I’dgivenTravis

moneyforanewonetwomonthsago.Godonlyknowswhathespentiton.

“Thanks.”Shegivesmeastiffsmile,thenwalkstothedoor.
“Layla.”Hernamesoundslikeagrowlonmylips,becausenomatterhow

hardItrytosuppressmyneedforher,theminuteshewalksintomylineofvision,
I’minstantlyrockhard.Andrightnow,seeingthatsweetlittleassofherswalking
awayiskillingme.

Shestopswithherhandonthedoorknobandlooksatme,eyeswide.
DoessheknowhowmuchIwanther?Idoubtit.Becauseifshehadeventhe

slightestclueofthethingsIwanttodotohershewouldn’tbewalkingaway,she’d
berunning.

“Whateveryouneed.Don’tbeafraidtoask.”Isaythelastwordwith

emphasis,“Ever.”

There’sreservationinhereyes,butshenodsbeforeshuttingthedoorbehind

her.

Islammylaptopshutandheadupstairstotheshower,myrockhardcockinmy

handbeforethewaterisevenlukewarm.Myballsaredrawnpainfullytight
againstmybody,myseedbeggingtobespilled.

Havingherunderthesameroofasmeandnotbeingabletotouchheris

painful.Brutallypainful.

Patience,Iremindmyself,placingahandontheshowerandstrokingmyself,

tothevisionofLayla’smouthstretchedaroundmycock,hergorgeouseyes
lookingupatmewiththetrustanduninhibiteddesireIlongtosee.

Soon.
Very,verysoon.
Shewillbemine.
Heart.
Body.
Andmind.

Chapter10

Layla

“Youlookexhausted,”Kirasays,whenshecomesintothebookstore,halfanhour
lateforhershiftasusual.

Ishouldneverhavehiredherknowinghowunreliablesheis.Butsheneeded

thejobafterbeingletgoofherlastone.

“Ihaven’tbeensleepingmuch,”Imutter,shelfingthebookinmyhand.
Kirashrugsoffherjacketandthrowsitbehindthecounter,thencomestohelp

mewiththenewarrivals.“StillstressedaboutTravisleaving?”

Ifonlythatwasthereason.
Lyingawakeatnight,knowingthatonlyafewfeetandadoorseparateCarter

andIhasn’tjustbeenhard,it’sbeenfrickingtorture.

Idon’tknowhowmuchlongerIcantakehavinghimaround.Butsofarhe’s

givennoindicationthathehasanyintentionofleaving.Ever.

I’mnervousandonedgeallthetime.Notbecausehe’sdoneanythingwrong,

butbecausehe’sdoneeverythingright.Mynervesarefueledbymyawarenessof
him.

He’salwaysthere,evenwhenheisn’t.
Hisscent.
Histhings.
They’reconstantlyaround,remindingmeofeverythingIcan’thave.
Andthewayhelooksatme,likehe’spracticallyundressingmeeverytimeI

walkintoaroom,makesmybodyrespondinwaysithasnorightto.

Iwonderifhe’llstilllookatmelikethatwhenIstarttoshow.Whenmy

stomachissobigthatIcan’tevenseemyfeet.Placingmyhandonmystillflat
stomach,itseemslikesuchalongwayaway.ButIknowhowquicklytimepasses,
andsoontherewillbeaconstant,physicalreminder,ofwhatreallyseparatesus.

Maybethat’llbeagoodthing.Finallymakethistorturebearable.
“Youseemdistracted,”Kirasays,frowningatme.“Youwanttotalk?”
“Notreally.”
Kiragivesasad,knowingsmile,butdoesn’tpush.She’sgoodlikethat.

Knowsherboundaries.

Iloveher,evenifsheisoneoftheworstemployeesI’veeverhired.

“Youshouldgohome.Icancloseup.Itlookslikeit’sgoingtobeanotherslow

night.”

UsuallyI’dsayno.ButI’mexhaustedandallIwanttodoissleep.Well,that’s

notexactlytrue.TherearealotofthingsIwanttodo.Alloftheminvolving
CarterBennet.

Butsleep,andmaybeawarmbathwillhavetosuffice.

Chapter11

Carter

Upstairs,IpassLayla’sroom.Thedoorisopenafewinches.EnoughthatIcan
seein.Everythingisneat,perfectlyordered.Eventhedamnbedismade.Andnot
justaquicktossofthecovers,butperfectlymade,liketheydoinhotels,withthe
creasesandthefoldededges.

AnotherweirdquirkthatIwanttoknowmoreabout.
Ipressthedooropenwider,breathinginhersoftscent.
IknowIshouldn’tbeinhere.ButIwanttoknowmoreabouther,andright

nowsheisn’texactlyofferingmanydetails.

Theroomisprettybare.Otherthanherbooks,whicharepiledneatlyaround

theroom,andanancientlaptopthatlookslikeitwasbuiltintheMiddleAges,
there’snothingthatreallymakesithers.

Nopictures,nolittletrinkets.Justbooks.Somanydamnbooks.
Romance.
Mysteries.
Biographies.
Classics.
SheevenhasoneofthoseelectroniceBookreaders.
AtatteredcopyofWarandPeacesitsonhernightstand.Ipickitupandshake

myhead.I’mprettysureIhaven’treadtheequivalentpagesinmyentirelife,but
it’sobviousthatthisbookhasbeenreadandrereadseveraltimes.

I’mabouttoputitback,whenIseetheedgeofaphotostickingout.Iflipopen

theraggedcover,andpulloutthepicture.Afamilyportrait.Oneofthoseposed
onesthatmakeeveryonelookawkwardanddepressed.Thefatherisinasuit,his
expressionoverlyseriousashestaresintothecamerawithaself-righteous
expression.Themother’sexpressionisn’tmuchsofter,butit’sthegriponthelittle
girl’sshoulderthatdrawsmyeye.Likeclaws,herfingersseemtodigintothe
child’sfleshpainfully.

Laylaisaboutnineorteninthepicture.Samelightbrowneyes.Herhaira

lightershadeofbrown,pulledpainfullytightinabraid.Andshelookscompletely
miserable.

Protectivenessswellsinsideme.

“Youshouldn’tbeinhere.”Likestealth,Laylacomesupbehindmeandgrabs

thepictureoutofmyhand.

Shit.
“I’msorry.Thedoorwasopen…”Notanexcuse.Ihandherthebook.“Sorry.

You’reright.”

Sheglaresupatme,thenquicklytucksthepicturebackinthebook,and

clutchesittoherchest.

“We’reyoucheckinguponme?”
“No.”Irubthebackofmyneck.
“BecauseIhavenothingtohide,”shesaysdefensively.
“Ididn’tthinkyoudid.I’msorry,really.Itwon’thappenagain.Thisisyour

spaceandIshouldn’thavebeeninhere.”

“No.Youshouldn’thavebeen.”Sheturnsherbackonmeandtossesabagof

whatlookslikemorebooksonherbed.

Iknowwhysheworkssomuch.Topayforherdamnreadinghabit.
ThethoughtgivesmeanideaofsomethingI’dliketodoforher.Thebasement

hasbeenleftunfinishedforyears.Justcementfloorandinsulation.Butthespace
isbigenoughforaden,ormorespecificallyalibraryslashoffice,whereshe
couldgotoreadandwrite.

“Didyouwantsomething?”Layla’sgazeisnarrowedonme,herarmscrossed

overherchest.

Yeah,foryoutotrustme,sweetheart.Butthewayshe’slookingatmenow,

likeI’mherenemy,Iknowthat’snotgoingtohappenanytimesoon.

“Iknowit’snoneofmybusiness,buthaveyoutoldthem?”Inodatthenovelin

herhands,theonethatholdstheoldphotographofherfamily.

“Myparents?”Shechucklesdarkly,butIcanseethepainshe’stryingtohide

behindheranger.“No.”

Somethingprotectivebillowsinmychest,risingupinthemiddleofit,andI

havetoclampmymouthshutonmynextquestion,becauseIcanseeshedoesn’t
wanttotalkaboutthem.

Hereyesdartaroundtheroom,andIgetthefeelingthatshe’ddoabout

anythingtoavoidtheconversation.

Iwanttowrapherinmyarms,tellhereverythingwillbeokay.Instead,I

changethesubject.“Thenewwashingmachineshouldbeheretomorrow.AndI
alsofixedtheleakintheshower.”

There’sasmallbreakinherarmor,beforeitgoesbackupagain.

“Thankyou.It’llmakeiteasieronce…”Sheglancesawayandshifts

nervously.

“Oncethebabycomes,”Iadd,allowinghertoputvoicetothethingTravis

wantedhertohide.

“Yeah.”
“Youcantalkaboutitwithme.Nottalkingaboutitisn’tgoingtomakeitgo

away.”

“Iknowthat.”Shefrownsatme.“It’sjustawkwardwithyou.”
Itakeasteptowardsherandhereyeswidenslightly.
“Itdoesn’thavetobe.”Anotherstepcloser,andIseeherswallowhard,her

gazedroppingtomymouth.

“Everythingaboutthis”–shegesturesaroundtheroomwithherfreehand,the

otheronestillclutchingthedamnbookagainstherchestlikeashield–“is
awkward.”

“BecauseIkissedyou?”I’mstandinginfrontofhernow,socloseIcan

practicallyfeelthewarmthofherbodyradiatingoffher.

Shesucksabreath.“Twice.”
“Yeah,twice.AndIwantedtodoitahellofalotmoretimes.”Ireachoutand

strokemyknucklesacrosshercheek.“Istilldo.”

“Carter–”
Ibrushthepadofmythumbacrossherlips,silencingherprotest.“Iknow

you’renotready.”

“Itriedcalling,”shesayssoftly,aslighttrembleinhervoice.“Butthenumber

yougaveme…”

“I’djustswitchednumbers.WhenIrealizedmymistake,Itriedtotrackyou

down,butyouwerealreadygone.”

“Oh.”Herfrowndeepens.
“ButIdidn’tstopthinkingaboutyou.Hopingonedaywe’dmeetagain.”
Shelaughshumorlessly.“I’msureyouneverthoughtit’dbeunderthese

circumstances.”

“No.”Imatchherfrownandcuphercheek,thegesturefarmoreintimatethan

I’dintended,butIcan’tseemtopullaway.“ButI’llworkwithwhatI’vegot.”

Shelicksherlips,andIseeasmallflareofhopeinhereyes,butjustas

quicklyit’sgone,replacedbyuncertaintyandfear.

“Ican’tdothis.”
Ileandownandpressmylipsonherforehead,feelinghershiver.

“ThenIguessI’llhavetowaituntilyoucan.”

Chapter12

Layla

WhenCarterisgone,Itouchmylipswherehisthumbhadbeenafewminutes
before.Mybodystillbuzzeswithelectricity,andmybrainisspinningwithwhat
hejustsaid.

ThenIguessI’llhavetowaituntilyoucan.
Amillionquestionsblareinmyhead.QuestionsI’mtoomuchofacowardto

ask.

Like,whyme?Whynow?Ifit’sjustsexhewants,hecangetitanywhere.And

ifit’smore,whichIcan’timagineislikely,ishereallywillingtostickaround
whenI’mgoingtohavehisbrother’sbaby?

Thiswholesituationisn’tjustawkward,it’sinsane.
IflipopenthecoverofWarandPeaceandpullouttheoldphoto,frowning

whenIrunmyfingersovermymother’ssternface.

God,despiteeverything,therearesomedayswhenIreallymissher.
Todayisoneofthem.
WhatIwouldn’tgivetocrawlintomyoldbed,andhaveherstrokemyhair,

andsingmetosleeplikesheusedtodowhenIwaslittle.Butthatwillnever
happen.Tothem,Imightaswellbedead,becausethere’snogoinghome.Ever.

Iputthepictureback,andsnortwhenIthinkaboutwhattheywouldsayifthey

sawmenow.Icanonlyimaginethehorrifiedlookonmymom’sfaceifsheever
sawCarterwithallhistattoos.

Tattoosarethedevil’smark.That’swhatmyparentsbelieved.
SevenyearsawayfromthemandIcanstillheartheirvoicesinmyhead,

constantlycriticizing,alwayscondemning

Stilldressedinmyworkclothes,Ipullbackthesheetsandcrawlintobed,

wrappingmyarmsaroundmychest,andwishingthatitwasCarter’sstrongarms
holdingme,comfortingme.

Don’tbedelusional,Layla.
IfIallowhiminand,dropmyguard,IknowI’llneversurvivewhenhewalks

away.Andthere’snodoubtinmymindthathewillwalkaway.

Asgoodashisintentionsare,andasstrongastheattractionisbetweenus,I’m

stillcarryinganotherman’schild.

Bettertokeepmywallsup.KeeptheboundariesI’vealreadyputinplace.

Rememberwhyit’sdangeroustotrustanyone.

Suckinginashakybreath,Ipinchmyeyesshutandtrytoignorethe

hollownessinsideofme.Thevacantspotthatyearnstobefilled.

He’lldestroymeifIlethim.
Bettertobealone.
ButI’vealwaysbeenalone,andsomedaysit’sjusttoomuch.
Myparentsweren’tabletoconceiveagainaftertheyhadme,sofromayoung

age,withnosiblingsaround,Ilearnedhowtobeonmyown.It’soneofthe
reasonsIlovereadingsomuch.Booksaren’tjustanescape,they’remy
connectiontopeople–eveniftheyaren’treal.

Yeah,I’musedtobeingalone.
Butitdoesn’tmakeitanylesslonely.
Ipullthecomforterovermyshoulders.I’mexhausted.Tootiredtothink.

Almosttootiredtofeel.Butassleeppullsmeintoitscradleofdarkness,onlyone
facefillsmydreams.

Carter.

Chapter13

Layla

“Good,you’rehome,”CartercallsoutfromthekitchenwhenIwalkinthehouse.
“Imadedinner.”

Frowning,Itossmypurseonthetablebythefrontdoorandfollowthescentof

garlicandbasil.Thehousesmellsdelicious,andmymouthwaters.Still,I’mnot
surewhattothinkwhenIwalkintothekitchenandseethetableset,withfresh
rolls,silverwareandrealfabricnapkins.

Carterhoversovertheoven,stirringalargesilverpot,thenmovestothe

counterandstartstodicevegetables,hisbig,tattooedhandsworkingwiththe
skilledprecisionofagourmetchef.

Isthereanythinghecan’tdo?
Thesightofthisbeastofamanmakingdinnerisn’tjustsexy,it’spureerotic.
Irubmysweatyhandsonmyjeans,andtrytogetagriponmyhormones.
“Whatisthis?”Iaskcautiously,awareofhowtaintedIsound.
“Dinner.”Hegivesmeacrookedgrin,thennodsatthetable.“Sit.”
“Youcook?”
“I’vebeentoldImakeameanplateofspaghetti.”Heplacesaheapingplate

ofpastawithBolognesesauceinfrontofme.

“Thislooksgreat.Thankyou.”Ican’trememberthelasttimesomeonemade

meameal.EvenwhenIlivedwithKira,herideaofcookingwasordering
takeout.

Carterlimpsslightlywhenhemovesaroundthetable,andIcan’thelpbut

noticethewayhefavorsoneleg.Placingthesaladonthetable,hepullsouta
chairandsitsdownacrossfromme.

IcanfeelhisgazeonmeasItakethefirstbite.
“It’sreallygood,”Isaytruthfully.
“It’smymother’srecipe.”Hepassesmethesalad.
“Youmadethesauce?”TosayI’mimpressedisanunderstatement.
“Yeah.It’sprettyeasy.”Asadsmileplaysonhisbeautifullips.“Sheusedto

makeeverythingfromscratch.Evengrewherownvegetablesinthebackyard.”

“Shesoundslikeanamazingwoman.”
“Shewas.”

Weeatinsilenceforafewminutes,buttheawkwardnessbetweenusisn’tas

strongasitwas,andIactuallyenjoythefewquietmomentsjustbeingwithhim.
It’snice.Betterthannice.It’s…intimate.

Him.
Me.
Dinner.
Itseemslikesuchanormalthing.
Butnothingaboutthisisnormal,Iremindmyself.
“Youplayedhockey,right?Travismentionedthatyouusedtobesortofabig

shot.”

Helooksatmewithanoddexpression,onethatIcan’tinterpret.
“Yeah,usedtobe,”thewordsdripwithbitterness.“Iwasinjuredafewyears

ago.Shatteredmyknee.Couldn’tplayafterthat.”

“I’msorry.”Ilookdownatmyplate,wishingIhadn’tbroughtitup.
“Doyouwatchhockey?”
“No.”Ishakemyhead.“Sportswerenevermything.”
“Youpreferredreading.”Hesmiles,exposingthedimpleinhischeek.
Inod.“Sowhatdoyoudonow?Travisnevertoldme.”
“I’masportsjournalistforacrappylittlemagazineinNewYorkcalledThe

Shutout.”

Iplacemyforkonmyplateandlookathim,probablybug-eyed,becausethat

wasthelastthingIexpectedforhimtosay.“You’reawriter?”

“Notreally.”Heshrugs.“Ijustreportonthegames.It’smostlystats.I

wouldn’tcallmyselfawriter.Notlikeyou.You’veactuallywrittensomething
substantial.”

“Itoldyouit’snotverygood–”
“Maybe.Butifit’syourdream,thenyoushouldpursueit.”
“IthinkI’vehadenoughrejectionlettersforonelifetime.”
Heclearshisthroatandattemptsanaccentwhenhesays,“Don’tfearfailure.

Notfailure,butlowaim,isthecrime.Ingreatattemptsitisgloriouseventofail.”

Iraiseaneyebrowandlaugh.“Yoda?”
“BruceLee.”Hechuckles,andpushesacasualhandthroughhishair.“Iused

tohaveaposterwiththosewordsinmyroomwhenIwasakid.”

“Wellitseemedtoworkforyou.Yougoteverythingyouwanted.”
“Noteverything,”hesays,hisexpressionseriousandtrainedonme.

Oh.
Ilickmylipsandlookaway.“Iguesswe’renotmeanttogeteverythingwe

want.”

Hedoesn’trespond,butIcanfeelhiseyesonmeasImovethespaghetti

acrossmyplatewithmyfork.

“Youshouldeatbeforeitgetscold,”hesays,themoodbetweenuschanged

onceagain.

Therestofthemealisfilledwithsmalltalk.
Asdarkandbroodyashecomesacross,Carterisactuallyveryeasytotalkto.

IlearnthathegrewupinalargeVictorianstylehousenotfarfromhere.Andthat
despitehisbadboyimage,hereallywastheGoldenBoy.Somehow,hemanaged
tostilldowellinschool,andevengotacollegediplomawhilejugglinghockey.

Thewayhetalksabouthisparentsmakesmyheartache.Theyseemedtohave

hadtheperfectfamily,atleastuntiltheaccident.

NowallCarterhasleftisTravis–andhe’sgonebecauseofme.
Guiltsettlesinmychest.
“I’llwashthedishes,”Isay,standingandtakingmyplatetothesink.
“There’sthiscrazycontraptionthatactuallydoesthatforyou.Ithinkit’scalled

adishwasher,”heteases,placinghisdirtydishesonthecounter.

Ishakemyheadandtellhimtheunfortunatenews,“Yeah,that’sbrokentoo.”
“Shit.Seriously?WhatthehelldidTravisspendthemoneyonthatIgavehim

then?”

“Doyoureallywanttoknow?”Iliftmybrowsathim.
“Probablynot.”Heshakeshishead.
“Here.”Ihandhimadishtowel.“Youcandryandputaway.”
“I’llorderanewdishwashertomorrow.”Heleanswithhisbackagainstthe

counterandwatchesmewashthefirstdish.

“Idon’tminddoingthedishesbyhand.Iactuallyfinditrelaxing.Remindsme

ofwhenIwasakid,helpingmymomafterdinner.Thingsweresomuchsimpler
then.”

“Yeah,sometimesitsucksgettingolder.”
“Sometimes,”Imumble,handinghimacleandish.
Hisfingersbrushoverminewhenhetakesitfromme,andwithoutwarning,

heatspreadsthroughmybody.

OnetouchandIlightuplikeI’vebeenstruckbylightning.
Tinglescoatmyskinandarushofdesirespreadsthroughmelikewildfire.

I’veneverfeltanythinglikeIfeelwhenI’mwithhim.
Heoozesmaleness.Strengthandpower.
AndeventhoughIhavenorighttofeelit,IfeelsafewhenI’mwithhim.Like

everythingwillbeokay.

It’sbothexhilaratingandterrifyingatthesametime.
Isuckinafewdeepbreaths,anddomybesttoignoremypoundingheart,

whiletightknotsofpanicswirlaroundinmystomach.

Mybreathingmusthavestopped,becauseallofasudden,therearesmalllittle

whitelightsinmyvisionandeverythingelsestartstogodark.Thefloorshifts
underme,andIdroptheplateI’mholdingbackinthesink.

“Layla.”Hisarmsarearoundmeinstantly,steadyingme.
Dizzinessassaultsme,butI’mstillfullyawareofthehardnessofhisbody,the

warmthofhishandsholdingme.Oneisonmywaist,theotherrunsupmyback
untilit’scuppingthebackofmyhead.

“I’m…okay.”
Hedoesn’tletgo.“Areyoufeelingsick?”
“Justalittlelightheaded.”Ican’thelpbutleanintohistouch.“It’s…normal.

Pregnancyhormonesorsomething.”

Hefrownsandexhalesheavily.“Still.Youshouldgointoseeyourdoctor.”
“I’lltellheraboutitatmynextappointment.”
He’sstilltouchingme.
IknowIshouldmove.Takeastepback.Butit’sliketheworldaroundushas

stopped.

Almostinvoluntarily,oratleastthat’swhatItellmyself,Iplacemyhandson

hisbroadchest.Icanfeeleveryhardridgeofhisbody,everymuscleasittenses
undermytouch.

Ihavetotiltmychintolookupathim,andwhenImeethisintensegaze,

anotherthrillshootsthroughmybody.

Foralongsecond,neitherofussaysanything.
Justfeelings.
Raw.
Intense.
Wrong.
Feelings.
Ishouldn’tbetouchinghim.OrfeelingthethingsIdo.Itisn’tright.
“IthinkIneedtoliedown.”

Hislipstwitchdown,thentakesastepback,andslowlyreleasesme.“I’ll

finishthedishes.”

“Thankyoufordinner.”
Henods,buthisbackistomebeforeIcansayanythingelse.
“Ihavetoleaveforafewofweeks,”hesays,whenIstarttowalkaway.
“Oh.”Disappointmentfloodsthroughme,eventhoughIknewhewouldn’tbe

hereforever.Hehasajobthatrequireshimtotravel,andanapartmentinNew
York.Ofcoursehehastoleave.

ThisiswhyIneedtostayawayfromhim.WhyIcan’tletmyemotionsget

involved.

Themusclesinhisbackbunchunderhist-shirtashescrubsaplate,then

placesitintherackbesidethesink.“I’llleavemycellincaseyouneedanything.”

“Anewdishwasher,”Itease,hopingtolightenthetensionbetweenus.
Hegivesasmallgrunt,andlooksoverhisshoulderatme,expression

unreadable.“I’llorderonetomorrow.”

Withafrustratedsigh,Imakemywaytomybedroom.Maybeit’sjustaswell

thatheleaves.Ican’taffordtolosecontrol,oractonmygrowingneedforhim.
Thelongerhestays,themoreI’llgetusedtohavinghimaround.

Chapter14

Layla

“Whendoeshecomeback?”Kiraasks,ploppingdownonthecouchbesideme,
herstrawberryblondehairtwistedinamessybunontopofherhead.

“Hesaidafewweeks,butIdon’tknow.Ilivedhereforalmostfourmonths

withTravisbeforeCarterevercameby.Maybehejustplansonstayingaway.”

“Wouldthatbesobad?”
Ishrug.“Itwouldmakethingseasier.”
“Youstilllikehim,don’tyou?”Herbrowsraise.
“No.”Ishakemyhead.Lie.I’mtwistedupinknotsoverhim.“ImeanIcan’t.

He’sTravis’brother.Howweirdwouldthatbe?”

“Weird,”Kiraadmits.“Butit’snotlikeTravisisaround.”
True.Buthecouldcomeback.It’snotlikely,butthere’salwaysthechance.
Travisdoesn’thaveapossessivestreakinhisbody,butIdoubthe’dbe

pleasedifhecamehomeandfoundmesleepingwithhisbrother.

“It’syourlife,Layla.Youcan’tletwhatotherpeoplethinkdictatewhatyou

do.Ithoughtyou’dlearnedthatbynow.”

“It’snotjustwhatpeoplewouldthink.”
“You’reworriedhe’sgoingtobailonyoulikeTravis.”
“Maybe.Yes.”Ishrug.“It’sjusteverytimeI’minthesameroomwithhim,I

feel…”God.Idon’tevenknowwhatIfeel.Ijust…feel.Somanydamnthings.

Nervous.
Happy.
Safe.
Andtheworst,lust.
It’sfoolishtoeventhinkaboutit.
ButhemakesmewantthingsIneverwantedbefore.CravingsomethingIcan

neverletmyselfhave.

“He’sjustso…”Confident.Sexy.Strong.Gorgeous.
“Yeah.You’renotintohimatall,”Kirateases,obviouslyreadingmythoughts

onmyface.

Isigh,heavily.“Ican’taffordtobe.”

Herlipstugdownandsheshakesherhead,expressionsuddenlyserious.

There’ssomethingelseonhermind.Somethingshe’sbeenwantingtosaysince
shegothere.Icanseeitinhereyes.

“What?”
“Nothing.”Shefidgetswiththethrowpillowshe’sholdinginherlap.
Iknowthelookshe’sgivingmeandit’sdefinitelynotnothing.
“Tellme,”Idemand,narrowingmyeyes.“IsitMax?”
“No.MaxandIaregreat.It’s…”Herfacescruncheswhenshewinces,then

takesadeepbreath.Apologyiswrittenalloverherprettyfeatureswhenshesays,
“YourparentswereaskingaboutyouthelasttimeIwenthome.”

Oh.
Littlepricklesofwarningbiteatmyflesh.
“Yousawthem?”
“Atchurch.”
Iexhaleashakybreath,myinsidestwistingthinkingaboutthem,aboutKira

talkingtothem.Almostlikeit’sabetrayalofourfriendship,eventhoughIknow
it’snot.Ishouldn’tbesurprisedthatshespokewiththem.

Wegrewupanhourandahalfnorthofhereinasmalltown,attendingthe

samefundamentalistchurch.Shestillgoeswhenevershe’shome,whichisn’tvery
often,especiallysinceherfamilyfoundoutshewasworkinginabarandhada
majorflipout.Theypracticallythreatenedtodisownherifshedidn’tquit.

That’sthetypeofpeoplethetownbreeds.
Judgmental.
Critical.
Peoplethatshunanyonewhodisobeysanyoneoftheirmillionrules.
Likeme.
Kiragotoutofthereassoonasshehadthechance.Thedayaftergraduating,

shehitchedarideoutoftown.Itwasluck,orfate,thatshestartedworkinginthe
samesmalldinerthatIrentedanapartmentabove.

Wereconnected.Ourfriendshipbondedonourrebellion.
Ididn’thavetotellherallmydirtysecrets,becauseshealreadyknewthem–

everyoneinSpringcreeknew.

It’sthereasonIleftatfifteen.StoleahundreddollarsfrommyDad’s

underweardrawerandhitchhikedtothefirsttownwhereIcouldfindajob.

ThefirstfewmonthsIwasafraidthatmyfatherwouldshowupandtrytodrag

mebackhome.Butitsoonbecameobviousthathewasn’tlookingforme.Nobody

was.

“Youshouldgoseethem,”Kirasays.
Inarrowmyeyesather,andsaysarcastically,“Right.”
“I’mserious.Maybethisisasecondchance.Notjustforyou,butforthem

too.”

“I’llthinkabouttellingthemI’mpregnantwhenyoutellyourparentsyour

livingwithMax.”

Shesnorts.“Pointtaken.But–”
“I’drathernottalkaboutthem.”
“Okay.”Shesmilessadly,thengrabstheremoteandturnsonthetelevision,

flippingthechannelsuntilshefindsoneofthosecheesymadeforTVmovies.

Iappreciatethedistraction.IknowKirameanswell,butshedoesn’tknowthe

wholestory.TherealreasonIran.I’venevertoldanyone,andIprobablynever
will.

Therearesomethingsthatarejusttoodarktoshare.Somedemonsthatare

betterleftburiedinthepast.

Chapter15

Carter

It’shellbeingawayfromLayla.

ThreeweeksandIfeellikeanotheryearhaspassed.Butthisisthefirsttime

I’vebeenabletogetaway.Atleastnow,hockeyisover,andIdon’thavetogo
backtoNewYorkfortwomoreweeks.

Mybossisonmetorenewmycontractfornextseason,butIhaven’tmadeup

mymind,andIwon’tuntilIknowwhatI’mgoingtodoaboutLayla.

IfitwasuptomeI’dquitmydamnjobtomorrow,sellmyNewYork

apartment,andmoveinwithherpermanently.ButI’mnotsurehowwellthat
wouldgoover.EverytimeIcalledoverthepastfewweekstocheckinonher,she
seemedtohavegrownmoreandmorewithdrawn,likeshe’spurposefully
distancingherselffromme.

Igetit.She’sscared.Andwhowouldn’tbeinherposition.
ButIneedhertorealizethatI’mnotmybrother.Iwon’tleaveherthesecond

thingsgethard.

It’spastelevenwhenIpulluptothehouseinmyrentalcar.Thelightsinside

areoff,exceptasmalllampinthefrontlivingroom.

Iknowshe’sprobablyalreadyasleep,butthebuzzofexcitement,justbeing

backinthesamehouseasher,tinglesthroughme.I’magrown-assman,butshe
makesmefeellikeagoddamnteenageragainwithhisfirstcrush.

ThehouseisquietwhenIshutthefrontdoorbehindme,lockingit.
IputmybagsdownwhenIseeher.Fastasleeponthecouch,Laylaiscurled

up,abooklyingopenonherchest.Herlipsareslightlyparted,herlightbrown
hairhangsoveronesoftcheek.

God,she’sbeautiful,andmyfingersitchtotouchher.
“Layla?”Itakethebookandplaceitonthecoffeetable,butshedoesn’t

respond.

Herneckistiltedinafunnydirection,andIknowshe’sgoingtobestiff

tomorrowifIlethersleepdownhere.

Onearmunderherknees,Ipickherup,cradlinghertomychest.
Shestirsslightly,fingerscurlingintothefabricofmyshirt.
“Carter,”shemumbles,notopeninghereyes.

“I’vegotyou,sweetheart.”
Shemutterssomethingincoherent,thenburiesherfaceagainstmychest.
Myheartdoesoneofthoseflipflopthings,theonethatwarnsmethatthisthing

betweenusismorethanjustphysical.

Takingmytime,becauseIwanttoprolongeverymomentIcanholdingher,I

carryherupthestairs,glancingonceatmybedroomdoorandforabriefmoment
contemplatingtakingherinthere.

Yeah,thatprobablywouldn’tgoovertowell.
Isigh,andopenherdoorwiderwithmyfoot,thengentlyplaceheronthebed.

ButwhenItrytostand,herfingerscontinuetograspmyshirt.

“Stay,”shemurmurs,groggily.
Idon’tknowifshe’stalkinginhersleep,orifsheactuallywantsmetostay.

Thelattermakeshopeflareinmychest.

“Layla.”Iplacemypalmonhercheek.
“Stay,”sherepeats,eyesstillclosed.
HowthehellcanIarguewiththat?
Ikickoffmyshoes,andcrawlinbesideher.ThesecondIdo,shesnuggles

close.Socloseit’slikeshe’susingherbodyasablanket,onelegdrapesover
mine,andherheadrestsinthecrookofmyshoulder,herpalmflatonmychest.

Hersmall,curvylittlebodyfitsperfectlyagainstmine.
“I’mgladyou’reback.”Hervoiceishuskywithsleep,andsomethingmore–

desire.

Sherubsherselfagainstmythigh,andmyalreadyhardcockturnstosteel.
God,whatthewomandoestome.
WhenIshiftslightly,shemurmurs,“Don’tleave.”
“Iwon’t,”Ipressmylipsagainstthetopofherhairandbreatheinhersoft,

femininescent.

There’snowayinhellI’mleaving.
IalsoknowIwon’tbegettingaminuteofsleeptonight.Notwhenshe’s

wrappedaroundme,makingeverydamncellinmybodyvibratewithneed,the
acheinmyballsgrowingeverysecondshe’stouchingme.

Buttherearesomethingsthatareworththepain–andLaylaisdefinitelyone

ofthem.

Chapter16

Layla

Iwakeslowly,bodywarmandtinglingfromtheeroticdreamI’dbeenhaving.

“Carter,”Imurmur.
Hisbig,strongbodyispressedhardagainstmine,hishandsroamacrossmy

skin,touchingmeinplacesthatbeggedtobetouched.

Asmallmoanescapesmylips,becauseIdon’twanttowakeup,thedreamis

tooreal,andmybodyhumswithpleasure.Icanalmostfeelhimbesideme,his
heavyerectionjuttingagainstmybackside,fingerslinkedinmine.

SuddenlyI’mwideawakebecauseIrealizeitisn’tjustadream.
Carterisinmybed.Histhick,powerfularmswrappedprotectivelyaround

me,andyes,hisseriousmorningwoodisdiggingeroticallyintomyback.

Oh.My.God.
MymouthgoesdryasIrememberbitsandpiecesofthenightbefore.
HadIactuallyasked–nobegged–himtostay?
Ihad.
Andhehad.
Shit.Shit.Shit.
Mortificationmixeswitharousal.
Hisbreathiswarmagainstmyneck,andhiscock,hardandheavy,nudgesmy

backside.

Itrymybestnottomove,nottowiggleagainsthim,butitfeelssodamngood.
It’dbeeasytojusttoturninhisarmsandlethimkissme.Lethimtakeme.Let

himmakemefeelsomethingotherthantaintedandused.

BecauseIknowbeingwithCarterwouldbedifferent.Itwouldbemorethan

justsex.

Atleastforme.
He’stheoneIshouldhavewaitedfor.AndIwouldhave.Iwasgoingto.Ihad

nointentionofmessingupmylifeagainbecauseofsex.

ButthentherewasTravis.
Iwasn’tavirginwhenweslepttogetherdespitehowmanytimesheteasedme

aboutit.

I’dbeenwithsomeoneyearsbefore.Butafterthefirestormthatraineddown

onmeoverit,I’dswornoffsex,atleastuntilIfoundtheone.

Traviswasdefinitelynottheone.Buthewassodamnpersistent.Andeven

thoughhehadthewholeplayboythinggoing,we’dbecomefriends.

AndIwaslonely.
Anddrunk.
Andhewasthere.
JustlikeCarterisnow.
Aknotformsinmystomach.IsthatwhyIfeelthewayIdo?Becausehe’shere

andI’mlonely?

Mixedemotionsswirlthroughme,fearfinallyoverpoweringlust.
Ishiftawayfromhim,doingmybesttountanglemyselffromhisviselikegrip.
“Goodmorning.”Hestretches,lookingjustasgorgeousashealwaysdoes.He

givesmeasmilethatcutsmetothecore,andmystomachflipsandtwistsatwhat
Iseeinhiseyes.Acceptance.Desire.Affection.

Ishouldn’tlethimaffectmethewayIdo.Ifighttheexplosionofemotionsthat

threatentotakemehostage,linkingmetothismanemotionally,inwaysInever
thoughtpossible.

It’ssoeasytofreezeupbehindmyfears,butthewayhe’swatchingme,there’s

thatfamiliaracheIgetwithhim,theonethaturgesmetojustletgo.

Sittingup,self-consciouslyIcombmyfingersthroughmyknottedhair.
“Morning,”Imutter,fidgeting.
Heliftshimselfonhiselbows,smilegonenow,onlyconcernevidentthere.

Blueeyes,darkandstoicwatchme.

IwishIcoulddothesame,butI’mprettysurehecanreadeverythought,every

emotiononmyface.

“Howlongareyoubackfor?”Imoveoffthebedandwalktomycloset,

needingthedistancetogathermythoughts.

Hisgazeisintensewhenhesays,“AslongasIneedtobe.”
Idon’tknowwhatthatmeans.ButI’mtoodamnscaredtoask.
Whywouldheneedtobehere?Forme?
Iswallowhardandtrytogetthosedamnwallsbackup,butthewayhe’s

watchingme,it’slikehehastheabilitytoborethroughallmydefenseswitha
singlelook.

“Youcandothat?”Iturnmybacktohim.“Justworkwheneveryouwant?”
Ihearthecreekofthebedbehindme.

“Hockeyseasonisover.Iwon’thaveanyworkthatcan’tbedonefromhome

untilSeptember.”

“Home?”Isheplanningonstayinghere?
Whenhecomesupbehindme,Iturnslightlyandlookupathim.
“IhaveanapartmentinNewYork.”Amuscleinhisjawbunches,andhelooks

likehe’srestraininghimselffromtouchingme.

IfIwassmart,I’dtakeastepaway.Instead,Ijuststandthere,silentlybegging

himtopullmeintohisarms.

Herubsthebackofhisneck.“Butifyouwantmetostay…”
Iswallowhard,notsurewhatexactlyhe’sasking.
“Thisisyourhouse,youcanstayherewheneveryouwant.”
Hismouthtightensinathinline,buthedoesn’tsayanything,justkeeps

watchingme.

Ishiftuncomfortablyunderhisgaze.“Ineedtogetreadyforwork.”
“Right.”Hesighs.“Therearesomethingsweshouldsitdownandtalkabout

whenyouhavesometime.”

Aknotformsinmythroat.
“Okay,”Isay,frowning.“Haveyouheardanythingfromhim?FromTravis?”
ThemusclesinCarter’sfacetenseandIthinkIseeaflickerofguiltthere.

“Yeah.”

“Oh.”EventhoughI’daskedthequestion,Ihadn’texpectedthatanswer.But

whyshouldIbesurprisedthathe’dcontactedhisbrother?Ofcoursetheystill
spoke.

“Hegotajobupnorth.He…”Carterlooksupattheceilingbriefly,themuscle

inhisjawpulsatingbeforeglancingbackatme,gazenowfullofsympathy.“He
hadsomepaperworkdrawnupbyalawyer.Aboutgivinguphispaternalrights.
Heaskedmetogiveittoyou.”

“Ofcourse.”EventhoughI’dexpectedasmuchfromTravis,itstillmakesmy

insidestwistknowingthathe’dsoeasilygiveuphisrights.

“I’msorry–”
“Youneedtostopdoingthat,”Isnap.“Apologizing.You’renottheoneIhad

sexwith,andthisbabyisn’tyourresponsibility.”

CarterwinceslikeI’vephysicallyslappedhim.Ifmyemotionsweren’tso

twisted,andIwasn’tsoconfused,I’dfeelbadformywords.Butwecan’tkeep
walkingaroundpretendingthatthisisanythingotherthanitis.

Sure,itwasabitchythingtosay,especiallyafterhownicehe’sbeentome,

butIneedthosebarriersbackup,orelseI’minsomeseriousdangeroffallingfor
him.

Ithinkhe’sgoingtowalkout.Actually,Ihopethathedoes.Instead,hejust

standsthere,lookingatmewithwaymorecompassionthanIdeserve.

AllthepentupfeelingsthatI’vetriedtoburyinsidebubbletotheservice,and

Icanfeelmythroattightening.Myhandsstarttoshake,andtearsblurmyvision.

Don’tcry,Iwarnmyself,butit’stoolate.
Hetakesasteptowardme.“Layla–”
“No.”Ishakemyheadandputmyhandsuptostophimfromcomingcloser.

OnetouchandIknowI’llloseitcompletely.

“I’mtryingtohelp.”
“Ifyouwanttostayhereandwatchoverme,thenIcan’tstopyou.ButIdon’t

knowwhatyouwantfromme.Ican’t–”MybreathcatchesonasmallsobthatI
can’tholdback.

Carterpullsmeagainsthischestandburieshisfaceinmyhair,hushingme

likeachildthatneedscomforting.

Iwanttopushhimaway.Ineedtopushhimaway.ButIcan’t.AllIcandois

meltintohisembraceandtakeallthestrengthandcomforthe’soffering.

“I’m…”Igulpinabreath,clutchingthehemofhist-shirtinmyfistsand

restingmyforeheadagainsthischest.“I’msoconfused.Idon’tknowwhatI’m
doing.”

“Idon’twantanythingthatyou’renotreadyorwillingtogive.”Hispalmsare

onmyface,fingerstangledinthebackofmyhair,andheuseshisthumbstoforce
mychinuptolookathim.“I’mnotpressuringyou.Ijustwanttobehere.Foryou.
Forthisbaby.That’sall.”

Moretearsstreamdownmycheeks,andmychesttightens.“It’stoohard.”
“Whatis?”
“Beingwithyou.Touchingyou.”There’sthetruth.Rightoutintheopen.And

there’snotakingitback.

Hislipstwitchupslightly.
“It’snotfunny.”Ifrownupathim.
“No.It’snot.”Hisgringetsalittlebigger,eventhoughIcantellhe’stryingto

holditback.

Ipushonhischest,buthedoesn’tletmego.“Thenwhyareyousmiling.”
“Becauseyouwantme.”Hebrushesthetearsoffmycheekwiththepadsof

thisthumbandsmilesdownatme.“I’llletyouinonalittlesecret.”Heleans

down,sothathislipsbrushagainsttheshellofmyear,andwhispers,“Iwantyou
too.”

Ashiverracesacrossmyskin.
Ipinchmyeyesclosed,tryingtothinkofanythingotherthanthewayhe’s

holdingme,makingmybodycravehiminwaysIneverthoughtpossible.

“I’mnotgoingtohurtyou.”Histhumbstrokesacrossmybottomlip.
“Youdon’tknowthat.”
“I’mnotlikemybrother.Iwon’ttakeofftheminuteitgetshard.Iknowwhat

I’mgettinginto.”

Hedoesn’tevenknowthehalfofit.It’snotjustthisbabyorthestuffwith

Travis.Therearethingsinmypastthatbrokeme,andaftersevenyears,I’mnot
sureI’lleverheal.

Maybehehassomeherocomplex.Wantingtosavethedamagedandbroken

damselindistress.

“Idon’tneedsavingifthat’swhatthisisabout.”Imaybedamaged,butI

don’tneedamantomakeeverythingbetterinmylife.EvenifthatmanisCarter
Bennett.

Iputmyhandsonhischesttopushaway,buthecapturesmywrists.
“That’snotwhatthisisabout.”Hetiltshisheadclosetomine,gazeboring

intomine.“Don’tpushmeaway.”

Toolate.Mywallsarealreadyup.
“Maybeyou’vegotsomewhiteknightcomplex,butIcantakecareofmyself.I

alwayshave.”

“DoIlooklikeawhiteknight,Layla?”Hisvoiceisintense,hisgazedaring.
Iblinkupathim.Theinkthatcovershisskin,thedarkscruffthatshadowshis

jaw,thepiercingblueeyesthatscreamdanger.No,helooksmorelikethebadboy
readytobreakmyheartthantheheroofchildhoodfantasies.ButinsideIknow
he’smorethanthat.He’sgood.Andhonest.AndIsodon’tdeservehim.

“Howcanyouwantthis?”Ispitout,usingmyfrustrationasaweaponagainst

him.

“Iwantyou.That’sallthatmatters.”Theseductivetoneofhisvoicewinds

throughmelikeliquidheat,warmingmyblood,andsendingathrillracingdown
myspine,straighttomycore.

Unconcealeddesirethrumsbetweenuswithscorchingintensity,sostrongI

can’tdenyitevenifItried.It’sbeenbuildingsincethefirstnightwemet.I’ve
triedtopushitdown.Tothinkthatmaybeitwasjustme.Nowhe’svoicedthe

truth,andtherewasnoturningbackfromthat.

Hewantsme.Iwanthim.It’sassimple,andyetascomplicatedasthat.
Still…
“Idon’tknow.”Idoknow.Iwanthimsobad,mybodyacheswiththeneedto

feelhiminsideme.Andmorethanthat,Iwanthisstrength.Hissupport–hislove.

Foolishness.
I’veneverconsideredmyselfaweakperson.I’vebeenonmyownforaslong

asIcanremember.Neverrelyingonanyone.

Butthepromiseshe’smade.Thehopethattheyfuel.It’smakesmewant.And

wantingisaveryadangerousthingtodo.

“Youdon’thavetomakeanydecisionsrightnow.”Hisfingersbrushacross

myface,downmyneck,andeverycellinmybodyscreamsforhimtokissme.
“I’llbepatient.”

Kissme,mybodyscreams,despitemymind’sprotest.
HeleansdownandIthinkhe’sgoingto.Instead,hepresseshislipsagainstmy

foreheadandletsoutasmallsigh,thenpullsback.“I’llgomakesomecoffee.”

I’mbothgratefulanddisappointedwhenhewalksoutoftheroom,leavingme

alonewithmychaoticthoughts.

IwantmorethananythingtotrustCarter.Tobelievethatmaybe,justmaybe,

thiscrazyrelationshipmightwork.Butthere’ssomuchmorethanjustustothink
about.There’sTravis.Andthebaby.Nottomentionwhatpeoplewouldthink
aboutmeifIjustjumpedfromonebrother’sbedtotheother.

Slut.
Whore.
Thosenamesscreamintomybrain,condemningme.
Ican’tdoit.
We’vealreadygottoomanystrikesagainstus.
Thisthingbetweenusisimpossible.Evenifhereallyistheone,theworld

willneveracceptit.

Chapter17

Layla

Carteristruetohisword.He’smorethanpatient.IknownowwhyTravis
nicknamedhimSaintfuckingCarter.Themantrulyhasthetoleranceofasaint.
Evenduringmyemotionaloutburstsandcryingspells,whichhavebecomemore
andmoreregularlately–damnpregnancyhormones–hejustholdsmeand
reassuresmethateverythingisgoingtobeallright.He’sconvincingenoughthat
I’mactuallystartingtobelieveit.

Asthedaysandweeksgobywithhimlivingunderthesameroof,itstartsto

becomeeasytoaccepthiminmylife,mostlybecausehe’salwayshere.

Andit’snice–morethannice.It’swonderful.
WhenIwakeupinthemorning,there’sapotofdecafcoffeewaitingforme,

andwhenIgethomefromwork,heusuallyhasdinnerwaitingforme.I’ve
stoppedtryingtoavoidhimbystayinginmyroomintheevenings,insteadIjoin
himinthelivingroomandcurluponthecouchbesidehim,readingabookwhile
hewatcheswhatevergameisontelevision.

Hehasn’ttriedanythingwithme,andIhaven’taskedhimbackintomyroom,

butthatdoesn’tmeantheconnectionisn’tthere,ifanythingit’sjustcontinuedto
grow.Onlynow,I’mstartingtorealizethatmybadboyherowhosavedmefrom
beingrunoverbyacaralittleoverayearagoisn’treallysobad–he’sactually
reallysweet.

Buthe’salsothemoststubborn,pig-headedmanI’veevermet.Iknowhe’d

saythesamethingaboutme,butthedifferenceisI’mright.Atleastwhenit
comestomywork.We’vehadmorethanafewargumentsoverhowoftenI’mon
myfeet.ButsofarI’vewoneverysingleone.Becausenotallofuscanbeformer
NHLstarsthatcanworkwheneverorifevertheywant.

Idon’tgrudgehimforit.Iknowheworkedhisassoffgettingwherehedid,

andevennow,heconstantlystaysbusy.

Icamehomefromworkearlylastweektofindhiminthebasementwitha

constructioncrew,workingalongsidethemonwhateverprojecthehasgoingon
downthere.

Andhecleans.
He’smeticulouswitheverything.IthoughtIwasaneatfreak,buthe’sworse.

WhenTravislivedhere,Iwasconstantlycleaningupafterhimandhisfriends.

ButCarterhasrespectedmyspace,onlyoncebringingafriendbacktothehouse,
andthenonlyfordinnerandafewbeersonthebackporch.

Theguyreallyisperfect.AndIkindofhatehimforit.Becauseitmakesthe

temptationthatmuchworse.

We’vebecome…friends.Andthat’ssomething.
No,it’snotideal,andyesit’sstillcomplicated,butit’snicetohavesomeone

otherthanKiratotalkto.

It’snicetonotbealone.
Carterissittingonthecouch,crouchedoverhislaptopthatsitsonthecoffee

table,browsdrawndownashetypesfuriously.

EverytimeIseehim,Ican’thelpthebutterfliesthatflutterinmychest.No

amountoftimewilleverdullhowfreakinggorgeousthemanis.Hishairislong
rightnow,needingatrimandhangingoverhiseyes.Andthedarkscruffhasgrown
intoadecentbeardthathekeepsneatlytrimmed.I’veneverbeenafanofbeards,
butonhimitjustlookssexyandrugged.Thatcombinedwiththeinkthatcovers
hisbulgingbicepsandforearms,heoozesprimalsexiness.

Getagrip,Layla.Iblinkawaythethought.
“I’llstopbythegrocerystoreafterwork.Doyouneedanything?”
“You’reworkingagain?”Carterlooksupfromhiscomputerandfrownsatme.

Thereitis.Thedark,broodylookhegetswhenhedisprovesofsomethingIdo.

“I’mtakinganextrashiftattherestaurantthisweek,”Isayevenly,givinghim

myownlookthatsaysdon’targuewithme.

“Ifyouneedmoney–”
“We’vetalkedaboutthis.”
“Iknow.”Heshutshislaptopandstands.
Shit.Herewego.WhileIappreciatehisconcern,Ican’tlethimthinkthatI

needtobetakencareof,especiallynotfinancially.Himlettingmeliveherefor
practicallynothingisalreadymorethanenough.

Isearchmypurseformykeys,andalip-glossfallsoutofonepocketontothe

floor.Ileanovertopickitup,butwhenIstraighten,myvisionstartstodarkento
asinglepointoflightinfrontofme.

Crap.
Idropmypurse,reachingfranticallyforthewall,oranythingtostopmyself

frompassingout.

“Damnit,Layla.”Carter’svoiceistoofaraway,andIknowthere’snoway

he’llgettomeontime.

I’mfallingfast.
Mybodyhitssomethinghardandwarm,andittakesmeasecondtorealizeit’s

Carter.NextthingIknow,myfeetarenolongeronthefloorandhehasmecradled
againsthischest.

“Putmedown.”Isquirminhisarmsasmyvisionreturns.
“I’mtakingyoutothehospital.”
“Itwasjustadizzyspell.It’snormal.I’vealreadytalkedtomydoctorabout

it.”

“That’sthesecondtimeyou’vepassedoutinmyarms.There’snothingnormal

aboutit.”

“Ihavetogotowork.”Iwriggleagainsthim,buthe’stoodamnstrong.“Put.

Me.Down.”

“No,”hegrowls,blueeyesdarkandpossessivewhenhelooksdownatme.

“NotuntilIknowyou’reallright.”

“I’mfine.”Igolimp,knowingthere’snosensefighting.I’mprettysurehe’d

tossmeoverhisshoulderlikeagoddamncavemanandcarrymetothehospitalif
hehasto.

“I’dratherhaveadoctor’sopinion.”
“I’mnotgoingtothedamndoctorbecauseIwasalittledizzy.”
“Well,you’renotgoingtowork,either.”Heputsmeonthecouch,andwhenI

starttomovehepointsafinger,andsnarls,“Stay.”

AssexyasthewholeNeanderthal,possessivethingis,Ireallycan’tdealwith

thistoday.TwicelastweekIwaslatebecausemystomachwouldn’tsettle,and
theweekbeforethatImissedanentireshiftbecauseIwassosickIcouldn’tget
outofbed.

“Here.”Hehandsmeaglassofwater,thenmovesmyhairoffmyneckand

placesacoolwashclothonit.

HowthehellamIsupposedtostaymadathimwhenhedoesstufflikethat?

Whycan’thebeaninsufferablejerklikeeveryotherguyI’veknown?

Itakeasip.Moretoappeasehimthananything,thenplacetheglassontheside

table.“Youdon’thavetoworryaboutme.”

“Someonedoes.You’repushingyourselftoohardwhenyoudon’thaveto.”
“Yes.Ido.”Istarttostandandregretitimmediately.TheroomspinsandI

havetositdownagain.

“That’sit.I’mtakingyouin,”thegrowlinhisvoicemakesmenotargue,

becauseI’vegottentoknowhismoodsprettywell,andthere’snoarguingwiththe

onehe’sinnow.

Yeah,stubborndoesn’tevenbegintodescribeCarterBennett.
Thirtyminuteslater,we’reinthesmallexamroomofmyfamilydoctor’s

office.I’mprettysureherschedulewascompletelybooked,butCarterwasmore
thanalittleinsistent,andthemeeklookingwomanbehindthedesklookedboth
terrifiedandenamoredbyhim–acommonreactiontothemammothman.

Nowhe’spacingthesmallroom,armscrossedoverhischest,adeepfrownon

hisface.

“Wouldyoustopthat?”I’msittingontheexamtablewearingoneofthose

ridiculouspapergowns.“OrI’mkickingyouout.”

Ididn’twanthimcomingintobeginwith,butitwasanotherofhisabsurd

demands.

“Iwanttohearwhatthedoctorhastosay.”
“Youdon’ttrustme?”
Hegrunts,leaningagainstthecounter,musculararmscrossedoverhischest.
Thedooropensthen,andDr.Evanscomesin,hersilverygazegoingstraightto

Carter.Thewomanhastobeinherlatesixties,butIcanseeherappreciativelook
asshetakeshimin.Anothercommonreaction.

Sheholdsoutherhandtohim.“Youmustbethefather.It’snicetofinallymeet

you.”

Heatslamsintomyfaceandmymouthgoesdry.
“Nicetomeetyoutoo.”Hisfaceremainsstoicasheshakesherhand,butI

don’tmisstheflickerofemotioninhiseyes.

Dr.Evansturnstomeandsmiles.“Whatbringsyouintoday?”
“Shefainted.Twice,”Cartersays,allgrowlyandpossessive.
Iglareoverathimbeforelookingbackatthedoctor.“I’vehadafewdizzy

spells,that’sall.”

“Shepracticallycollapsedinmyarmsthismorning.”Helooksatmeasif

daringmetoarguewithhim.

Ishakemyhead.“I’mfine.Really.”
“We’llcheckyourbloodpressure,andI’llorderafewtests.”Sheplacesthe

cuffaroundmyarmandsmilesupatCarterasifshe’sfallingforhisgrizzlybear
act.“Haveyouheardthebaby’sheartbeatyet?”

“No”wesayinunison.
IthadbeentooearlythelasttimeI’dbeenin.
Sheplacesherstethoscopeonmyarm,watchingthenumbersonthemachine,

thenuncuffsme.“Yourbloodpressureisabitlow,butnothingconcerning.Justtry
nottostanduptooquickly.”

“See,”IsaytoCarter.
Hekeepsfrowning,notlookingconvinced.
Thedoctorplacesablanketovermylegs,thenliftsthegown,exposingmy

slight,almostimperceptibleroundingofmybelly.

ShesquirtsgooonmystomachandIflinchatthecoldness.Theminuteshe

pressesthemicrophone-lookingdeviceagainstmyskin,theroomfillswithasoft
thumping.

“Thereitis.”Dr.Evanssmilesatbothofus.“Niceandstrong.”
Oh,wow.
Mybaby’sheartbeat.
Tearsprickatthebackofmyeyes,butIdon’teventrytobrushthemaway

whentheystarttoslipdownmycheek.

Carterreachesformyhand,andhisbigstrongfingerswraparoundmine.

WhenIlookupathim,Iseeemotionreflectedinhisgaze.Hegivesmeasmall
smile.

Thedoctorissayingsomething,butIbarelyhearherwords.AllIcanfocuson

isthesoundofmybaby’sheartbeat,andthewayCarteriswatchingmenow.

“…andtrytorestwheneveryoucan.”
Idocatchherlastwords,mostlybecauseofCarter’sreaction.
Hisheadsnapsup.“I’llmakesureofit.”
Ican’thelpbutrollmyeyes,wantingtoslapthedoctorforgivinghimevena

smallexcusetolockmeupinthehouse.

“We’llseeyoubothinafewmoreweeksforyourscheduledultrasound.”
Carterhelpsmesitwhenwerealoneagain.
“Itoldyoueverythingisfine,”Imumble.
“Shesaidyouneedtorestmore.”
Ofcourse,that’swhathepickedupon.
Hehandsmemyclothes,andstandstherewatchingme.
“Canyouturnaround?”
Hegrunts,andturnsslightly.
Ipullmyjeanson,andhavetosuckinabreathtodothebuttonup.Another

reminderthatI’mgoingtoneedtobuymaternityclothessoon.Anotherexpense
thatIcanbarelyafford.ThisiswhyIneedtowork.

“Canyoudropmeoffatthedineronthewayhome?”

“Ialreadycalledandtoldthemyouwouldn’tbeintoday.”
“Youdidwhat?”
Heturnstolookatme,butI’mstillnakedfromthetopup.
“Turnaround.”Igrabmyshirttocovermyself,heatwarmingmycheeks.
Hiseyesdarken,andittakeshimasecondlongerthanitshouldtoredirecthis

gaze.

Whenhisbackistomeagain,Iballmyfingersintofists,takeacoupledeep

breaths,andtrynottocompletelyloseitonhim.Buthemakesitsodamneasy.

“Youshouldn’thavedonethatwithoutaskingme.ItoldyouIneedthemoney.”
“No,youdon’t.I’llhelpyouwithwhateveryouneed.”
“I’mnotgoingtobeacharitycase.”Ishovemyheadandarmsthroughmy

shirtandadjustit.

“Mewantingtotakecareofyoudoesn’tmakeyouacharitycase.”
“Thenwhatdoesitmakeme?CauseIcanthinkofalotworsewords.”
Heturnsthen,fireinhiseyes.“Itmakesyoumine.”
Oh.
Silence.
Hetakesasteptowardsme,andIknowIshouldbackaway,butmylegslock,

andmyheartstartstopoundfranticallyinmychest.

“Itmakesyoumine,Layla,”herepeats,reachingoutandplacinghispalmon

mycheek.

Icantellhe’sholdingback,seeinghiscontrolstartingtofray.There’shunger

inhiseyes.Sexualandintense.

EitherIrunnow,orIgivein.
Thisisthecrux.
Thepointofnoreturn.
Hedipshishead,bluegazeintense,andunyielding.Hismouthissocloseto

mine.Justabreathaway.Icanpracticallytastehiskiss.

AndGod,hesmellssogood.
“I’llwaitforhoweverlongyouneed.ButI’mnotgoingtopretendthatit’snot

killingmenotbeingabletotouchyou.”Hisheaddipscloser,histhumbstroking
myface.“Allyouhavetodoissayyes,sweetheart.”

“I…”Amsofreakingscared.
“Sayyes,Layla.”It’smoreofademandthanarequest.
Mymouthparts.I’mwillingmyselftosayno,buttheworddoesn’tcomeout,

justashakybreath.

Yes.Yes.Yes.
Iwanthim.
Bad.
Andrightnow,staringintohisintenseblueeyes,Ican’trememberasingle

reasonwhyI’veresistedforsolong.

Igiveasmallnod,andit’senoughofananswerforhim,becausethenextthing

Iknowhismouthcrashesdownonmine,consumingme,tastingme,pushingme
overaninvisibleedgewherecontrolandreservationsarelost.

Hishandsaretangledinmyhair,hishardbodypressedagainstmine,his

mouthandtongueteasingmine,spurringmyownwilddesire.

Asmallwhimperescapesmylips,andhegrowls,deepeningthekiss.
Fire.Itburnsthroughme.Myskinisalightwithit.
It’smorethanjustakiss.He’smarkingme,claimingme.
Mypalmsareonhischest,andIfeeltheragingbeatofhisheart,proofthat

he’sjustasarousedasIam.

Hisholdispossessive,hiskissmerciless.
“MyGod,Layla.Whatyoudotome.”Histonguesweepsovermyswollen

lips.

Hepullsback,hisbreathingragged,nostrilsflaring,andaprimalhunger

burninginhiseyes.

“Let’sgo.”Hisvoicedropsanoctave.Onelargehandwrapsaroundmywaist,

guidingmeoutoftheroom,throughthebuilding,andtowardstheparkinglot.

He’ssilentallthewaytothecar,buthishandsareonme,possessiveandtight.

Thelookonhisfaceunreadable.Iswearhe’dtossmeoverhisshoulderandcarry
metothecarifthereweren’tahandfulofpeoplewatching.

Ihavenoideawhathe’sthinking.Whyhe’sgonealldarkandbroody.
Whenheopensthecardoorforme,Iblinkupathim.“Carter–”
“Getinthecar,Layla.”Hisvoicerumblesthroughme.
“Wherearewegoing?”
“Home.”Hishandsrestonthehoodofthecar,trappingme,asheleansinand

whispersinmyear,hisvoiceroughanddrippingwithneed,“Ourhome.AndI’m
goingtoshowjusthowmineyoureallyare.”

Chapter18

Carter

Laylaisquiettheentiredrivebacktothehouse.Shekeepsglancingatmefromthe
cornerofhereyes,likeshe’sexpectingmetopulloveratanymomentandripher
clothesoff.

I’lladmit,thethoughtcrossedmymind.Ittookallmyrestraintnottotakeher

inthegoddamnexamroom.

Thatsmallnod.It’salltheconfirmationIneeded.Shemaynotknowexactly

whatsheagreedto,butIplantoshowher–today.

She’safraidofme.Icanseeitinhereyes.Maybenotofme.ButofthewayI

makeherfeel.OfwhatI’mofferingher.

There’salotofthingsI’velearnedaboutheroverthepastfewweeks,andone

ofthemisthatshedoesn’tbelieveshedeservestobehappy.Thatmuchis
obvious.ButI’mgoingtoshowherdifferently.Makeherseehowfuckingspecial
shereallyis.

She’sfidgeting,herfingersnervouslypickingatsomeimaginaryspotonher

shirt.Itakeherhand,wrappingmyownmuchlargeronearoundit,andholdit
tightuntilwepullintothedriveway.

Ihearherhardswallow,feelherbodytrembleashergazegoestothehouse.
“Youhavenothingtobeafraidof,sweetheart.”Isqueezeherhandoncebefore

releasingitandgettingoutofthecar.

Ittakesherafewsecondsbeforeshefollowsmylead.
There’ssomuchhesitancyinherexpressionnow,andwhenIshutthefront

door,IknowthatifIdon’tmakeamove,she’sgoingtorun.

Andwe’llbetakingthreestepsbackward.
Nothappening.
“Comehere.”Itakeherhand,pullinghertowardsme,thenwraponearm

aroundher,myotherhandcradlingthebackofherhead.

Shechewsonherbottomlip,gazetrainedonmychest,browsdrawndown.
“Lookatme,Layla.”Imovemyhanddown,placingmypalmonherlower

back,andslowlyhereyesraisetomeetmine.That’sbetter.Softbrowneyesblink
upatme.

Yes,there’sfear,butthere’salsoneedreflectedthere.

Andtrust.
TheonethingI’vebeenwaitingfor.
Istrokemyknucklesacrosshercheek,downherneckandacrossher

collarbone,feelinghertrembleandwatchinghereyescloseslightly,herlips
partinginaninaudiblesigh.

Awarenessspeaksbetweenus.MakingmefeelthingsIknowI’veneverfelt

before.

MyGod,shecompletelyundoesme.
“Sobeautiful,”Iwhisper,leaningdownandlightlybrushingmylipsagainst

hers.“Iwanttotouchyou.Everypartofyou.Iwantmymouthonyours.Onyour
skin…”Nippinggentlyatherear,Igrowl,“Onyourbody.”

Thesound,half-moan,half-whimper,thatvibratesinherthroathasmyballs

rockhardagainstmybody.Therewon’tbeapartofherthatIdon’townwhenI’m
finished.

“Carter,”shemurmurs,meltingagainstme.
Myentirebodyistight,thefrenziedneedtopullmycockoutandtakeherhard

andfastrighthereinthedamnfoyer,overwhelming.Ican’thelptheferalgroan
thatescapesmylips.Hearinghersaymyname,thewayit’salmostaplea,doesall
sortsofthingstome.

“Iwantyou.”
Ialmostloseitcompletelywithheradmission.
Leaningdown,Iscoopherupinmyarms,andsheletsoutasmallsqueal.
“Bed,”Igrowlout,startingupthestairs,twoatatime.“Now.”
Herlipstwitchup,andIcanalmostfeelthelaughshe’sholdingin.
“What?”Ikickmybedroomdooropenwithmyfoot,shuttingitbehindme.
“You’rejustall…”Shelicksherlips,andrunsherfingersacrossthescruffon

mycheek.

It’soneofthefirstcaressesshe’sinitiatedanditdoessomethingtome.
“Allwhat?”Idemand,placingheronthebedandhoveringoverher,palmsflat

oneithersideofherhead.

“Alphamale.”
Ichuckle,“Youhavenoidea,sweetheart.”
“Thenshowme.”Herfingerstugatthehemofmyshirt,thenslipbeneath,

trailingupmyabsandchest.

ThistimeIcan’tcontrolthegrowlthatleavesmythroat.
God.Iwanttosinkstraightintoher.

Ireachbackandpullmyshirtovermyhead,thentossittothefloor,whileshe

tugsatmybelt.Whenherfingersstartforthezipper,Igripherwrists.“Slow
down,Love.AsmuchasIwanttodevouryourightnow,Ialsowanttotakemy
time.Memorizeeveryinchofyou.”

“Yourwords,”shesaysagainstmylipswithIkissheragain.“HowamI

supposedtoresistyou?”

“You’renot.”Ikissherhardoncemore,beforepullingbackandkneelingon

thebed.Itakeherwristsandpullherup,sothatshe’smirroringme,andplaceher
handsonmychest,ontheinkthatshe’salwaysstealingglancesatwhenshethinks
I’mnotlooking.

Hergazeskimsthepatterns,thenherfingersbegintracingthedesigns,anda

smallsmiletugsatherlips,hereyesfilledwithappreciation.

“They’rebeautiful,”shesayssoftly,hertouchsendingheatburningthroughmy

body.

Myfingersskimunderhershirt,cuppingonebreastoverthefabricofher

laceybra.“You’rebeautiful.”

Shemoansandmymouthcrashesdownonhersoncemore,andarmswrap

aroundmyneck,fingersburyinginmyhair.Needingtoremovethebarriers
betweenus,Ipullhershirtoff,thenunclaspthebackofherbra,discardingthem
quickly,beforestartingonthebuttonofherpants.

“Liedown,”Idemand,pushingherbackagainstthebed.Islidemyfingers

underthematerial,hookingmythumbonherpanties,thendragmyhandsdownher
legs,removingtheremainingobstructions.

Pushingherkneesapartwithmyown,Ikneelaboveher,takinginher

perfection.

Shewatchesme,warinessreturningwithself-consciousness.
“Doyouhaveanyideahowgorgeousyouare?”Iask,takingonebreastinmy

palmandtheotherinmymouth,thenipplespebblingagainstmytouch.

“Youmakemefeelbeautiful.”Herbackarchestoreceivemytouch,herlegs

relaxingandopeningwidersothatIcanfeelthewarmthofherpussyagainstmy
chest,andshewigglesbeneathme,herbodydemandingmore.

Holyhell,butshemakesmecrazywithlust.
Thosebreasts,thosecurves,thatsoftmilkyskin,she’smorethanbeautiful,

she’safuckinggoddess.

Idragmyhanddownthesoftcurveofherstomach,restingthereformoment,

withthereminderofthechildshe’scarrying.

Mychild.No,itmaynotbeminebiologically,butI’llbetheonewhoraisesit.

AndifIgetmyway,whichIwill,I’llbetheoneitcallsDaddy.

Shiftingbetweenherlegs,Ipressmylipswheremyhandhadbeenmoments

beforeandfeelherstill,hermusclestighteningslightly.

“Mine,”Igrowlagainstherstomach,watchinghereyeswidenslightly.Seethe

smallflickerofhopethere.“Bothofyou.”

Shebitesdownonherlipandgivesasmallnod,andmychestswells.
ThisiswhatIwant.WhatI’vebeenlongingfor.Iclenchmyjaw,adeepsound

ofpleasureleavingme.

Trailingakissdown,Istroketheinsideofherthighuntilsheopenswiderfor

me,lettingmetrailmytongueacrosstheslitofherpussy.

Shemoans,twisting,andliftingherhipstowardsmytouch.Isliponefingerin

andshegasps,thenletsoutsoundsofpleasurewhenIfindhersensitivenubwith
mymouth,flickingmytongueoveritandmakinghersquirmevenmore.

Slidingonemorefingerinsideher,Ifeelherwallsclencharoundme.She’sso

damntightandwet.Andmycockispulsatingagainsttheroughfabricofmypants,
demandingentrance.

Patience,Iremindmyself,wantingtoprolongeverymomentofpleasure.
She’sresponsivetoeverytouch,everylick,everyflickofmytongue,andit

isn’tlongbeforeherbodystartstoquiverandpulsatewithhergrowingorgasm.

“That’sit,sweetheart.Comeforme,”Imurmuragainstherpussy,twofingers

thrustinginsideher,myotherhandteasingoneofherhardnipples.

“Carter.OhmyGod.”Herhandsfistinmyhair,andshecriesoutasherbody

convulses,andthetightwallsclenchandspasmaroundmyfingers.

MyGod,isright.Ihaven’tevenbeeninsideofher,andI’malreadyaddicted.
Ikissheroncemoreontheinsideofherthigh,thencrawlaboveherandgrin.

“I’vebeenfantasizingaboutdoingthatforfartoolong.”

Sheblushes.“Noonehaseverdonethatbefore.”
Itrynottofrownatheradmission,butitunsettlesme.Obviously,she’snota

virgin,butitmakesmewonderhowinnocentshereallyis.

“DidIsaysomethingwrong?”sheasks,concerndrawingherbrowsdown.
“No.”Ikissherforehead,hernose,thenherlips.“Ofcoursenot.”
“Ijustwanttobegentlewithyou.”
Shetugsmyhairthen,pullingmedowntowardsherinademandingkiss.
Igroanatthenextwordsthatcomeoutofhermouth,“Idon’twantgentle.Ijust

wantyou.Allofyou.”

Chapter19

Layla

Mybodyisstillhummingfromhistouch,butIwantsomuchmore.Iknowhe’s
holdingback,butIdon’twanthiscontrol.Iwant,noIneed,allthatintense,dark,
hungerthat’sbeenbuildingbetweenustofinallyexplode.

He’swatchingme,fireinhisgaze,andIcanpracticallyseethewarthat’s

goingoninsideofhim.Themanstrugglingwiththebeastwithin.

“Please,”Ibeg,handstravellingdownhissculptedabstothewaistofhis

pants,hookingmyfingersinthematerialandpushingitoverhiships.“Ineed
you.”

Thetruthofmywordsleavesmeshaking.Idoneedhim.MorethanI’veever

allowedmyselftoneedanyone.

Iswallowhard,whenhiscockspringsfree,mymouthwateringforataste.I

lickmylipsandhegroans.

“There’snowayinhellI’mgoingtolastifyouputthosesweetlipsaround

me,”hegrowlsout.

Igiveasmallpout,andhechuckles.
“There’llbelotsoftimeforthatinthefuture,butI’vebeenwaitingtoodamn

longtobeinsideofyouandI’malreadybarelyhangingontomycontrol.”

Thatmakesmesmile.IlovethatIcandothattohim.Makehimwantmewith

thatmuchneed.

Ireachoutandstrokehislonglength,revelinginthesilkinessofit.
“Idon’thaveanything,”hemovesaboveme,pressinghiscockagainstmy

stomach,histhickthighsspreadingmylegswider.

Ittakesasecondformetorealizethathemeansprotection.
“I’mclean,”Iwhisperagainsthislipsashekissesme.
“SoamI,”hesays,therestraintinhisvoicefraying.
Iplacemypalmsonhisface,lockingmygazewithhis,myhearthammeringin

mychest.“Thenmakelovetome.”

Maybeit’snottherightthingtosay.MaybeIshouldhavetoldhimtojusttake

me,orhavesexwithme.Butthisthingbetweenusissomuchmorethanthat.At
leastIthinkitis.MaybeIjustwantittobe.

Theintensityinhisgazeashemovesaboveme,pressingtheheadofhisheavy

erectionatmyentrance,isalmosttoomuch.

Igaspashishipsthrustforward,andheburieshimselfdeepinsideofme.
“God,Layla,”hebreathesout,restinghisforeheadagainstmine,andgivingme

amomentformybodytoadjusttohiswidthandlength.

There’sadeliciousachebetweenmylegsasmywallstightenandrelax.My

experiencewithsexislimitedtoacoupledrunkenencounters,andthisismore
thanI’veeverexperienced.

Therealnessofit.Hisbodyconnectedtomine.I’mawareofhiseveryslight

movement,everybreath,everheartbeat.

Iloveyou,Iwanttocryout,ashestartstomoveinsideofme.Instead,Ihold

ontohim,shuttingoffmybrain,andtryingtoshutoffmyemotions.

Animpossibletask.BecausealreadyI’mwayovermyhead,andIknowthat

aftertonight,afterthis,losinghimwon’tjustbreakme,it’lldestroyme.

Hishandsareallovermenow,strokingdownmythigh,acrossmybreasts,

thumbplayingwithmynipple,andcausingmoresensationstopulsatestraightto
mycore.

Iclosemyeyes,unabletolookathisbeautifulface,notwhenmybodyis

singingwithpleasure,andhe’spushingmetoplacesI’veneverbeenbefore.My
legswraparoundhiships,myfingersdigintohisback,andImovewithhim,each
thrust,eachstrokemoredemandingthanthelast.

“Eyes”–hethrustsdeep–“On”–hispalmisonmyface–“Me.”
Iblinkupathimasheridesmeharder,mybodyoverloadedwithsensations,

myemotionstwistingthisincredibleexperienceintosomethingmorethanIknow
itis.

Icanfeelmyorgasmbuilding,cansensehisownsoclose.
“Letgo,sweetheart.”Hisintensebluegazeboresintome,demandingmore

thanjustmybody.

Hishipsbuckagainstmine,hisbodyfillingandstretchingme,makingit

impossibletoresistthepleasurethatallbutconsumesme.

Ifeelmyselfgivingin,becauseIdon’thavethestrengthtofightit.
“Carter,”Iwhimperagainsthislipsashismouthcrashesagainstmine.My

fingerstangleinhishairandItrytobreatheinaraggedbreath,butIcan’tget
enoughoxygenintomysystem.It’slikeI’mbeingtorturedwithpleasure,andI
don’tknowifI’llsurvive.

Hisquick,hardstrokeshavemeexplodinginseconds.Afloodofsensations

wracksmybodyandeverymuscletensesandtightens.Icryout.WhatIdon’t
know.AllIknowisthatforamomentIswearIloseconsciousnessastheorgasm

thatwasbuildingripsalmostviolentlythroughmyentirebody.

Pure,blissfulrapture.Waveafterwaveofpleasurerollsthroughme.
Insomedistantplace,IhearCarter’sowncryofrelease,feelhisbody

contractandexplodewithinme.Feelhisseedspillwithaforcethatdrivesme
evenfurtherovertheedge.

Whenthelastshudderripsthroughme,Iclingtohimtremblingwithhow

completelyandutterlyspentIam.Physicallyandemotionally.

Carterrestshisforeheadagainstmine,andhisfingersbrushacrossmydamp

cheeks.

“What’swrong?”Heshiftsupononearm,stillnotpullingoutofme,brows

drawndowninafrown.

Irealizethenthatthedampnessistears.
No.No.No.
Iamnotcrying.Notafterhowperfecteverythingwas.
“I-I’mokay.”Butmyvoicebetraysmyemotions.
“DidIhurtyou?”Hestartstoeaseaway,andIpanic,grippinghiships,and

forcinghimnottomove.

“No.Youwere…thatwasperfect.”
Hisknucklesdragacrossmycheek,andhepressesalightkissagainstmylips.

“Talktome,sweetheart.”

Thewayhe’slookingatme,likeI’mthemostpreciousthingintheworld,

makesmefeelsafe.Likemaybethiswholeinsanethingbetweenusmightjustbe
therealthing.ThatImightnotbethefoolIthinkIamforfallingheadoverheels
fortheguy.

ItraceoneofthepatternsonhisbicepandthinkaboutwhatI’msupposedto

say.I’veneverbeenherebefore,inaplacewheretheguywantsmetoopenup.
I’vespentmywholelifebottlingmyemotions.Idon’tknowhowtoletmywalls
downcompletely.

WhenIdon’tanswer,Carterrollsoveronhisback,takingmewithhim,sothat

myheadisrestingonhischest,andoneofhisarmsiswrappedpossessively
aroundme.

Welayinsilenceforalongtime.AndIswearIfallevenmoreinlovewith

him,forhisabilitytoknowexactlywhatIneed.Andrightnow,Ijustneedtimeto
think.

Mymindneverstops.It’sconstantlythinkingabouttheconsequencesofevery

wordIsay,everysmallinsignificantaction,andthis…wellthisisgoingtotakea

hellofalotofprocessing.

“I’mscared,”Isay,beingbrutallyhonest.“Ifthisdoesn’tworkoutbetween

us…”Mybreathhitches,andIpinchmyeyesshut.“I’llsurvive.IknowIwill.But
Idon’tknowwhat…”

Moretearsstreamdownmycheeks,andIhateit.I’vealwaysbeenableto

hidemyemotions,toreinbackmytears,butwithhimIcan’t.

Histhumbisundermychin,tiltingmyfaceuptomeethisgaze.
“You’reminenow,Layla.Doyouknowwhatthatmeans?”Hisexpressionis

dark,confident.“ItmeansI’mnotlettingyougo.Ever.”

Iletoutanunevenbreath.Iwantthat.Morethananything.Butwordsfailme.
Isitpossible?Himandme?Canwelivethislife?Despiteeverything?
HefillsplacesinmethatIdidn’tevenknowwereempty.
Idon’twanttoletthatgo.
Idon’twanttolethimgo.
Ijustpraythatwheneverythingissaidanddone,Iwon’thaveto.

Chapter20

Carter

“What’sthis?”LaylafrownsatthelargebagIplaceonthekitchentableinfrontof
her.Whenshestands,sheplacesherhandonhergrowingbelly,andoneonher
lowerbackandstretches.

It’sbeenalmosttwomonthssinceshefinallysaidyestome.Idon’tevenknow

ifsherealizesit,butwe’vestartedtocreateahometogether.I’veevenconvinced
hertomoveherstuffintomyroomsothatwecanstartturninghersintoanursery.

Thosedamnwallsofhersarestillup,andIwantmorethanshe’sreadytogive

me.Butfornow,whatwe’redoingisworking.

“It’sagift,”Isay,movingaroundthetable,andkissingher.Openit.”
Bitingherbottomlip,shepullstheboxoutofthebag,andgasps.
“It’saMacBookPro.”Iwrapmyarmsaroundhersothatherbackisagainst

mychest,andnuzzlemynoseinherhair,breathinginhersweetscent.“Ithought
youcoulduseanupgradeonthedinosaurthatyouhave.”

“Ican’tacceptthis.”Sheputstheboxbackonthetable.“It’sworthmorethanI

makeinanentiremonth.”

Apartofmewantstocorrecther.It’smorethanshedidmakeinamonth.I’ve

finallyconvincedhertogotakealeavefrombothjobs.Heronlyconditionwas
thatshestillvolunteerattheAnimalSheltereachweek.

“Nowthatyouhavesomefreetime,Ithoughtyoumightliketowritesome

more.Youcanbarelygetontheinternetwiththatoldthing.”

“Itoldyou,I’mnotwritinganymore.”Shefrowns,lookingaway.
“Thatwasbefore.”
“Beforewhat?”
Igripherchinandplantahardkissonherlips,thenpullbackwithasmirk

“Beforeme.”

Shelaughsandshakesherhead.
“IthinkI’vegivenyousomenewwritingmaterial.”Iwink,andtiphernose

playfully.

“Youhave.”Herlipstwitchup,hereyessparkling.
Ilovethatsmile.Theonewhensheallowsherselfamomenttosetasideher

fear.Itdoesn’thappenveryoften,butwhenitdoesitdoessomethinginsideofme.

“Icangiveyouafewmorethingstowriteaboutrightnow.”Ipullheragainst

mychest,andrakemyteethacrossthesoftskinbelowherear,andfeelher
tremble.

BeingwithLayla,spendingtimewithher,isthebestthingintheworld.But

God,thesex–it’sbeyondanythingI’veeverexperienced.Maybebecausemy
emotionsareinvolved.Idon’tknow.Ijustknowthateverytimewemakelove,
it’slikethefirsttime.Pure,eroticpleasure,mixedwithrawemotions.The
combinationisuntaintedrapture.

“You’rechangingthesubject.”Hervoiceisahalfwhimperasmyhandsand

mouthstrokeacrosshersensitiveskin.

“Maybe,”Ismile.“ButIhavesomethingelsetoshowyou.”
Anotherfrowntugsatherlips.Shehatesgiftsandsurprises,butI’mpraying

she’lllovethisone.

“Whatisit?”Hereyesnarrowsuspiciously.
“ComeonandI’llshowyou.”Itakeherhand,pullinghertothebackstairwell

thatleadstothebasementandopenthedoor.

“You’refinallygoingtoletmeseeyournewmancave?”
IchuckleatthesmalllieI’dtoldhertokeepherawayfromtheconstruction.

“Closeyoureyes.”

“I’mnotgoingtoclosemyeyesandwalkdownthestairs.”
“AndI’mnotgoingtoletyoufall.Nowcloseyourdamneyes.”
ShesighslikeI’vejustaskedhertocleanthetoilets,orsomethingequallyas

terrible,butfinallysubmits.

“Keepthemclosed,”Iwarn,takingherelbowsandleadingherdown,pastthe

laundryroom,andopeningthedouble,barnstyledoorsthatleadtothemainliving
area.

Flickingonthelights,Iinhalemyownshakybreathanddragmyfingers

throughmyhair,hopingtohellthatshe’snotgoingtobepissedaboutthis.

“Well?”sheasks,eyesstillclosed.
“Okay.Openthem.”
Sheblinks,once,twice,thenhereyeswidenasshetakesintheroom.Thefull

oakbookshelvesthatlineeverywall,theextrawidearmchairthatsitsinthe
corner,andtheantiquedeskwithitsergonomicleatherchair.

“It’salibraryoranoffice.Whateveryouwantittobe,”Isay,watchingheras

sheslowlystartstowalkaroundtheroom,fingersbrushingthespinesofthe
books.“Ithoughtyou’dliketohaveyourownspace.Somewhereforyoutoread,

orwrite,orwhateveryouwanttodo.Thecomputerisonlythefinishingtouch.”

Sheturnsandblinksatme,browsdrawndown.“Youdidallthis?Forme?”
Thereitis,thelookthatsaysshedoesn’tthinkshedeservesit.
Iremovethedistancebetweenusandplacemyhandsonhershoulders.“Yes.

Andthisisn’tsomethingIcantakeback,sodon’teventhinkaboutarguingwith
me.”

Shelaughs,buttherearetearsinhereyes.
“Doyoulikeit?Ihadaninteriordecoratorchoosethecolor,butifyou–”
“It’sperfect.”Herarmslift,wrappingaroundmyneck,andshestandsonher

toestokissme.“Thankyou,”shesaysagainstmylips.“Noonehaseverdone
anythinglikethisforme.Iloveit.”

ThankGod.Ibreatheoutaheavysighofrelief.
Shekissesmeagain,thistimeharderandlonger,andherhandsskimdownmy

chest,thensnakeundermyshirt.

“Ithoughtyouhadtovolunteertoday.”Ichuckle,seeingtheintentinhereyes.
“Icanbeafewminuteslate,”shegrinsupatme,hertouchinstantlymakingme

hard.

Webothfrownwhenthedoorbellrings.
“Areyouexpectinganyone?”
Sheshakesherhead.
“Okay,I’llgetit.”
“Carter?”shesays,stoppingmebeforeIcanmakeitthroughthedoubledoors.

“Thankyou.”

Ismile,myheartswelling,knowingthefactthatsheaccepteditisahugestep.

Thedoorbellringsafewmoretimesinanimpatientmanner.Igrumbleandmake
mywayupthestairs,readytogivewhoever’sontheothersideofthedooran
earful.

“Kira?”IfrownwhenItakeinthewoman’sworried,almostfrenzied

appearance.“Iseverythingallright?”

“IsLaylahere?”sheasks,steppingintothehousewhenIopenthedoorwider.
“She’sdownstairs.I’llgether.”Aweirdfeelingsettlesinthepitofmy

stomachwhenIcalldownforLaylatocomeup.It’slikethatmomentbefore
somethingbadhappens.Youknowit’scoming,butthere’snothingyoucandoto
stopit.

IjusthopeI’mwrong.
“What’swrong?”Laylamustfeelittoo,becauseherfacepales,andthatfear

that’salmostconstantlyinhereyes,buthasbeendissipatingthesepastcouple
months,isback,full-force.

“Youweren’tansweringyourphone.I’vebeentryingtocallyouforthelast

hour,”Kirasays,shufflingfromonefoottotheother.

“Itmustbeturnedoff.Areyouokay?IsitMax?”
I’massumingMaxistheboyfriendIstillhaven’tmet.
“No.”Kirashakesherhead.“I’msorry,Layla.”
Layladoesn’tmove,notevenafractionofaninch,butIcanalmostseeherself

startingtoshutdown.

“It’syourmom.”Kiralooksatme,thenbackatLayla.“Shehadastroke.She’s

alive,butit’s…reallybad.”

Asmall,sharpbreathisheronlyreaction.I’mbehindhernow,handsonher

shoulder,butshedoesn’tleanbackagainstmelikeshenormallydoes.Justholds
herselfstiff,herunevenbreathingtheonlyindicationthatshe’supset.

“When?”
“Twodaysago.I’msorry.Ijustfoundout.She’satUniversityHospitalin

Rosedale.”

“Comeon.I’lldrive.”
Laylashakesherhead,staringvacantlyataspotonthewall.“Ican’tgo.”
“It’syourmom,”Kirasays.“Whateverdifferencesyouhad.Theydon’tmatter

rightnow.”

SomethingpassesbetweenthemthatIdon’tunderstand.Alookthatspeaksof

secretsandregrets.

There’sstillsomuchIdon’tknowabouther,oraboutherfamily.Whyshe

neverseesthem,oranyoneotherthanKira,forthatmatter.

It’slikeshe’sallaloneintheworld.Lost.Afraid.AndIwanttoknowwhy.
“Kira’sright.”IcupLayla’sfaceinmyhands,andsheblinksbacktearswhen

shelooksupatme.

“Youdon’tunderstand.”Hergazeisonthefloor,onanythingbutme.
“You’reright.Idon’tknowwhathappenedbetweenyoutwo.ButIdoknow

you’llregretnotseeingherifshedoesn’tmakeitthroughthis.”

Silencestretchesbetweenus.
“Yourmomwouldwanttoseeyou,”Kirafinallysays.“Icancome–”
“No.”Closinghereyes,Laylarubshertemples.
“I’lltakeyou.”Ibrushherhairawayfrownhercheek.“AndIpromiseIwon’t

leaveyourside.Whenmyparentsdied,I’dbeeninanargumentwithmyDad.It

destroyedmethatthelastwordsIhadwithhimwerespokenoutofanger.”

“Thedifferenceisyourparentslovedyou,andI’msuretheyknewhowmuch

youlovedthem.”

“Allparentslovetheirchildren.Somejusthaveamoredifficulttimeshowing

it.”

Shechucklesdarkly,thesoundsendingachilldownmyspine.
“Allright.I’llgoifyoureallythinkIshould.”
Ikissherforehead.“Ido.”
Shegivesmeasmallnod,butwhenIseethepanicandshamecloudingher

eyesasshestartstowardsthedoor,IwonderifImadetherightdecision
convincinghertogo.

Chapter21

Layla

Myentirebodyisshakingaswetaketheelevatoruptothefifthfloor.Notthe
smalltremblesthatIfeelwhenCartertouchesme,butfulloutshakesthatIcan’t
control.Iballmyfingersintofists,andbitetheinsideofmycheekhard,tryingto
makeitlessnoticeable,butI’mprettysureeveryone,includingCartercanseemy
fear.

Ihatethatafteralltheseyearsmyparentscanstilldothattome.Turnmeintoa

frightenedchild.

“It’llbeallright.”Carter’sarmisaroundmyshoulder,steadyingme.
Iknowit’sabadideabringinghimhere,butI’veneverneededhimmorethanI

dorightnow.

“SusanHarper’sroom?”Carterasksthenurseatthecounter.
Shelooksathercharts,thensays,“Seconddoorontheright.”
I’mnotsurehowmyfeetkeepmoving,buttheydo.
It’sbeensevenyearssinceI’veseenmyparents.Nocalls.Noletters.Even

aftertheyknewwhereIwas,theynevertriedtocontactme.

AndI’mnotsurehowthey’regoingtorespondseeingmenow.That’sifmy

momisevenconsciousenoughtoknowwhoIam.FromthewayKiramadeit
sound,shedoesn’thavelong.

AsfrightenedasIam,I’mgladthatCarterconvincedmetocome.I’venever

stoppedmissingmymom.Andhe’sright,I’dbedevastatedifInevergotthe
chancetosaygoodbye.

Butthen,whatiftheydon’twantmehere?MyDadisabigman.Notasbigas

Carter,buthecarrieshimselfwithalltheself-righteousnessandarroganceofa
manwhoputshimselffaraboveothers.

Idoubtthat’schanged.Andifithasn’t,whoknowswhatkindofscenehe’ll

make.Whathe’llsay.

“Ishouldn’tbehere.”Istopoutsidetheroomthenursesaidwasmymom’s,

coldnessseepingthroughmyveins.

“I’llberightbyyourside.”Hishandtakesmineandhegivesasmall

reassuringsqueeze.

Withaheavybreath,Ipushopenthedoor.

It’sasingleroom,onebed,andatfirstIthinkthenursemusthavegivenusthe

wrongroom,becauseIbarelyrecognizethewomaninthebed.

Herhair,oncealightashybrown,isnowalmostpuresilver.Andthereare

deeplinesinherfacethatweren’ttherebefore.Tubesandwiresareeverywhere.
Inhernose,herthroat,herarm.Butwhatreallydistortsherfeaturesisthatone
sideofherfacelooksoff,almostslack,givingheranasymmetricalappearance.

Thisisn’tmymom.Itcan’tbe.
AshiverracesdownmyspineasIstareather,unabletomoveforward.
ThewomanIknewwasstrong.Stern.Unbending.Buttheoneinthebedis

weak,fragile,ashadowofwhosheoncewas.

Iswallowhard,wantingtoturnandrunoutoftheroom.ButCarterisbehind

me,hishandpressedonmyback,givingmethestrengthtomoveforward.

“Mom?”Blinkingbacktears,Itakeafewstepsandstandbesidethebed.

Takingherfrailhandinmine,Isay,“Mom.It’sme.Layla.”

Herskinissopaleit’salmosttransparent,herveinsblueandexposed.
Ican’thelpthetearsthatstarttorolldownmycheeks.Sevenyearsofbuilt-up

regret,angerandgrief,rushesthroughmeinatidalwaveofemotions.

“I’msosorry,”thewordscomeoutinasob.
Hereyes,orrathereye,becausetheotheronedoesn’tseemtobeworking

properly,fluttersopen.

There’srecognitionthere.Iseeitinherexpression.Andshesqueezesmy

hand,sofaintit’sbarelynoticeable.ButInoticeandgivesmeasmallsliverof
hope.

“Hi,Mom,”Icroakout,myvoiceshaky.
Throughthetubesinherthroat,shetriestosaysomething.
“Don’ttrytospeak.”Ikissherforehead,stillholdingherhandandchokeback

asob.“I’vemissedyousomuch.I’msosorry.Foreverything.”

Asingletearslidesdownhercheek,andIwipeitawayforher.
“Iloveyou.”
Sheblinksthreetimes.Idon’tknowifit’smeanttomeananything,butItakeit

ashersayingthosewordsbacktome.WordsthatshebarelyeversaidwhenIwas
younger.

Itwasgoodtocome.Mychestswells,becauseIdon’tseeanyoftheangeror

animositythathadbeeninhereyesthelasttimewe’dbeentogether.AllIseeis
lovereflectedthere.

“I’msorryIdidn’tcometovisitsooner–”

“Whatisthis?”Adeep,baritonelacedwithloathing,rumblesthroughthe

smallroom.

Dreadtricklesdownmyspine.
Carterimmediatelygoesintofightmode.Iseeitinhisstance.“She’sjust

visiting.Wedon’twantanytrouble–”

“Trouble?”Hebarks.“That’sallthatgirlis.Trouble.”
Knowingthespecialmomentwasover,Iplacemymom’shandbackonthe

bed,andturnandmeetmyfather’sglarewithoneofmyown.

Hisfaceisred,lipsdrawnupinascowl.Whenhiseyesdroptothebarely

concealedroundingofmystomach,alookofpuredisgustwashesoverhis
features.

“Youtaintyourmother’sdeathbedwithyourpresence.Getoutofhere!”
“Icameto–”
“Isaid,getoutofhere.Now.”Hetakesastepforwardandlookslikehe’s

abouttophysicallyremovemeifIdon’tdowhathesays,butCarterstepsinfront
ofhim,shieldingme.

ThemonitorsthatarehookeduptomyMomstarttobeepfaster.
“Can’tyouseeyou’reupsettingherbybeinghere.”Hepushespastus,then

walksaroundthebedandtakesmymother’shand.

“Sir,”Cartersays,hisfrustrationbarelycontained.“We’renotheretocause

trouble.Laylaonlywantedtoseehermother.Youcanunderstandthat.”

“Dad,please.”
“Donotcallmethat.I’mnotyourfather.You’renothingtome.Justalittle

whorewhocan’tkeepherlegsclosed.”

“Youhavenorighttospeaktoherlikethat.”Forasecond,IthinkthatCarter

mighthithim.Hisfingersaretightfists,andhisnostrilsflare,hisbreathing
ragged.

“Andyou.”HelooksatCarter,andIcanseehimtakinginthetattoos,his

scruff,thewayhe’sdressed.“You’retheheathenthatgotherknockedupagain?”

Carter’sbrowsgodownasheprocessesmyfather’swords.Orrathertheone

word–again.

Iwanttocry.Torun.Tolockmyselfinaroomandnevercomeout.First,I

needtogetawayfromhere.

“Carter.”Iplaceahandonhisarm.“Let’sgo.”
Hecontinuestogloweratmyfather,likehe’sstilldebatingwhethertotakea

shotathim.Theystareateachotherforalong,tensemoment,untilthedooropens.

Anursecomesin,frowningwhenshelooksbetweenusall.“Iseverythingall

rightinhere?”

“No.”Myfatheryells.“Iwantthemoutofhere.Callsecurityifyouhaveto.”
Idon’tevenwaittohearthenurse’sreaction.Irushoutoftheroom,noteven

lookingbacktoseeifCarterisfollowingme,becauserightnow,Idon’tcare.

AllIcareaboutisgettingthehelloutofthisdamnhospital.
Itdoesn’ttakelongbeforeCartercatchesup,buthedoesn’treachformyhand

likehenormallydoes,insteadhestaysanarmlengthback,andwhenIglance
back,hisexpressionisdarkerthanI’veeverseen.

Hedoesn’tsayaword,evenwhenwegetontheemptyelevator,oraswe

walktotheparkinggarage.

Angerseemstovibrateoffofhim,andeventhepeoplearoundusseemto

notice,practicallyjumpingtogetoutofhiswayaswepass.

He’sfurious.Andhehaseveryrighttobe.Ican’tevenimaginewhathethinks

ofmerightnow.

Thisisthemoment,theoneI’vebeendreadingallalong.Whenthisperfect

littlefairytaleI’vecreatedwithhimcomescrashingdownaroundme.

Fearwindsaroundmywindpipe,makingitdifficulttobreathe.
Iknewhewouldreactthiswayifhefoundout.Knewitwouldruineverything.
WhenI’minthecar,andhe’sbesideme,Isayshakily,“Ishouldhavetold

you–”

“Notnow,Layla.”
Thosethreewordsconfirmmyfear.
It’sover.

Chapter22

Carter

Ishutthefrontdooralittletoohardbehindmeandthesoundresonatesthroughthe
house.

Laylawinces,butshedoesn’tsayanything,juststartsupthestairstowardsthe

bedrooms.

Ilethergo,becauseIneedsometimetoprocesseverythingthatjusthappened.

IknowIshouldgotoher.Comforther.ButrightnowI’mtoofuckingangrytodo
anythingbutpace,andmaybesmashmyhandsthroughawall.

Ittookallofmystrengthnottohittheman.
Themanwasright,hewasn’therfather.Becausenorealfatherwouldever

treattheirchildthewayhetreatedLayla.Idon’tcarewhatkindoftroubleshegot
herselfintowhenshewasyounger.

Rubbingmytemple,Ileanagainstthekitchencounterandtrytoprocesswhat

themanhadsaid.

Laylahadbeenpregnantbefore.Thatmuchisobvious.Alotofthingsmake

sensenow.AndyetIknowthere’ssomuchmoretothestory.AndIneedtoknow.
Ineedtoknowwhatshe’sbeenholdingback,notbecauseitwillchangeanything,
butbecauseIthinkit’sthekeytoherfinallylettinggoofthepainshe’sholding
onto.

Itakethestairs,myfootstepsheavy,andtrytoreleasethetensionthat’sstill

insideofme,spinningaroundlikeamoltenlavareadytoexplode.

Deepbreath.
Thisisn’taboutyou.Thisisaboutherandherassholeparents.
Shewon’ttellmeanythingifIwalkintherelikearagingbulldemanding

answers.

Iknockonce,thenopenthedoor,freezingwhenIseethehalf-filledsuitcaseon

herbed.“Whatareyoudoing?”

Sheflinches,butdoesn’tturnaround,justcontinuestopullitemsoutofher

drawer.

“Layla,stop.”Igrabherwristsgently.“Don’trunfromme.”
“I…”Shesucksinashakybreathandlooksaway.
Takingtheclothesinherhand,Iplacethemonthebed,thenpullherintomy

arms.Herbodyistense,everymusclelikesteel.IrubherbackuntilIfeelher
slowlyrelax.

“IknowIshouldhavetoldyou.”Hervoiceisshaky,andIcanhearhowhard

she’stryingtoholdbackheremotions.“Ijustdidn’twantyoutoseeme…likethey
do.”

Ituckmythumbunderherchinandforceherfaceup,butshekeepshereyes

closed.“Lookatme,Layla.”

Slowly,herlashesflutteropen,andshemeetsmygaze.
MychesttightenspainfullyatwhatIseethere.
Shame.
Hurt.
Regret.
“I’mnotjudgingyouforwhathappenedinthepast.”
“But…”Sheblinkshard,hermouthtighteninginathinline,andshakesher

head.“Youweresoangry.”

“Notatyou,sweetheart.”Ipressmylipsagainstherforehead,andrestthere

forafewminutes,tryingtoregainmycomposure.“Hehadnorighttospeaktoyou
thewayhedid.Nooneeverhasthatright.”

Hersmallhandsareballedintofistsonmychest.Sheshakesherhead,andI

canfeelalltheemotionsshe’stryingsodesperatelytoholdinoozingtothe
surface.

“Comehere.”Imovethesuitcase,placingitonthefloor,thensitdownonthe

bedandholdmyhandoutforher.

Shejuststaresatitforalongmoment,beforegraduallymovingtowardsme,

eyesdowncast.Whenshesits,it’sontheedgeofthebed,farenoughawayfrom
methatwe’renottouching.

“I’msorryIpushedyoutogotoday.”
“Youdidn’tknow.”Herfingerspickataninvisiblethreadonherpants.
“Doyouwanttotellmenow?”
Hereyescloseandshesighsheavily.Foralongtimeshedoesn’tsayanything,

andthesilenceispainfulasIwatchallsortsoftorturedemotionscrossher
beautifulface.

Finally,hermouthopensandshesaysquietly,“IwasfourteenwhenIstarted…

seeingJames.”

Itrymybestnottoreact,butIseeherwincewhenmybreathcomesoutalittle

tooheavy.

“I’dalwaysbeentaughtthatitwasasintobewithanyonebeforemarriage.

AndIbelievedit.”Hervoiceismonotonous,hergazestaringblanklyataspoton
thewallasshesaysthewordslikeshe’stellingsomeoneelse’sstory,withasort
ofdetachment.“Ididn’trebel.Iwasagooddaughter.”Hermouthcurlsslightlyin
acynicalsmile.“Didmychores,gotgoodgrades,nevertalkedbacktomy
parents.DidallthethingsIwassupposedtodo.”

There’smoresilence,andIcanfeelhershuttingdown.
“Howdidyoumeethim?”Iask,hopingtokeephertalking.
“James?”Sheshakesherheadandlaughsdarkly.“Churchifyoucanbelieveit.

HewastheleaderoftheYouthGroupIwasinvolvedwith.”Shecloseshereyes
again.“Wewerefriends.OrIthoughtwewere.I’dalwayshadahugecrushon
him.Allthegirlsdid.Hewaspartoftheworshipteam.Kindofarockstarinthe
community.Andbeingolder,Ikindofidolizedhim.”

“Howmucholder?”Mystomachconstricts,alreadyknowingI’mnotgoingto

likeheranswer.

“Twenty-four.”
“Shit.”Idragmyfingersthroughmyhair,freshangerburninginmychest.

“Andyouwerefourteen.”

Shenods,browspressedtightlytogether.
Ihavetoaskthequestioneatingaway.“Didheforceyou?”
“No.”Herexpressionishardnow,almostnumb.“IknewwhatIwasdoing.”
“Atfourteen,Idoubtit.”
Sheshrugs.“Iwasoldenoughtoknowbetter,buttooyoungtoknowhowto

reallyprotectmyself.”

“And…”Igrindmybackteethtogether.“Hedidn’tuseanything?”
“Iknowitsoundsstupid,butIdon’tknow.Itonlyhappenedafewtimes.After

thathestartedactingweirdaroundme.Ithinkheknewitwaswrong.”

“Ofcoursehefuckingknewitwaswrong,hewasagrownmanandyouwerea

child.”

ShepullsintoherselfandIimmediatelyregretlosingmytemper.
“You’reright,”shesaysquietly.“Butnooneelsesawitthatway.Especially

notmyparents.AndwhentheyfoundoutthatIwas…”

Godthepaininhereyesisguttingme.
“Youwerepregnant?”Iknowit’swhatshewantstotellme,whatIalready

know.ButIcanseehowpainfulitisforhertosaytheword,soIofferitforher.

“I’djustturnedfifteen.Itwasmymomwhorealizeditfirst.Iwastoostupid,

toonaivetoseethechangesinmybody.Bythetimeshetookmetotheabortion
clinic,Iwastoofaralongtoterminatethepregnancy.Thefunnything…”She
chucklesdarkly,butthere’snohumorthere.“Isthatwe’dstoodoutsidethatsame
clinicmultipletimeswithourchurchprotestingwomen’srights.Butshehadno
problemkillingherowngrandchildinordertoprotectherpreciousimage.”

There’stheangerthatshouldbethere.Theangershe’sbeenholdingback,

trappedunderallherownguiltandshame.

“Ithoughtshe’dsendmeaway.Youknow,tooneofthoseplacestheysend

pregnantgirls.”Hereyesarevacant,andshestaresaheadrelivingwhatever
nightmareshewentthough.“Withoutalegaloption,myparentstookiton
themselvesto…terminatethepregnancy.”

Everymuscleinmybodytenses.
Whatthefuckdoesthatmean?
Asickfeelingsettlesoverme.
“Whatdidtheydo?”
Herlipstightenandshelooksatmethen.“Doyoureallywanttoknow?”
“Yes.”Ihavetobitethewordout,becausethere’sapartofmethatdoesn’t.A

partofmethatknowsImaynotbeabletoholdbackmyangerifIdo.“Tellme.I
wanttoknoweverything.”

Ineedtoknoweverything.It’stheonlywayshe’llevertrulybeabletomove

on.Ifweworkthroughthesethingstogether.

“Mymothertrieddifferentherbs.Highdosesoflaxatives.Scaldingbaths.

Noneofthemworked.Onlymademesick.”Sherubsherarmsandshivers.“My
fatherfinallytookthingsintohisownhands.”

Fuck.
Shegoesquiet.Tooquiet.
“Layla?”
Hereyesareblank,clouded,cold.ThisiswhereIdon’twanthertobe.As

muchasIhateseeingherinpain,it’sbetterthatsheletitallout.

“Tellme.”It’snotarequest,becausethedistanceshe’sputbetweenusright

now,Iknowshe’llonlyrespondtomydemand.

There’salongdragofsilence,thenshesays,“Hehitme.”
That’swhatIwasafraidof.ThereisnowayinhellI’mgoingtobeableto

holdbackonthemanifIeverseehimagain.

“Nothinghappenedthefirsttime.Orthesecond.”She’sshiveringnow,andit’s

takingallmystrengthnottopullherintomyarms,buteverytimeIevenmovea

fractionofahairtowardsher,sheflinches.“Bythethirdday,Istartedtobleed.
EvenwhenIwascontracting,whenthe…babywasbeingexpelledfrommybody,
heforcedmetokneelattheedgeofmybedandprayforforgiveness.”

“MyGod,Layla.”ColdnesssettlesovermeandIhavetoblinkbackthetears

thatstingmyeyes.

“Godhadnothingtodowithit.”Herwordsarefilledwithacid.
“No.You’reright.”
Iunderstandnowwhythischildissoimportanttoher.Whyshewouldn’teven

contemplategettingridofit.NotthatI’deverwantedherto.Butinsomewaysit
wouldhavemadethingseasier.Itjustwouldhavedestroyedherintheprocess.

“Andafterwards?”Iask,tryingtokeephertalking.Thisisthemostshe’sever

openeduptome,andIdon’ttakeitlightly.

“Myparentstriedtokeepitasecret.Butpeopletalk.Someonemusthaveseen

usattheAbortionClinicbecausesoonthewholetownwastalkingaboutthe
Harper’ssluttydaughterwhoseducedtheYouthPastor.AfterthatIfellapart.”

Idon’tcarethatsheprotests,Ipullheragainstmychestandwrapmyarms

aroundhertightly.Shestrugglesagainstmyholdforafewseconds,beforefinally
submitting,andgoinglaxinmyarms.

“Thosepeoplearejudgmentalbastardsandyourparents…”Mybackteeth

clenchsohardIswearthey’regoingtocrack.“Whattheydidwas…criminal.”

“Iknowthatnow.”Sheshivers,andIseethegoosebumpsthatmarkherarms.

“MaybeIalwaysdid.WhenIwasstrongenough,Iran.”

“Atfifteen?”Irubherarms,tryingtoimaginemyselfatfifteen.There’snoway

inhellIwouldhavelastedaweekonmyown,letalonesevenyears.

“Ihaven’tseeneitherofmyparentsagainuntiltoday.”
Ifeellikesuchanassholerightnow.Pushinghertogo,aftereverythingthat

theydidtoher.

“Youshouldhavetoldme,Iwouldneverhavemadeyougo.”Threadingmy

fingerswithhers,Ibringherhandtomylipsandkisseachknuckle.

“No.Youwereright.Ineededtoseeheronelasttime.Iknowinherown

twistedwayshewastryingtoprotectme.”

Idon’tsaywhatIreallythink.Instead,Ijustholdher,andpressmylipsinto

herhair.

Thesoundoftheoldclockinthehallway,Layla’sshallow,unevenbreaths,are

theonlynoisesforalongtime.

“Ididn’tsleepwithanyoneelseuntilTravis,”shesays,shockingthehellout

ofme.“Iknowyouprobablywon’tbelieveme–”

“Ido.”Icupherchinandtwisttolookather.“Iknewwhoyouwerethefirst

dayIsawyou.Good.Pure.Innocent.”

Sheshakesherheadandsqueezeshereyestightly.“I’mnoneofthosethings.I

haven’tbeenforaverylongtime.”

Fattearsslidedownherface.
“Yes.”Idragmythumbsacrosshercheeks,wipingawayhertears.“Youare.

Noneofwhatyou’vetoldmechangesthat.”

“WhenIfoundoutIwaspregnantagain,Iwassoscared.ButthenIthought…

maybeitwasasecondchance.Iknowit’ssilly.I’mstillanunwedmotherhaving
anunplannedpregnancy,andIknowit’sgoingtochangeeverythinginmylife,but
thistimeIgetachoice.”

“It’snotsilly.Andyou’renotalone.”Ikissherforehead,hereyelids,her

nose,hermouth,needinghertoknowthatI’mnotgoinganywhere.ThatI’mhers,
justasmuchasshe’smine.

WhenIpressmymouthagainsthers,herlipsarehardagainstmine,buts

lowly,

shebeginstoreturnmykiss.Soonherbodyrelaxes,andIcanfeelthetensionmeltingaway.

“Marryme,”Imurmur,strokingherhair.
“What?”shepullsbackandfrowns.
“Marryme.Bemywife.”
Sheshakesherhead.“Why?AftereverythingItoldyou.”
“BecauseIloveyou.MorethanI’veeverlovedanyoneoranythinginmylife.

Iknowit’smessy,andthere’llbebumpsahead,butIwanttomakethisthingreal
betweenus.Legalandbinding.”

Herbrowsaredrawndown,andshe’sfrowningatme.NotthereactionIwas

hopingfor.

“You’reserious?”
“MoreseriousthanI’vebeenaboutanythinginmylife.”Iplacemyhandon

herstomach.“AndIwantthischildtobemine.”

Shetiltsherhead,gazenarrowing.“Carter–”
“Listentomebeforeyousayanything.Travishasalreadysignedthepapers.

There’snothingstoppingmefromclaimingthechildasmine.”Twiningour
fingers,Irestmyforeheadagainsthers.“We’llbeafamily.”

Herlipspartandhereyesclose.Shewhispers,“You’retoogoodtome.”
There’sanacheinmychestthatwarnsmeshe’sgoingtosayno.That’sshe’s

stillgoingtorunfromme.

“Ijust…”
Shit.Hereitcomes.Whateverexcuseshe’smadenowtoreaffirmher

delusionalideathatshe’snotworthyofmore.

Sheexhalesanunevenbreath.“Ithinkit’sbest–”
“Okay.”Frustrationseepsintomyvoice,constrictingmythroat.
I’maconfidentguy.Maybeevenvergingonarrogant.ButIcan’thelpthe

insecuritiesthatcreepunwarrantedintothebackofmymind.

Maybeshedoesn’tfeelthesamewayaboutme.Maybethere’sapartofher

thathopesTraviscomesback.Maybeshe’sjustwithmebecauseshe’safraidto
bealone.

Idragmyfingersthroughmyhairandleanbackagainsttheheadboard,thenrub

myeyes.

“I’msorry,”shemutters.
ThebestIcandorightnowisgiveheraweaksmile.Swingingmylegsover

thesideofthebed,Istarttostand,“I’llgomakeussomethingtoeat.”

“Wait.”Herfingerswraparoundmywrist,andsheblinksupatme,softbrown

eyesfullofalltheemotionshe’sholdingback.“Don’tgo.”

Shesitsontheedgeofthebed,andImovesothatI’mstandingbetweenher

legs,andherfingersimmediatelyhookaroundthebeltloopsofmyjeans.

Brushingmyknucklesacrosshercheek,Isigh,“Youhaven’teatensince

lunch.”

“I’mnothungry.”Shechewsonherbottomlip,thensays,“Ijust…needyou.”
That’sasmuchofanadmissionasshe’severgivenme.“Youhaveme.”
Herfingersmovetomybelt,unhookingit.
“Layla,”Igrowl,handsmovingtoherhair,whenIseetheintentinhereyes.I

knowheremotionsareallovertheplace,butIunderstandherneed.Ifeelittoo.
Theneedtoreconnect,emotionallyandphysically.Theneedtoknowthat
everythingisallrightbetweenus.

SheistheairthatIbreathe.Withouther,IamcertainIwouldceasetoexist.If

beingwithhermeansonlygettinghalfofherheart,thenit’sthewayit’sgoingto
havetobe.Becausethere’snowayinhellIcanwalkaway.

Andmaybethemarriagethingisjustmywayofmakingsureshecan’teither.
Igroanasherhandsworkmyjeansandboxerbriefsovermyhips,andmy

cockspringsfree,alreadyhardandheavywithwantingher.

Myhearthammersinmychestwhenshelooksupatme.God,thoseeyes.So

fuckingexpressive.AndtheytellmeeverythingIneedtoknow.Shemaynotbe

abletosayityet,butshecaresaboutme,maybeevenlovesme.AndIsureashell
knowshewantsme.

Herfingerswraparoundthelonglengthofmyerectionandshelicksherlips,

beforeherwarmmouthtakesmein.Shebracesherselfwithonehandholdingonto
myhipashertongueflicksthesensitiveundersideofmycock.

“Youhavenoideawhatyoudotome,”Igroan,cuppingherfaceasshetakes

medeeperintohersweetlittlemouth,andmyballsdrawuptighttomybody.

Watchingherispure,eroticbliss.
“Comehere,”Igrowlout,pullingherhairbackgently,somycockslidesfrom

hermouthwithalittlepop.

Shestandsup,andIhelpherwhenshestartstopullatmyshirt,reachingback

andpullingitovermyhead.

Herfingersinstantlygototheinkonmychest,liketheyalwaysdo,thenshe

looksup,eyesbrimmingwithemotion.“Iloveyou,Carter.”

Iswear,myheartstopsinmychest,andtimestandsstill.
Nothreewordshaveeversoundedbetter,butIcanseethe‘but’formingonher

lips.

Icapturethewordwithmymouthbeforeithasachancetoescape.Iwon’tlet

herruinthismomentwithherfears.

Thismomentismine.
Shelovesme.Partofmealreadyknewit.Buttohearhersayitdoessomething

insideofme.Bothplacatingandspurringonthebestthatwantstopossessand
consumeher.

Irunmyfingersdownthecurveofherneck.Sheshiversandmakesthe

sweetestnoise.Amixbetweenamoanandasigh.Thesoundhasmyballs
tighteningsohard,mycockthrobswithneed.

Ineedhernaked.Needherbaredtome.Needtonotjusthearthewords,but

feeltheminhertouch.

Chapter23

Layla

Oncethewordsareoutofmymouth,Iknowthere’snotakingthemback.I’ve
nevertoldanyone,exceptmyparents,thatIlovethem.Becauseuntilnow,Iknow
Ineverhave.Notreally.Notlikethis.

Carter’smouthisonme,stoppingmyargument,myreasoningwhythisthing

betweenuswillneverwork.Andrightnow,Idon’tcare.AllIcareaboutishis
touch.Thefeelofhisskinagainstmine.Theneedtobefilledwithsomethingother
thanthepainthat’sbeensqueezingatmychestsinceweleftthehospital.

IknowI’musinghim,usingsextodriveawaythosedemonsfrommymind,but

it’sallIcandotostopfromfallingapartcompletely.

Roughfingersrakeacrossmyskinashequicklyundressesme,hisowndesire

evidentinthetightnessofhisfeatures,andtheurgencyofhiskiss.

“Sayitagain,”hegrowls,whenwe’rebothstandingnaked,histhick,

throbbingerectionpressingagainstmystomach.

“Iloveyou.”It’seasierthistime,anddoesn’tcomeoutsoundingasforced.
Hismouthcrashesdownonmine,demandingandpossessive.
Ipressagainsthisstrong,muscularchestandIlosemyselfinhismouth.His

tonguesnakesbetweenmylipsandittakesallthatIhavenottolosemyself
completelyinhim.

Itwouldbeeasytogiveupcontrol.Lethimhavemeineveryway.Heart.

Body.Mind.Soul.

Marryme.Thosewordstremblethroughme.
ThemomentIfoundoutIwaspregnant,IgaveupallhopethatI’deverfind

someonewhowouldwantme,letalonemarryme.

God,Iwantit.Iwantallthepromisesanddreamshe’soffering.Butthere’s

stillapartofmethatknowsnomatterhowgoodhisintentionsare,hewouldn’tbe
askingmetomakethatcommitmentifIweren’thavingababy.

Maybeitshouldn’tmatter.Butitdoes.
“Stopthinking,”hemurmursinmyear,grabbingmyhipsasheturnsandsitson

theedgeofthebed,pullingmedownsothatI’mstraddlinghim,mykneesagainst
hiships.

Hiserectionstrainsagainstme,andIcanpracticallyfeelitpulsatingagainst

mystomach.

Iwrapmyarmaroundhisshoulders,andpressmyforeheadagainsthis,taking

afewdeepbreaths.

“I’vegotyou,sweetheart,”hesayssoftly,kissingmyneck,jaw,andlips.His

scruffisscratchyandwonderfullyroughagainstmyskin.“Justletgo.”

Onelargepalmrunsupmyback,theothersupportsmyweight,grippingmy

hipasIbegintogrindagainsthim,thefrictioncausinghimtogroan.

He’sholdingbacknow,waitingforme.
I’malreadywetforhim,andwhenIliftmyselfonmykneesandnudgeagainst

thethickheadofhiscock,thelastbitofrestraintthat’sholdingmebackreleases.

Withagaspofpleasure,Idigmyfingersintohishairandslidedownonhim,

allowinghimtofillmecompletely.

Burningpleasureripplesthroughme,andalowgutturalgroanvibratesfrom

Carter’schest.Hisfingerstighten,diggingintomyflesh,holdingmestillashe
kissesme,givingmetimetoadjusttohissize.

“Youhavenoideawhatyoudotome.”Hisbreathingisharsh,hiswords

thickenedwithdesire.“Ifyoudid,youwouldneverhaveanydoubts.”

Ikisshimbackhard,mychestclenchingathiswords,searingmyemotions.

Histeethnip,catchingmylowerlip,thenstrokinghistongueoveritwithateasing
lick.

Hismouthremainsonmine,onehandsupportingmeashemovesusbackon

thebed.He’sstillinsideofme,throbbingagainstmywalls,andmyclitpulsesand
aches,demandingfriction.

Palmspressedonhisstrongshoulders,Istarttomove,slowlyatfirst,small,

grindingstrokes,thatonlyaddfueltothegrowingfirebuildingbetweenus.

Hetiltshisheadup,catchingmybreastinhismouth,nippingandlicking,

sendingpulsesofelectricitytomycore.

Eachtouchisspikedwithlustandlove,amixturethatcreatesaninfernoof

heatthatbuildswithinme,blazingacrossmyskin.

Desperationfillsme,andImovefaster,demandingmore.He’sbothtenderand

demanding,pushingmeovertheedge.

“Carter,”Icryout,myheadtiltingback,eyesclenchingshut,allowinghis

touchtodrivemydemonsbacktothedarkestpitofmyselfwheretheybelong.

Hemoveswithme,hishipsthrustingup,hishandsguidingmymovementsto

theperfectrhythmwe’vecreated.

Thisishappiness.AndIletmyselffeelit.Reallyfeelit.Withoutallthe

anxietyandfearthatusuallyholdsmeback.

Mybodyexplodesaroundhim,waveafterwaveofintensepleasurebursting

throughme,blindingme.Astrangledsounderuptsfromthedeepestpartofme,
andI’mfalling,mybodyweightless,andyetfilledwithsuchcompleteecstasythat
Idon’tcareifIevercomedownfromtheincrediblehigh.

Insideofme,Ifeelhishardrelease,hearhisgutturalmoanashisorgasmsends

onelastintenserippleofpleasurethroughmycore.

Spentandexhausted,Icollapseontopofhim,carefulnottoputtoomuch

pressureonmystomach.

Welaytherelikethatforashorttime,beforeIslowlyrolltomyside,allowing

himtowrapanarmaroundme.

“Iloveyou,”hewhispers,brushingmyhairawayfrommycheek.“Doyou

believemewhenItellyouthat?”

Inod,becauseIdo.Ijustdon’tknowifit’senough.
“Thankyouforthelibrary,”Isay,rememberingthegifthe’dgivenmethis

morning.

Hislipsliftinasmallgrin.“You’rewelcome.”
Runningmyfingersoverhischest,anothersurgeofwarmthspreadsthrough

me.Iknowwhatitis–hope.

“Aboutwhatyouaskedmeearlier…”
Hismusclestenseslightlyundermytouch.“Yeah?”
Ican’tgivehimtheanswerhewants.Notrightnow,butIwanttogivehim

something.“Maybe…”

Hepressesakissintomyhairandexhalesaheavybreath.
“Maybeisbetterthanno,”hesayslightly.
Inod,wishingIcouldgivehimmore.Becausewithhim,lifeisgood.Really

good.Thefairytale,happilyeveraftergood.Andit’sterrifyingthecrapoutofme.
BecauseonethingI’velearnedinmylife,theoneconstant,isthatdisasteris
alwayshidingjustaroundthecorner.

Chapter24

Carter

“Whatthefuck?”Adeep,gutturalcrypushesintomydreams.

Myentirebodyjoltsawake,adrenalinespikingthroughmyveins,preparing

metofightwhateverdangeriswaitingforme.

Isitup,blinkingharduntilmyeyesadjusttothemorninglight,andwhenIdo,I

curseundermybreath,becauseTravisisstandingattheedgeofthebed,adeep
scowltwistinghisfeaturesasheglaresdownatLayla,whostirsbesideme.

ThebedcreeksasIstarttoshift.“Keepyourvoicedown.”
“Keepmyvoicedown?”herepeats,blinkingatmelikeI’minsane,hisface

blisteringwithrage.

“Go,”Isayquietly,butthewarningisstillthere.“We’lltalkdownstairs.”
“Areyoukiddingme?Iwanttoknowwhatthehellisgoingon.Rightnow,”he

yells,blueeyeswidewithafixofbewildermentandanger.

LaylacomesfullyawakeandshegaspswhenhergazefallsonTravis.Ican

practicallyseeallthefearthatI’vebeenworkingsohardtogetridofthesepast
monthsfillher.Sheclutchestheblanketstoherchest,andhereyesarewideasshe
staresbackatmybrother.

“Jesus,Layla.”Travisdragshisfingersthroughhislonghair,hisfaceredwith

anger.

Shesucksinanunevenbreath.“Travis,Ididn’tmean–”
“Youreallyareadirtylittleslut.Youcouldn’thavemycocksoyoujumpright

intobedwithmybrother.”

“Watchyourself,”Igrowl,grabbingmypantsfromthefloor,thenshovingmy

legsintothemasquicklyasIcan,needingtogethimthehellawayfromher.

Already,Icanseehershuttingdown.Hershoulderssag,andresignationfills

herexpression.

Travis’handsballintofistsathisside,buthisangerisonlydirectedatLayla.

“Howlongdidittakebeforeyouwerescrewinghim?Oneweek?Two?”

“Shutthefuckupbeforeyousaysomethingthatmakesmewanttohityoumore

thanIalreadydo.”

Travislooksatmethen,hisangerfixedatme,whereitshouldbe.“You’re

seriouslyfuckingher?”

“Downstairs,”Igrowlout,pointingtotheopendoor.“Now.”
“Unfuckingbelievable.”Heshakeshishead,stillscowling,butthankfullyhe

listenstome,turningandwalkingoutofthebedroomwithaseriesofcurses.

Iwinceatthesoundofhisheavyfootstepsastheyclompdownthestairs.
Layla’sfaceispale,hereyesvacant.Therearenotears,justahollownessthat

scarestheshitoutofme.

“It’sgoingtobeokay,”Isay,leaningoverthebedandplacingmyhandunder

herchin,forcinghertolookatme.

Noreaction.
Ipressmylipsagainsthers,butshedoesn’treturnmykiss.
“Letmedealwithhim.Juststayhere.”
Again,nothing.Justablankastarethatmakesmybloodgocold.
I’veneverwantedtohurtsomeonemoreinmylifethanIdoTravis,rightnow.
IshutmybedroomdoorbehindmewhenIleave,hopingit’llmufflethewords

thatI’mabouttohavewithmybrother.

Layladoesn’tneedordeservethisshitrightnow.Especiallynotwhenshe’sso

closetoherduedate.Anystresscouldcausehertogointolaboratanymoment.

Travisisinthelivingroom,andwhenheseesme,hestopshispacingand

pointshisfingeratme.“Doyouhaveanyideahowfuckedupthisis?”

“Justshutyourmouthandlisten.It’snotwhatyouthink.”
“Soyou’renotscrewingher?Youwerewhat?Havingalittleslumberparty

buttassnaked?”Thesarcasmdripsfromhiswords.

“I’minlovewithher.”
Thatshutshimup.Atleastforafewseconds,thenhegrowlsout,“Bullshit.I

comebackhere,wantingtomakethingsbetter.Todowhatyousaidandtake
responsibility,andyou’rewhat?Playinghousewiththemotherofmychild.”

“Youwalkedaway.”
“Icameback,”heshouts,fireblazinginhiseyes.“AndyouknewIwould.I

justneededtimetothink.Togetmyheadstraight.”

Hiswordsarelikeapunchtothegut.He’sright,therewasalwaysapartof

methatknewhe’dcomebackeventually.Becauseasselfishandegotisticalashe
is,he’snotacompleteasshole.Iknewthathissenseofobligationwould
eventuallyclickin.

Butthatdoesn’tmeanhelovesLayla,oreventhathewantsthekid.
Ido.Morethananythingelseintheworld.
“Youdon’twantthis.”Itrytokeepmytoneeven,mytemperincheck.“You

toldmeyourselfthatyouaren’tmatureenoughtohaveakid–”

“Soyouthoughtitwasyourobligationtostepinandtakemyplace?”
“Itwasn’tlikethat–”
“Right.Youloveher.”Helaughsdarkly.“Givemeabreak.”
“Idoloveher.AndI’mgoingtomakehermywife.”
Thatgetshisattention.Hiseyeswidenandhisfacedrainsofcolor.
“You’rekiddingme,right?”There’spanicinhisexpressionnow.“Youcan’t

dothat.Doyouknowhowmessedupthatwouldbe?”

“We’llmakeitwork.”
“Bullshit.”Hestartstopaceagain,fingersclenchingandunclenchinglikehe

wantstohitsomething.“This.You.Her.Allofitisfuckingbullshit.”

“You’retheonewholeft.NotLayla.Notme.Yougaveupyourrightstocome

stompinginhereonyourhighhorse,andpointingfingers.”

“It’smyfuckingkid.”
“You’reright.”Laylastandsonthefirststair,lightbrownhairpulledbackina

ponytail,herfittedt-shirtstretchedtautacrossherroundedstomach.Thedistress
inhervoicestrikesmehard,andIcanfeelthepaininherwordswhensheadmits,
“Itis.”

Iopenmymouthtoargue,thenclampitshut.
Mine.Everypossessiveboneinmybodyscreams.
Inarrowmyeyesather,prayingsheisn’tsayingwhatIthinksheis.
Travisstartstowardsher,andIhavetoholdmyselfbackfromtacklinghimto

theground.Iknowhewon’tlayahandonher,butitdoesn’tstopmefromnot
wantinghimanywherenearher.

“Whydidyoucomeback?”Laylaasks,allherfocusonTravis,herexpression

stillstoic.

“Tofixthings.”Hestandsafewfeetawayfromhernow,hisbacktome.“I

shouldn’thaveleft.Iknowthatnow.Ithought…Ithoughtwecouldtry.”Heshakes
hisheadfervently.“Butthisisjustinsane.”

Layladoesn’trespond,shejustwatcheshim,theonlyindicationofdistressthe

smallmuscleinherjawtwitching.

“Sowhathappens?Youtwogethitched,andthenI’mwhat?UncleTravis?”

Heturnsandlooksatmewithpurehatredinhiseyes.“Orarewebothgoingto
playDaddy?”Helaughsandthrowshishandsup.“That’llbefunexplainingto
people.”

“YouthinkIgivetwoshitswhatpeoplethink?”Isay,thetruthnotasclearcut.

BecausethefactisIdon’twantTravisinthischild’slife.Iknowhowfucking
selfishthatis.ButoverthepastseveralmonthsI’vecometothinkofitasmine.

Havinghimaroundwoulddomorethancomplicatethings,itwouldchange

thingsbetweenLaylaandme.BecauseIcanseeitinhereyesthatshe’salready
pullingaway,alreadythinkingaboutherescaperoute.

Laylasitsdownonthestep,andeventhoughIcantellshe’stryingherbestto

holdherselftogether,herhandshakeswhenshereachesfortherailing.

“Ineedadrink,”Travissays,despiteitonlybeingalittlepasteightinthe

morning.

Heturnsonhisheelsandstormsintothekitchen.
Laylaflincheswhencupboardsstarttoslam.
“Wherethehellisallthealcohol?”Travis’breathingisharsh,histone

desperate.

“Thereisn’tany,”Isay,nottearingmygazeawayfromLayla,whosearmsare

wrappedprotectivelyaroundherself.

“Ofcourse,thereisn’t.SaintfuckingCartermyass,”Travishisses.
“Whereareyougoing?”Ibark,whenhestartstowardsthefrontdoor.
“Whatdoyoucare?It’sprettyobviousyou’rejustitchingtogetridofme

again.Ihopeit’sworthit.Choosingalittleatrampoveryourownbrother.Mom
andDadwouldbesoproud–”

Myfistslamsintohisface,silencinghim.Hisheadsnapsbackandhe

stumbles,bloodinstantlyoozingfromhisnose.

“Carter,stop,”Laylashrieksbehindme.
I’mpreparedforTravis’retaliation,butnotforthelookofbetrayalandhurt

thatmeetsmewhenhefinallygetshisbearings.

Hewipesthebloodfromhisnosewiththebackofhishand,lipstight,jaw

clenched.“You’reanasshole,youknowthat?”

Mychestsqueezespainfully.
Travisturnsandstormsoutofthehouse,slammingthedoorsohardbehindhim

thatthepicturesonthewallrattle.

Irubmyknuckles,staringatthecloseddoorforafewseconds,beforeturning

backtoLayla.

“Youshouldn’thavehithim.”There’semotioninhervoicenow,tears

glisteninginhereyes.

“Hedeservedit.Noonetalkstoyoulikethat.”
“Hehadareasonto.Thinkaboutitfromhisperspective.Hecomeshometo

findus…together.”

“Hewalkedaway,”Isayincredulously.
“Andhecameback.”
Coldtricklesdownmyback.Whatisshesaying?
“You’renotthinkingaboutgivinghimasecondchance?”
“It’shischild.Ican’t–”
“Hesignedthepapers,madehisdecision.”Fearconstrictsmychest,tightens

mythroat.

“He’syourbrother.”Herhandsreachfortherailing,fingerstrembling.

“You’retheonewhotoldmehe’dbeback.Areyoureallypreparedtocuthimout
ofyourlife…forme?”

ShehasnocluewhatIwaswillingtodoforher.
“Yes,”Igrowl,movingtowardsher,butsheputsoutahandtostopmewhenI

trytotouchher.

“Yousaythatnow,but…”Asmall,sadsmiledrawsherlipsup,her

expressionunreadable.

EveryinsecuritythatI’vetriedtosuppressfillsme.
Shewantshim.
Wantstoraisethischildwithhim.
Iwasjustasecondchoice.
Somewheredeepinsideofme,Iknowit’snottrue,butthenthere’stheother

voice,theonethat’sscreamingatmerightnow,tellingmewhatablindidiotI’ve
been.

Icameswoopinginhere,notgivinghermuch,ifanychoice.Demandingthat

shebemine.

ShetoldmethatTraviswasonlythesecondpersonshe’sbeenwith.Hehadto

meansomethingtoher.I’dtriedtonotthinkaboutthat.Buttheevidenceofwhat
wasbetweenthemwouldalwaysbethere.IfTravisreallyhadchangedhismind,
thenIcouldn’tstophimfrombeingpartofthechild’slife.BeingpartofLayla’s.

Fuck.
Myheadisspinning.
IneedtogetoutofherebeforeIsaysomethingI’llregret.Itakeherhandand

strokemythumbacrossthesoftskin.

God,Iloveher.IthoughtIknewhowmuch,butIdidn’treally,notuntilnow,

whenI’mabouttoloseher.

Thequestionis,doIloveherenoughtogiveherwhatsheneeds?Evenifwhat

sheneedsismewalkingaway?

“I’llgo.”
“What?”Hergazejerksuptomine.
“Travislefthisbags.”Inodatthedufflebagandknapsackbythefrontdoor.

“He’llbeback.Andyoutwoneedtotalk.”

“Carter–”
“TherearesomethingsI’vebeenputtingoffinNewYork.I’llgotherefora

fewdays.Giveyoutimetothinkaboutwhatyouwant.”

Itakeherhandandbrushmylipsagainstherknuckles.Everycellinmybody

praysthatshe’lltryandstopme.

Butshedoesn’t.

Chapter25

Layla

IshouldhavestoppedCarterfromleaving.Iknowthat.Myheartshatteredintoa
millionpieceswhenIwatchedhimwalkoutthedoor.

I’vespenttherestofthedayregrettingit.Everyfewminuteslookingatmycell

phone,hopingthathe’llcall,orglancingatthefrontdoorandprayingthathe’ll
walkthroughit.

Callhim,myheartscreams.Butmybraindoesn’tletme,becauseIknowthat

Carterisright,IdoneedtotalktoTravis,andit’sprobablybestthatheisn’there
whenIdo.

IrubmyhandsovermybarearmswhenIlookatTravis’bagsthatstillsitin

thefrontentrance.It’slate,pastten,andhestillhasn’tcomeback.Maybehe
won’tforafewdays.Hehasotherplacestostay,andI’msurehehasalotto
process.

Lonelinesssurroundsmelikeacoldblanket,andIshiver.
Thehouseissoquiet,butit’snotjustthat.WhenCarterishere,evenifhe’s

justworkingonhislaptop,theplaceisalwaysfilledwithhispresence.Likea
warmththatIcanfeelineveryroom.ButIdon’tfeelthatnow.Ijustfeelempty.

Ishouldgotobed,andI’dtried,butthesecondIlaydown,Carter’slingering

scentmademyemotionsgoallerratic,andIhadtogetup,orI’dendupcrying
myselftosleep.

It’sgoingtobeallrightmyheartcries,butmyheadcounters,thisiswhatI

warnedyouabout.

Withaheavysigh,Iwalkintothekitchenandgrabtheorangejuiceoutofthe

fridge,wincingwhenIfeelasmallpaininmyside.Irubthespot,feelingthebaby
movebeneathmypalm.

Threemoreweeksandheorshewillbehere.That’swhatIshouldbefocusing

on.NotthefactthatImaybelosingtheonlypersoninmylifewhohasevercared
aboutme.TheonlymanthatI’veeverloved.

Ipickupmyphonethat’ssittingonthecounterandcheckmymessages.
Nothing.
Swallowinghard,Iscrolltohisnumber.Ineedtohearhisvoice.Needtotell

himIlovehim,thatnomatterwhathappenswithTravis,thatwon’tchange.I’m
abouttopressdial,whenIhearthefrontdooropen,thenslamshut.

“Carter?”Iputmyphonebackonthecounter,hopesurgingthroughme.Butby

theheavinessofthestops,theunevengate,Iknowit’snothim,evenbeforeTravis
stormsintothekitchen.

Aprickoffearneedlesacrossmyflesh.
“Whereishe?”Breathinghard,hetakesafewthreateningstepstowardsme.

There’ssomethinginhiseyes,abrightnessthatdoesn’tlookright.WhenIdon’t
answerrightaway,heyells,“Whereishe?”

Iflinch,whichonlyseemstomakehimangrier.
“CarterwenttoNewYorkforafewdays.Whydon’tyousitdown,andI’ll

makeapotofcoffee,andwecantalk?”

“Youwanttotalk?”Hislipspullupinasneer,andhecornersmeagainstthe

counter.“Okay.Let’stalk.Howaboutwestartwithwhetherthat’sreallymykid.”

Mybreathhitches,notjustbecauseoftheaccusation,butbecausethewayhe’s

trappingmesendsoffwarningsignalsinmybrain.I’dneverthinkTraviswould
hurtme,oranyoneforthatmatter,butrightnowheisn’tinhisrightmind.That’s
obvious.

Hedoesn’tsmelllikealcohol,butIcantellhe’snotsober.Andhe’sclearly

lookingforafight.

“Youknowitis.”
“Idon’tknowshit.”Hegrabsmywrist,twistingjustenoughtocausepain,but

nottodoanyrealdamage.“Notaboutyou.ButIdidalittlediggingwhenIwas
away.Hadabuddylookintoyourpast.Anditlookslikeyouweren’tassweetand
innocentasyouledeveryonetobelieve.Youhadquitethereputationin
Springcreek.”

“Travis,you’rehurtingme.”Itrytostaycalmdespitemygrowingpanic.
“I’lladmitit.You’regood.”Hegetsinmyface,hisbreathhotandstaleonmy

cheek.Hedoesn’treleaseme,insteadhisgriptightens,andIknowit’llleavea
bruise.“Youcouldn’thaveme,soyouplayedmybrother.”

“It’snotlikethat.”
“Right.Youtwoareinlove,”hesnorts,andmovesclosertomesothathis

bodyispressedhardagainstmystomach.“Wereyouinlovewithmetoo?How
aboutthepoorbastardthatgotyounockedupthefirsttime?”

“Travis,please.”Itrytopushhimaway,buthedoesn’tbudge.
He’snotasbigasCarter,buthe’sstrong,andI’mnotreallyinaconditionto

fighthimoff.Myfirstandonlypriorityistokeepmybabysafe.

“Ormaybethatwasyourplanallalong?Usingmetogettohim?”Hisfingers

digintomyflesh.“Thoughtyoucouldbagyourselfarichhusbandbysleeping

withhisbrother.”

Hisaccusationsdon’tevenmakeanysense.It’slikehe’stryingtofindanyand

everyexcusetothinktheworstofme.

“Ididn’tmeanforanyofthistohappen.”
“Bullshit.”Hereleasesme,andIseehisfistflyingtowardsmyface.
OhGod.AllIcandoisbracefortheimpact.Ipinchmyeyesclosedandpull

back.

Crunch.
Thesoundofwoodsplinteringinmyearmakesmecryout.
Travispullshisbloodyhandoutofthebrokencupboarddoor,withoutsomuch

asawince.

Iknowhe’sonsomethingnow.
“Youtookmybrotherawayfromme.”
“No.Carterlovesyou.He’ddoanythingforyou.”
“Likeraisemykid.OrmarrytheslutwhoIgotknockedup.”Bloodtrickles

fromhishandtothefloor,andalreadyit’sswollentotwicetheoriginalsize.

“Thisisn’tyoutalking.You’renotlikethis.”
“Youtookeverythingfromme.Myhome.Myfreedom.Myfuckingbrother.”

Helaughsahystericalsound,thenpicksupaglassfromthecounterandthrowsit
acrosstheroom.Itshattersonimpact.“Youfuckedmyfuckingbrother.”

Ineedtogetawayfromhim.
Notcaringaboutthetinyshardsofglassthatcutintomyfeet,Irunoutofthe

roomtowardsthestairs.

Panic.
Fear.
Theynarrowmyvision,makemylegsfeellikejelly.
I’mnotsureifTravisfollowsme,Ijustrun.Hardandfast.Untilasharppain

slicesacrossmystomach,bucklingmeover,andagushofsomethingwarmand
stickyrushesdownmyleg.

Ican’tbreathe.Can’tscream.
Pain.
Pain.
Pain.
That’sallthereis,blindingandparalyzing.
WhenIfinallycancatchmybreath,Ireachbetweenmylegs,thenpullmy

fingersback.

Blood.
Thickandred,itrunsheavilydownmylegs,stainingthepinkpajamabottoms

I’mwearing,andbeginspoolingatmyfeet.

No.No.No.
Thiscan’tbehappening.
Astrangledsoundcomesfrommythroat.
“OhmyGod,Layla.”Travis’handsareonmenow,andItrytopushhimaway.

“Shit.Ididn’tmeantohurtyou.”

“Call.Carter.Please.”
“Okay.Justsitdown.”Hetakesmyelbowandhelpsmedowntothefloor,

hoveringovermelikehedoesn’tknowwhattodo.

Anotherstabofpainthatfeelslikemystomachisbeingshreddedfromthe

insidecausesmetogasp,andmyvisiontodarken.

“Callhim,”Icry.
“Okay.”
Ilaydownonthefloor,pressingmycheekagainstthecoolwood.Nausearolls

overme,mixingwiththesenseofimpendingdoom.It’sastrangefeeling.Fearand
panicbegintofade,replacedbyasenseofdetachment.LikeI’mfloating
somewhereontheedgeofconsciousness.

Stayawake,Layla.Ibitemyliphard,tastingblood,anythingtokeepfrom

fadingintotheemptinessthatthreatenstoconsumeme.

“He’snotanswering.”PanicedgesTravis’voice.
Icanfeelmyselflosingconsciousness.Iblinkandmyvisiongoesblurry.One

blackspotappeared,followedbyanother.

Ican’tlosethisbaby.
“WhatdoIdo?”Travisiskneelingbesideme,blueeyesnowsober,butsofull

ofalarmthatheseemsfrozentodoinganything.

“Call…911,”Ichokeout,strugglingtostayconscious.
I’mgoingtodie.Icanfeelit–death.Acolddarknessthatpressesin,readyto

takeme.Blacknessswimsthroughmysight,suckingmeunder,untilit’sallIknow.

Chapter26

Carter

Icouldn’tgotoNewYork.Somethinginthebackofmymindwarnedmenotto.
AndtheminuteIpulluptothehouse,IknowIwasrightlisteningtothatvoice
insidemyhead.

Thefrontdoorisslightlyajar,butthehouseisdark.
Ifliponthehallwaylightandmyheartstops.
Freshbloodstainsthehardwood.Anditseemstobeeverywhere.
No.
“Layla,”IscreamhernameasIracefromroomtoroom,flippingonthelights.
Thelivingroomisempty,andsoisthediningroom.Takingtwostepsatatime

Islamopenthebedroomdoors,andthenthebathroom,butthere’snosignofher.

“Layla,”Ikeepshouting,prayingthatthere’ssomemistake.Thatshe’llanswer

me.

MybodygoesicecoldwhenIwalkintothekitchenandmyshoescrunchon

thebrokenglassbeneaththem.Oneofthecupboarddoorsissmashedin,anda
chairliesonitssideinthemiddleoftheroom.

Travis.Ihavenodoubtthathedidthis.Rageandfearboilinsideofme.
God.Ishouldneverhavelefther.
Ipulloutmycell.Thebatteryisdead.
“Fuck.”
There’salandlineinthelivingroom,butmyfingersshakewhenIpressthe

numbers,dialingmybrother.

Hepicksuponthefirstring.“Carter?ThankGod–”
“Whatthefuckdidyoudotoher?”Iscream.“Whereisshe?”
“I’vebeentryingtocallyou.”Icanheartheguiltinhisvoice,whichonly

confirmsmyworstfears.

ThistimewhenIspeak,myvoiceislowanddangerous.“Wherethefuckis

she,Travis?”

Ihearhimswallowhard,beforesaying,“UniversityHospital.Theytookher

straightinto–”

Idon’tlethimfinish,justhangup,andracetothecar.Ispeedthroughthecity,

goingthroughatleasttworedlights,andparkinginanoparkzoneinfrontofthe

emergencydoors.

Letthemtowme.
“LaylaHarper,”Isaytothereceptionistatthefrontdesk,tryingnottobetray

mypanic,butit’snearlyimpossible.“Ineedtoknowwheresheis.”

“Onemoment.”Ittakeswhatseemslikeaneternityforhertocheckher

computer.Shefrownsatthescreen,makingmychestsqueeze,thenlooksupatup
atme.“Areyoufamily?”

“I’mherhusband.”Asmalllie,becausethemomentshegetsoutofthisdamn

place,I’mgoingtomakeitareality.

Herlipstightenbeforesaying,“She’sinsurgeryrightnow.”
Igroan,agut-wrenchingsoundthathasthewomanlookingatmewith

sympathy.

“There’saprivatewaitingroomsetasideforherfamily.Here…”She

scribblesanumberonapadandhandsittome.“Justtaketheelevatorstothe
fourthfloorandmakealeft.”

Istarttowardstheelevators,pushingthebuttonimpatientlyuntilthedoors

open.I’mawareofthelooksI’mgetting,andIknowifIdon’tcalmdown,
someoneisgoingtocallsecurity.

She’sgoingtobeallright.Shehastobe.I’mnothelpingherbyfreakingout

whenIdon’tknowwhathappened.ButthesecondIseemybrotherIlosemy
fuckingmind.

Travisissittingaloneinthesmallwaitingroom,hisheadinonehand,while

cradlingtheotherinjuredoneinhislap.HelooksupatmewhenIwalkin,andhis
expressiondripswithguilt,hisfacestrickenandpale.

Bloodstainshispants,hisshirt.
Layla’sblood.
Remorseisalloverhisface,butIdon’tcare.
Hestartstostand.“Carter,I’msorry–”
Igrabhimbythecollarofhisshirt,pickinghimup,andslamminghimagainst

thewall.“Whatdidyoudo?”

Hedoesn’tfightback,justgoeslimpinmyarms.“Ididn’tmeantohurther.”
“Butyoudid,”Ihiss.
“No.”Heshakeshisheadadamantly.“Ididn’thither.Ipromise.Yeah,Ilost

mytemper.SaidthingsIshouldn’thave.ButIsweartoGodIdidn’thurther.She
ranoutoftheroom,thenthenextthingIknowshewasbentover,andtherewas…
blood.”

Hiseyesareglassy,hisfacedistortedinagrimace,andeventhoughIdon’t

wanttobelievehim,Ido.

“Iwasfuckedup.”Hedragshisgoodhandthroughhishair.“Istillam.”
“Whatareyouon?”
“Iwenttoabuddy’shouse,Ionlydidoneline,but–”
“Cocaine?”Idropmyhandsandlookathimindisgust.
“Iknow.Shit.”Hesitsdownonthecouch.“I’msorry.”
There’saknockandbothourheadsjerkinthedirectionofthedoor.Asmall

middle-agedwomanwearingscrubsfrownswhensheglancesbetweenus.

“Whichoneofyouisthefather?”sheasks.
Me,Iwanttosay.Instead,Igrindmyteeth,andlookatTravis.
Somethingpassesbetweenus,andIseethefinalacceptanceinhiseyes.
“Heis,”Travissays,noddingatme.
Thedoctordoesn’tlookconvinced,butshesighsandaddressesme.“Wehad

todoanemergencyC-section.Herplacentadetachedfromtheuterus,andshe
sustainedsignificantbloodloss.”

Ican’tbreathe.Can’tmove.I’mjustwaitingforthewomantotellmethat

Laylaisgone.Thatshedidn’tmakeit.

“She’llbeinpost-opforafewhours.”
“She’sokay?”Thewordscomeoutinarush.
“We’restillmonitoringher,butshe’sstablenow.”
“ThankGod.”MyhandsareicecoldandshakingasIringthemtogether.She’s

okay.She’sgoingtobefine.Iglanceupatthedoctor.“Andthebaby?”

Shesmilesthen.“He’shealthy.Youcanseehimnowifyou’dlike.”
He.It’saboy.Laylahadn’twantedtoknowwhatthesexwas,sowehadn’t

foundout.Neitherofuscared,aslongasthebabywashealthy.

Behindthedoctor,anotherwomanpeersintotheroom,andlooksbetween

TravisandInervously.“There’sapoliceofficerhereaskingtospeaktoaTravis
Bennett.Theyhavesomequestionsaboutwhathappened.”

Travislooksupatme,hisfacepale,andIcanseetheflashofhopethatI’m

goingtosomehowbailhimout.WhenIlookaway,Ihearthecreekofthecouchas
hestands.

“I’mgladthey’rebothgoingtobeokay,”hemutters,beforefollowingthe

womanoutoftheroom.

Thedoctorisstillwatchingme,lippursed.“Ifyou’llcomewithme,I’lltake

youtoyourson.”

Myson.Thosetwowordschaseawaytheangerthat’sconsumedmesinceI

walkedintothisroomandsawTravis.

Thedoctorleadsmethroughaseriesofcorridorstoasmallroom,wherea

nurseiswrappingascreaminginfantinablueandwhitestripedblanket.She
smilesatmewhenIapproach.

“He’sgotquitethesetoflungs,”shesays,motioningformetocomecloser.
He’spink.That’sthefirstthingInotice.Andbald.Iswearthekidhaszero

hair.AndwhathedoeshaveislightbrownlikeLayla’s.Hekeepswailing,a
soundthatsoundsmorelikeasheepthanababy.

“Isheokay?”
“He’sperfect.”Shetucksthelastofhisblanketaroundhim,thenpickshimup,

andstartstohandhimtome.

Ihesitate.He’ssodamnsmall.IswearI’mgoingtobreakhimordrophim.
“You’llbefine.Justmakesurehisneckissupported.”Sheplaceshiminmy

arms,adjustinghimsothathisheadisinthecrookofmyelbow.

Almostimmediatelyhestopscrying.Mybreathgetslockedsomewhereinthe

backofmythroat,andarushofemotionfloodsthroughme.

“HeknowswhohisDaddyis,”shesays,beforemovingtofilloutachartthat’s

attachedtotheglassbassinette.

Emotionfloodsthroughme.
HisDaddy.TearsprickatmyeyesasItracemythumbacrosshissmallcheek,

makinghislipspurseinasuckingmotion.Damn,butIcan’tcontrolthewaymy
visionblurs.Laylashouldbeherewithme,meetingoursontogetherforthefirst
time.Travistookthatawayfromus.ForthatI’mgoingtohaveahardtime
forgivinghim.

Thenurseasksmeafewquestionsasshefillsoutherforms.Whenshe’sdone,

shesmilesandsays,“Youcanstayhere.Thiswillbeyourwife’sroomonceshe’s
releasedfrompost-op.”

“Doyouknowhowlongthatwillbe?”Ineedtoseeherandsheneedstosee

herson.Ourson.

“Itshouldn’tbethatmuchlonger.”
Whenshestartstowardsthedoor,Irealizeshe’sabouttoleaveme

alone…withthebaby.

“Wait.”Ican’thidethepanicinmyvoice.
Sheturns,browsraised.“Yes?”
“Whatabout…”Iglancedownatthesmallbundleinmyarms.

Iswearthewomanisholdingbackalaughwhenshesays,“I’llcomebackand

checkonyou.Ifyouneedanythingyoucanpressthebuttononthebed.”

Withthosebriefinstructions,sheleaves,andIsitdownintherockingchair

that’sincorneroftheroom,andshiftthebabyinmyarms,makinghimbaaagain.
Onetinyfistpullsfreeoftheblanketandshakesupatme.

“You’reallright,littleone.”Irockhim,andcroon,“You’resafe.Andyou’re

mine.AndwhetheryoursubornMommywantstoadmititornot,she’sminetoo.”

Thesoundofmyvoiceseemstosoothehim,andhestopscrying.Hiseyes

openforthefirsttimesincehe’sbeeninmyarms,andhelooksupatme.

Ikeeptalking,andheseemsalmostmesmerizedbymyvoice,“I’myour

Daddy.Youdon’tknowwhatthatmeansyet,butitmeansI’mnevergoingtolet
anyonehurtyou.”

Heyawnsandhiseyescloseagain.I’mfascinatedbyallhistinymovements,

hissmall,swollenfeatures.He’sallscrunchedandwrinkled,butI’malreadyin
lovewithhim.

I’mnotsurehowmuchtimepassesbeforeanyonecomesbackintotheroom.

Anhour,maybetwo,butIdon’tputhimdownbecauseheseemscontentinmy
arms,andinallhonesty,Idon’twanttolethimgo.

“Mr.Bennett?”Thedoctorwhohadspokentomeearliercomesintotheroom,

followedbyanurse,whodoesn’tmakeeyecontactwithme,justreachesforthe
baby.

Bothofthewomen’sexpressionsaresevere.Ialmostdon’tallowthenurseto

takemyson,wantingtousehimasashieldtostopwhatevernewsthey’vecome
heretogiveme.Iknowit’sbad.Icanseeitintheireyes.

“I’mjustgoingtofeedandchangehim,”thenursesays,givingmealookthat’s

filledwithcompassion.

Withashudderingbreath,Ihandhimtoher,thenslowlystand,meetingthe

doctor’sgaze.

“Layla?”Iask,myvoiceshaking.
“There’sbeensomecomplicationsandwe’vehadtotakeherbackinto

surgery.”

IwishIhadn’tstood,becauseI’mprettysuremylegsaregoingtogiveouton

me.

“How…whathappened?”
“She’sstillhemorrhaging.They’retryingtostopthebleeding.”
Icanheartheunsaidwords,theseriousnessofthesituation.

“Ithoughttheystoppedit.Yousaidshewasgoingtobeallright.”
“Shewasstable,butlikeIsaid,therewerecomplicationsinpost-op.”
Scrubbingmyhandsovermyface,Ifeelthefloorisgivingoutonme.
“Mr.Bennett.Ifthereareanyotherfamilymembersthatneedtobecalled,I

suggestyoucallthemnow.”

Becausethey’renotsureifshe’sgoingtomakeit.
Isitdownheavily.
Agonyslicesmychest,andIcrumpleforwardwithmyfaceinmyhands,

becauseIrealizethatImaystillloseher.

Chapter27

Carter

Twohoursturnsintofour,thensix.Nooneseemstowanttogivemeanyanswers.

IcalledKira,andshecameimmediately,butshe’sjustasfreakedoutasIam,

andherconstanttearsareonlystressingmeout.

AndIhavenoideawhereTraviswent.ForallIknowthecopstookhimtothe

stationtoquestionhimaboutwhathappened,maybetheyarrestedhim,ormaybe
hejusttookoffagain.

Thenurseschangedshiftsacoupleofhoursago,andIdon’tknowthenewone

thatcomesintotheroomtocheckonthebaby.Thebaby–hestilldoesn’thavea
name.

MythroattightensatthethoughtofLaylanevergettingtoseehim,neverhaving

thechancetoholdhim.

ImeantwhatIpromised.He’smine.Nomatterwhathappenstoher,I’llraise

himasmyown,andlovehimthesame.Nothingwillchangethat.Buteventhe
possibilityofdoingitalonemakesmyheartpoundpainfullyinmychest.

Kirapacestheroom,darkcirclesunderherswolleneyes.“Whyisn’tanyone

comingtotelluswhat’sgoingon?”

Ishiftthebabyinmyarmswhenhestartstostir.He’sgoingtobehungryagain

soon.

There’saknockonthedoor,andbothKiraandIjump.
Max,Kira’sboyfriendpopshisheadin,thenopensthedoor,carryingatrayof

coffeesandabrownpaperbag.“Ithoughtyoucouldusesomecaffeineandfood.”

Iknowhe’stryingtobehelpful,butIcan’thelpresentthecasualtoneinhis

voice.

Laylaissomewhereinthedamnhospitalfightingforherlife,andhe’sbringing

donutsandbagels.

“Youshouldeatsomething,”Kirasays.“Icanholdhim–”
“I’mfine,”Isnap,seeingthelooksheexchangeswithMax,butIdon’tfucking

care.AllIcareaboutisknowingwhatthehellisgoingonwiththewomanIlove.

“She’sgoingtobefine,”Kirasays,movingtowardsme,andplacingahandon

myarm.“Layla’safighter,andshehaseverythingtolivefor.”

AllIcandoisnod,becausewordsfailme.

Ipraythatshe’sright,butwhenthedooropensagain,andthedoctorwalksin,

herexpressionmorose,Iclenchmybackteeth,andpreparemyselffortheworst.

“She’soutofsurgery.Allwecandonowiswait.”
Wait.That’sallI’vebeenfuckingdoing.
“Ineedtoseeher.”
“Justoneofyou,”thedoctorsays.
“Go.”Kiramotionsformetohandherthebaby.
Numbly,Ifollowthedoctor.
ShockandgriefhitmelikeabaseballbattothechestwhenIseeLayla.There

aretubesandmachineseverywhere,andherfaceispale–toopale.Shelooksso
damnfragile.

“Youhavetofight,sweetheart,”Iwhisper,brushingherhairawayfromher

face.“Youhavetofightforme,andforourson.”

Takingherhand,carefuloftheIVattached,Ibringittomylips,andkisseach

knuckle.

“Fightforourhappyending.Justdon’t…”Tearschokeme.“Don’tgiveup.”
There’snoresponse,andIdon’texpectone.Thedoctortoldmethatshe’sstill

heavilysedated,andshewillbeforalongtime.

WhatI’mnotpreparedforisthesuddenhighpitchbeepingofthemonitors.

Almostimmediatelytheroomisfilledwithpeople,andI’mbeingusheredout.

“What’sgoingon?”
“Youneedtowaitoutside,sir.”
“She’scrashing,”someonesays,makingthegroundbeneathmefeellikeit’s

givingout.

Oneglanceattheheatmonitor,andIseetheflatlinerunningacrossthescreen,

whichonlyjumpswhensomeonebeginschestcompressions.

“Layla,”Icryout,needingtogettoher,toforcehertofight,tolive.
“Sir,youcan’tbeinhere.”
“I’mnotleaving.”Myheartspeedsup,anerraticpoundinginmychest.
“Youneedtoletusdoourjobs.”Herhandsareonme,pushingmefromthe

room,andthedoorsarebeingshutinmyface.

God,no.Thiscan’tbetheend.Thisisn’tthewayourstoryissupposedto

unfold.I’msupposedtomarryher,eventuallyhavemorechildren.Notthis.

Ileanagainstthecoldwall,andslowlyslidetothefloor.
Powerless.
Broken.

Weneverknowwhenourlivesareabouttoshift.Maybeifwedid,we’ddo

thingsdifferently.

Regretcurlsmystomach.
IknowIcan’tblamemyselfforthis.Idon’tevenknowifIcanblameTravis.

Fromwhatthenurseexplained,sometimestherearejustcomplications.But
maybeifI’dbeenwithher,ifIhadn’tleftheralone,evenforthosefewhours,
maybeshewouldn’tbeinthererightnowfightingforherlife.

Iburymyfaceinmyhandsandchokebackasob.
Thedoorsopen,andanurserunsout,downthehall.
Ilookupattheclockonthewall,eachsecondstretchingoutastimemoves

excruciatinglyslow.

Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Eachmomentthatpasses,Ipreparemyheartfortheworst.Bracingmyselffor

theimpactoflosingtheonlywomanI’veeverloved.

Live,Ipraysilently.Live,damnit.
Adeep,gutturalsoundfillstheair,andittakesmeamomenttorealizethatit’s

comingfromme.Iburymyhandinmyfaceandletgriefwrackthroughme,
becausemystrengthiscompletelyshattered.

“Sir?”Anursecrouchesbesideme.
Iblinkupather,pleadingwithmyeyesforgoodnews,notreadyforanything

else.

“She’sstable.Youcanseehernow.”

Chapter28

Layla

WhenItrytoopenmyeyes,it’slikethey’rebeingweigheddownbycement.
Sluggishly,Iblinkthemopen.Fluorescentlights,andthesoundofbeeping,make
mefeellikeI’monareallybadtechnoacidtrip.Ittakesmeamomenttorealize
I’minahospitalroom.

Thebaby.Panicsurgesthroughme,causingthebeepingtospeedup.Frantic,

myeyesdartaroundtheroom.

Carterisinstantlybesideme,takingmyhand,strokingmycheek.“Hey,it’s

okay.You’reallright.I’mhere.”

“Carter.”Myvoicefeelslikeit’scoatedinasphalt.
“I’mhere.”Therearedarkcirclesunderhiseyes.
“The…baby.”
“He’sfine.”Hecontinuestostrokemycheek.
“He?”
Carter’slipstwistupinasmallsmile,andwhenhestartstomoveaway,I

instantlypanic.

“I’mnotleaving.”Hekissesmyforehead,thenstraightens.
Iwatchhimmovearoundmybedtoasmallbassinettethat’spositionedbeside

thechairhemusthavebeensleepingon,evidencedbythepillowandblanket,and
IwonderhowlongI’vebeenoutfor.

Carefully,Carterreachesinandpicksupthesmallbundle,elicitingasmall

cry.

“YourMommywantstomeetyou,”Carterwhispers,cradlingthesmallbundle

againsthischestlikehe’sthemostpreciousthingintheworld.

Itrytositup,butI’msoweak,Icanbarelyshiftmyselfevenaninch.
Cartermovesbesidemeandholdsthebaby,sothatIcanseehim.
He’sbeautiful.Tinylittlenose,fullbowlipsthatpurseinhissleep.Instantly

myeyescloudwithtears.

“HelloJoshua.”I’mabletobringmyhanduptogentlystrokemyfingers

acrosshischeek.Iwanttoholdhim,butalreadytheheavinessofsleeppullsat
me,andIknowI’mnotstrongenough.

“Joshua?”Cartersays,smiling.“Thatwasmyfather’sname.”

“Iknow.”Itrytosmileback,butmyfacefeelsheavy,anddespitemyeffortsto

keepthemopen,myeyelidsflutterclose.Ittakesallmystrengthtoopenthem
again.“What…happened?”

“Youdon’tremember?”Hisbrowsdrawdown.
“Traviscameback,”Isay,asimagesstarttoformamemory.
“Didhe…”AmuscleinCarter’sjawbunches.“Ineedtoknowifhehurt

you?”

“Hedidn’tmeanto.”Mywordsareslurred,eachoneanefforttosay.
“Didhehityou?”
“No.”
Carterbreathesoutaheavybreathandnods.
“I’msotired.”
“Rest.”Hepresseshisagainstmyforehead.
“Don’tleave.”Myeyesshut,andIfeelmyselfbeingpulledbackintothe

warmthofsleep.

“Iwon’tleaveeitherofyou.Ipromise.”

Chapter29

Carter

“Howisshe?”Travishoversbythehospitalroomdoor,hisgrief-strickengaze
restingonLayla.

Igrindmybackteethandtakeasteadyingbreath,thebabyinmyarmstheonly

thingstoppingmefromlashingoutatmybrother.

“Youshouldn’tbehere.”
“Iknow.”Hewincesandlooksdownatthefloor.“Ijustwantedtocheckon

her.On...”Hisgazedropstothebundleinmyarmsandhiseyeswidenslightly.
“He’s…small.”

“Babiesare,”Igrunt,holdingJoshuacloser,everypossessiveinstinctstirring

insideme.

“Iknow.I’vejustneverseenonesonew.”Herubsthebackofhisneck.“Did

shenamehim?”

“Joshua.”
“AfterDad?”Hisbrowsdrawup.
Inod.
“That’sgood.Hewouldhavelikedthat.”
Laylastirs,butshedoesn’twake.
“Whatdidthepolicesay?”Iask,watchinghimsuspiciously.Ihatethatit’s

cometothisbetweenus,butIdon’tknowhowthingswilleverbedifferentnow.

Travisshiftsfromonefoottotheothernervously.
“Theytookmystatement.Theparamedicscalledthemwhentheysawmyhand.

TheywantedtoknowifI…hither.I’mnotsureiftheybelievedme.Ithinkthey’re
goingtowanttotalktoLaylawhenshe’sawake.”

“Shetoldmethatyoudidn’thither.”
Relieffloodshisface,likehewasn’tsurewhatshe’dsay.“Thepolicewant

metostayintownforacoupledays.”

Inarrowmygazeonhim.
“Don’tworry.I’lljustgobacktothehousetogetmystuff.I’llbegonebefore

she’sreadytogohome.”

Idon’tsayanything,justwatchhim,feelingthechasmthat’sbetweenus.

Maybeit’salwaysbeenthere,ormaybeIputitthere.IjustknowthatIbarely

knowthemanstandinginfrontofme.

“Youreallydoloveher,don’tyou?”Hisbrowsaredrawndownashelooks

betweenmeandher.

“Morethananything,”Isaytruthfully.
Heexhalesheavily.“That’sgood.Iknowthey’llbothbesafewithyou.”
Igiveabrisknod,stillwary.“They’remyfamilynow.AndI’lldoanythingto

protectthem.”

“Iknow.”
Mythroatclenchesshut,andforcethenextwordsoutofmymouth.“Butyou’re

Joshua’sbiologicalfather.Ifyouwanttobepartofhislife,Iwon’tstopyou.”

Travislooksatmehardforalongmoment,thenheshakeshishead.“OnceI’m

cleared,I’mgoingtoheadnorthagain.Forgood.It’sbetterthatway.For
everyone.”

Ican’tsayI’mnotrelievedbyhisdecision,butmychestalsohurtsatwhatI’m

losing.WhatI’vealreadylost.

“You’restillmybrother,Travis.Thatwon’tchange.”
Heleansagainstthewall,asadsmileplayingonhislips.“Foralongtime,I

blamedyouforDad.Feltlikeyoutookhimawayfrommewhenyoupulledthe
plug.”

“Ididn’thaveachoice.”Mydefensesimmediatelygoup.
“Yesyoudid.”HeputsahanduptostopmewhenIopenmymouthtoargue.

“YoucouldhavewaiteduntilI’dgottenbetter.Givenmeachancetosay
goodbye.”

“Hewasalreadygone.Hewouldn’thaveknownyouwerethere.”
“ButIwouldhaveknown.”
Thetruthhitsme.I’dneverreallyunderstoodhisangeruntilrightnow.Making

thedecisionwithouthimwasonlyoneinalonglistoftimeswhenI’dtreatedhim
assomethingless–neveranequal.

Ilostmorethanjustmyparentsthatday,Ialsolostmybrother.
“I’msorryfornotwaitingandfornotbeingaroundmore.Maybethingswould

havebeendifferentifIhad.”

“Maybe.”Hegivesmeoneofhiscrookedgrins,butthere’sonlysad

acceptanceinhiseyes.“Butthen,I’vealwaysbeenascrewup.”

Ican’targuewiththat.
“Youdon’thavetobe.”
Hechuckles.“Yeah,butthenwhere’sthefuninthat?Livefast,diehard,

right?”

Ishakemyheadathim.“You’vegotasecondchancehere.Don’tfuckitup.”
“Yeah.”Hislipstighten,thenheglancesoncemoreatJoshua,hisexpression

tightening.“He’sgoingtobeoneluckykid.”

Ifrown,hearingthegoodbyeinhisvoice.
Withasigh,heturnsanddisappearsoutthedoor,andIknowit’sgoingtobea

longtimebeforeIseeorhearfromhimagain.

Chapter30

Layla

Mybodyisslowlyhealing.It’stakenalmostthreemonths,butI’mstartingtofeel
likemyselfagain.Well,myselfwithanewappreciationoflifeandsecond
chances.

Almostdyingwilldothattoyou.
Walkingdownthestairsdoesn’thurtasmuchasitdid,ortakeasmucheffort.
IcanhearCarterinthelivingroom.Joshua’ssoftcoosinresponseto

whateverCarterissayingtohim.

MymouthtugsupwhenItakethelaststep,andseethetwoofthemonthe

couch,JoshuainCarter’slapashereadstohim.

Joshua’seyeswidenandheflapshistinyfistsexcitedlywhenCarterflipsthe

page.

Ileanagainstthewallandwatchthem,myheartswelling.
This.
Carter.
Joshua.
Myfamily.
It’smorethanI’deverthoughtI’dget.MorethanIeverthoughtIdeserved.
IneversawTravisafterwhathappened.Hesentmealetterafewweeksago,

apologizingandpromisinghe’dstayoutofourlives.Thathe’llneverdoanything
tocomebetweenCarterandI.

Inaway,Ifeelsorryforhim.Iknowhelostinallthis.Yes,hemadesomebad

choices,butIhopeonedaythatheandCarterwillbeabletoreconcile.

Idon’tknowwhatthat’lllooklike,butIcan’tliveinfear.CarterisJoshua’s

fathernow.Legallyandemotionally.

He’sdoneeverythingforbothofusduringmyrecovery.SometimesI’mawed

byhoweasyhefellintotherole.I’mstillstrugglingabit,buteachdayitgets
better,andwithCarter’ssupport,I’mlearning.

MychestsqueezeswithhowmuchIlovehim,bothofthem.
Joshualetsoutasmallsquealofdelight,andCarterlaughswithhim.
EverytimeIseethemtogethermyheartdoesthislittledanceinmychest.

Seeingthemountainofaman,withhisdarkink,androughcallousedhands,being

sogentle,makesmefallinlovewithhimalloveragain.AndIdidn’tthinkIcould
lovehimanymorethanIalreadydid.

Theepitomeofeverythingmymothereverwarnedmeabout.Ichuckleunder

mybreath,becauserightfromthestarthe’dbeenmyhero,Ijustcouldn’tseeit.

Asifsensingmypresence,Carterglancesoveratmeandsmiles.“Hi.”
“Hi.”Igrinback,myskinwarmingjustfromasinglelook.“It’shisnaptime.”
“Awe,Mom,”Carterteases,“Justonemorebook.”
Ilaughandnodwatchinghimpickupanotherlittlecardboardbook,and

startinghisexaggeratedrenditionoftheABCs.

ForsolongI’dtriedtofightmyfeelingsforhim,fearmotivatingmyevery

action.AlwaysafraidthatifIletmyselfbelieveinsomethinggood,thatitwould
berippedawayfromme.I’mnotsayingthatitisn’talwaysapossibility.Lifeis
chaos,andsometimesbrutal.Buthidingfromhappinessonlyguaranteesyou’ll
nevergetit.Bettertoexperienceeachmomentfully,thentospendyourwholelife
isolatedandalone.

“Marryme,”Isay,makingCarter’sgazejerkbacktomine.Ilickmylips,and

repeat,“Marryme.”

Hisexpressiongoesserious,buthedoesn’tsayanything,juststandsand

placesJoshuaintheplaypen,thenturnsbacktome.

“Askmeagain,”hedemands,stalkingtowardsme,heatinhisgaze.
Igrinupathimandtease,“I’monlyaskingonce,ifthat’snotgoodenough–”
Hislipscrashdownonmine.
“Yes,”hegrowlsagainstmymouth,kissingmeharder.
Iwrapmyarmsaroundhisneckandgiveintotheheatandpossessivenessof

thekiss.

Hisfingerstangleinmyhair,andwhenhepullsback,Icanseetheelationin

hiseyes.Nomanhasorwillevermakemefeelthewayhedoeswithonesingle
glance.LikeI’mimportantandcherished.

IglanceoveratJoshuathroughthemeshoftheplaypen.It’spasthisnaptime,

andalreadyhiseyesareclosing.“Lookslikewehaveatleastthirtyminutesto
ourselves.”

Cartergivesmeawickedgrin,theonethatafterallthistimestillgivesme

butterflies.ThenextthingIknowhe’sliftingmeagainsthischest,andcarryingme
upstairstothebedroom,hishandsmovingovermybody,gettingridofmy
clothing.

Whenwe’rebothnaked,hebringhishandstomywaistandplacesahardkiss

onmymouth.

“Iloveyou,”Isay,runningmyfingersacrossthenewinkonhischest.Mine,

andJoshua’snamewritteninabeautifuldesignoverhisheart.

Hishandscupmyface,drawingmygazeuptohiseyes.
Blue.
Intense.
Captivating.
Andsofulloflovethatmybreathgetslockedsomewhereinthebackofmy

throat.

Everysculptedinchofhisbodyradiatesstrengthandpossessiveness.There’s

nofearwhenI’mwithhimbecauseI’vefinallygivenmyselftohim,completely.

Epilogue

Carter

Threeyearslater…

IcanfeelLayla’seyesonmewitheveryflipofthepage.It’shermanuscript,

theseconddraftoftheoneshehadoriginallywrote,andit’sgood.Reallygood.
Notonlybecauseit’swellwritten,butbecauseinawayit’sourstory.

Twopeoplewhohavetofaceseeminglyinsurmountableobstaclestobe

together.

Ireadthefinalparagraphandmychestsqueezes,becauseshe’swrittenher

happyending.No,ourhappyending.

Sheknewthatnomatterhowmuchtheyhadlost,theyhadgainedsomuch

more.Hewasherone.Theone.Theonlypersonwhohadevermadeherfeel
trulyandcompletelyloved.Itdidn’tmatterwhattheworldthoughtofthem,
becausewithhimbyherside,everydaywasafairytalecometolife.Andhewas
herhappilyeverafter.

“Well?”Sheasks,whenIplacethepapersonthetablebesidethebed.“What

doyouthink?”

“It’sgood.”
“Really?”
“Really.”Igrabheraroundthewaistandpullherdownonmylap.“I’mproud

ofyou.”

Shegivesmeasmallsmile.“I’dneverhavefinisheditwithoutyou.”
“See.Allmyproddingworked.”
“Maybe.Butthat’snotwhatImeant.Iwouldneverhavebelievedintheending

ifIhadn’tmetyou.You’retheonethatshowedmehappinessispossible.”Her
browsdrawdown,andshesayssoftly,“Eventhroughheartbreak.”

Ipressmylipsagainstherforehead,andletherwordssinkin.
Bothofourliveshavebeenfilledwithtragedy,andthesepasttwoyears

haven’tbeenanydifferent.

Sixmonthsago,IreceivedaphonecallinformingmethatTravishadbeen

killedinaboatingaccident.He’dbeendrinkingwithafewofhisbuddiesupon
LakeOntario.FromwhatIwastold,he’dbeensittingonthesideoftheboatwhen
he’dgoneoverboard,hittinghisheadwhenhefell.Theypulledhisbodyoutthree
dayslater.

Iswallowpastthelargelumpthatformsinmythroat.
Therewillalwaysbeapartofmethatfeelsguiltyfornotbeingmoreforhim.

ButTravismadehisownchoices.Choicesthatalmostalwayswentagainstevery
pieceofadviceI’dgivenhim.

We’dspokenafewtimesbeforehisaccident.AndI’dsenthimacouple

picturesofJoshua.

I’dthoughthe’dgottenhisheadstraightenedout.Oratleastthat’swhatit

seemed.Hewasalwaysgoodatpretendingwithme.

Hitwithawaveofsorrow,mychestclenchespainfully.
“You’rethinkingabouthim?”Laylastraddlesmeandplacesherpalmsonmy

cheeks.

Igiveasmallnod,mythroattighteningwiththememories.
“I’msorry,”shesays,browneyesfilledwithsympathyandregret.
Pressingmyforeheadagainsthers,Iinhaleherscent,focusingonthegood

that’sinfrontofme.

Anditisgood.
MylifeiseverythingIneverknewIwanted.
Husband.
Father.
Thosetwothingshavecompletedme,mademewhole.
Ikissherhard.Needinghertouch.Alwaysamazedathowwecanbothdraw

strengthfromeachotherwiththesimplestofgestures.

“Haveyouthoughtofatitleyet?”Iask,goingbacktothemanuscriptshe’s

beenworkingsohardon.

“IwasthinkingaboutSecondDraft.”Herhandscombthroughmyhair,asmall

smileplayingonherlips.“Thebookisallaboutsecondchances,rewriting
mistakes,andturningthemintosomethingpositiveandbeautiful,eveniftheworld
doesn’tunderstandit.”

“Likeus.”Itracemythumboverherbottomlip.
“Likeus,”sheagrees.
We’reboundinawaythatdefiesevenmyownunderstanding.Everypain,

everyhappinessweexperience,weexperiencetogether.Maybeit’sallthethings
we’vealreadybeenthroughtogether,ormaybetherereallyissomethinginthe
wholesoulmateclaim.

Idon’tknow.Ijustknowthatmyheartandsoularetangledwithhers.And

thereisn’tadaythatgoesbythatIdon’tsendupaprayerofthanksthatshewasn’t
takenfrommethedayJoshuawasborn.

“Joshua’ssleeping,”shewhispers,fingerscurlingundermyshirt,mycock

goinginstantlyhardtheminuteherhandsbrushagainstmylowerabs.

“And?”Iask,knowingfullwellhermeaning.
Hertouchskimsupmychest,tuggingthet-shirtovermyhead.“AndIwantmy

husbandtomakelovetome.”

Iflipheronherbackandsheletsoutasmallsqueal.“Afterthosesteamy

scenesyoumademeread,Iwashopingyouweregoingtosaythat.”

Shechuckleslightly,helpingmeremovehershirt,thenwigglesoutofher

pants.

Ihavemyownpantsoffinseconds,theneedtobeinsideofheroverwhelming.

Herhandsbegintheirfranticdanceacrossmychest,downmyhips,wrapping
aroundthelengthofmycockandguidingittowardsherentrance.

“Patience,sweetheart,”Igrowlagainstherlips,reachingbetweenherlegsto

makesureshe’sreadyforme,whichsheis.Isinkonefingerintoherwetfolds,
andcircleherclituntilshe’smewlinginpleasure.

“Carter,”shemoans,grippingmyhips,andsquirmingbeneathme,beggingme

formycockwithherbody.

AwildcryfallsfromherlipsasIsinkintoher.
Feelingherslickheatwrappedtightaroundmeislikebeingimmersedina

vortexofallconsumingrapture.There’snobetterfeelingintheworld.Notwhen
thoselightbrowneyesstareupatmewithmorelovethananymancouldever
deserve.

Idrawback,thenthrusthard,makinghercryoutagain.
Mymovementsareslow,controlled,needingtokeepmyhead,longenoughto

makehercome,beforespillingmyselfinsideofher.

Thenoisesshemakesasherbodybeginstheclimbtowardsherclimaxnearly

undoesme,andIcrashmylipsagainsthers,thrustingharderandfaster,and
kissingherlikeamanstarved.Shestrainsagainstme,herlegstighteningaround
myhips.

Heavylidded,faceflushed,herheadtiltsback.Herbodyspasmsaroundme,

milkingmycockandtriggeringmyownrelease,untilI’mspurtinghardanddeep

insideher.

Igatherhercloseandrollonmyside,bringingherwithme,buryingmylips

againstherhair.

“Iloveyousofuckingmuchithurts,baby.”
“Iknow,”shesays,stillbreathinghard,andgrinningupatme.
Andshedoes,whichinitsownrightisamiracle.
“Iloveyoutoo.”Herhandsareonmychest,eyesalightwithsomethingIcan’t

decipher.

Idragmythumbacrossthelineofherjaw.Sofuckingbeautiful.Thereare

somedayswhenIstillcan’tbelievehowluckyIam.

Todayisoneofthem.
Shechewsonherlip,tracingthepatternsonmychest,onefingercopyingthe

lettersofherandJoshua’snamesthatareprintedovermyheart.

“Whatareyouthinking?”
“Iwasjustwonderinghowyou’regoingtofitanothernamehere.”
MybrowsdrawdownuntilIrealizewhatshe’ssaying.We’vebeentryingto

haveanotherbabyforoverayearnowwithnoluck,andI’malmostafraidtoask.
“Areyou...”

“Yes.”Thesmilethatlightensherfacemakesmychesttighten.
Iplantahardkissonherlips,cuppingherjawinmyhands.
“Areyouhappy?”sheasks.
“God,yes.”Ikissheragain,blinkingbackthetearsthatprickmyeyes.Beinga

fatheristhesecondbestthinginmylife,thefirstbeingherhusband.

“Daddy,Daddy.”There’sarushoftinyfootstepsclamberingdownthehall

towardsourroom,causingbothLaylaandItoreachforourclothes.

IbarelyfinishshovingmylegsintomypantswhenJoshua’stear-streakedface

appearsatourdoor.Iscoophimup,andimmediatelyhisarmswraptightaround
myneck.

“Monsterinmycloset,”hesays,tighteninghisgrip.
“There’snomonstersbuddy,”Isay,ticklinghimuntilhistearsturntofullout

bellylaughs.

“IwannasleepwithyouandMommy.”
“Bigboyssleepintheirownbeds,”Laylasayssternly.
“Daddysleepsinyourbed.”
Ichuckle,despitethelookofwarningLaylagivesme.“That’scauseI’m

marriedtoMommy.”

“Please,”hebegs.
Igrunt,andglanceoveratLaylawho’salreadysighingwithresignation,

becausewebothknowthatifwedon’tlethim,he’llbecrawlingbackintobed
withuseverytwentyminutes.

“Giveyourmomahug,”Isay,puttinghimonthebed,andwatchinghim

scamperacrossandjumpintoLayla’sarms.

“Righttosleep,”shewarns,brushinghislightbrownhairoffhisforehead.
Icrawlinbesidethemandsmile,despiteknowingI’mprobablynotgoingto

sleepmuchtonight.Thekidisasactiveinhissleepasheisawake.

AssoonasIliedownJoshuajumpsonmychest,makingmybreathleaveme

inawhoosh.“Careful.”

“Story,”hepleads,browneyesthesamecolorasLayla’swideawakenow.
Laylajustsmilesandgivesmethat,I-told-you-solook.
“Oneshortstory,”Isay.
“Abouthockey.”Hisgringetsbigger.
Thekidlovesthegamealready.Iboughthimhisfirstsetofskatesthispast

winter,andnextyearI’vedecidedtocoachtheLittleTykesprogram.

“I’vegotabetterstory,”Isay,tappinghisnosegently.“Aboutalittleboy

who’sgoingtobeabigbrother.”

Joshuafrowns.“No.Hockeystory.”
Laylachucklesandshakesherhead.
“What?Babiesaren’tasfunashockey?”Igrin.
“No.”Heshakeshishead,browsdrawndown.
Laughing,Imusshishair.“TherewasatimeIwouldhaveagreedwithyou,

buddy.”

Hisnosescrunchesup.
“Butnow?”Laylaasks,oneeyebrowraised,agrinplayingonherlips.
Iplacemyhandonherstomachandsmile,“Now,there’snothingthatmakes

mehappier.”

THANKYOU!

Thankyousomuchforreading!Ifyouenjoyedreadingthisbook,pleaseconsider

leavingareview.It’sverymuchappreciated!

LikeCM’sFacebookPage!ClickHere

LikeCarterBlake’sFacebookPage!ClickHere

Wouldyoulikeearlyaccesstonewreleases,reviewcopies,giveawaysand

more?Don’tforgettosignupforC.M’smailinglist!

SignupforCM’smailinglist!ClickHere

SignupforCarterBlake’smailinglist!ClickHere

MorefromC.M.Seabrook

Lookingforyournextsteamyread?

CheckouttheseotherbooksbyC.M.Seabrook

MeetTheoRyan

MackenzieBrooksiseverythingI'veeverwanted.

Threeyearsago,shewalkedoutofmylife.Noexplanation.Justgone.

Withthebiggestfightofmycareeronlyweeksaway,shewalkedbackin.

I'lldoanythingtoprotecther.Destroyanyonewhotriestohurther.

WhenitcomestoMac,thereisn'talineIwon'tcross.

I'velovedhermyentirelife,andnowthat'sshe'sbackIwon'tlethergo.

Sherefusestospeakaboutthepast,orthesecretsIknowshe'shiding.

Iknowshe'splanningonrunningagain.Butwhenyoulovesomeone,youstay

andfight.

Evenifyou'refightingblind.

"Arawtaleofloveandsecondchances,forgivenessandtrust,simmeredover

anintenseflameofsmolderingheatandsexualtension."Dii,TomeTenderBook

Blog

"ThefeelsinthisbookwereUNRELENTING!Eachandeveryscenethrobbed

withsuchgutwrenchingemotion,SCORCHINGchemistry,andPALPABLE

tensionthatitliterallysentshockwavesthroughmysystem."-EpicRomance

Reviews

"Thisbookhadthe smolderingtension ofacontemporaryromanceyettheangst

ofaromanticsuspense,bothbalancedperfectlytomakeagreatstory."-Lauren,

RomanceNovelGiveaways

ClickheretoreaditnowonAmazon

FreeonKindleUnlimited

KEELEY

Iknowhistype.Stuckup.Arrogant.Thekindofguywhohasn'thadtoworkfora
damnthinghisentirelife.Evenhisname,HenryCaldwellIII,reeksofprivilege.

Andme?Well,let'sjustsayIcomewithmorebaggagethana747and

enoughbullsh*ttofuelit.

TheproblemisIwanthim.Cravehim.It'sthekindofpure,all-consuming,panty-

soakinglustthatcanmakeagirlforgetwhyshesworeoffmentobeginwith.

HethinksIneedsaving.Butthisisn'taCinderellastory,andhe'snoPrince

Charming.Atleastnotmine.Ilearnedlongagothattrustinganymanwithmy

heartisn'tjustdangerous-itcanbedeadly.

HENRY

Emotionallycrippled,smart-mouthed,andsexyassin,thewomanisnothingI

needandeverythingIwant.

Despiteherhardedges,tattoos,andrecklessspirit,Iknowshecravesmore.More

fromlife,morefromlove,morefromme.

ShethinksI'mjustatrustfundbratandmaybeshe'sright.ButI'vegotsecretsof

myown.Iknowwhatdarknessis.I'velivedit-facedthepitofhellandbarely

survived.

Thequestionis,amIstrongenoughtofaceitagain?BecauseifI'mevergoingto

breakthroughthesteelwallshe'splacedaroundherheart,it'llmean

facingdemonsweboththoughtwerelongdeadandburied.

ClickheretoreaditnowonAmazon

FreeonKindleUnlimited

Heartbreaker.Playboy.Reckless.WildandRough.Thosearejustafewofthe

namesshe'scalledme,butIdon'tcareaslongasIgetwhatIwant-herheart.

ShedeservesmorethanIcangive.Problemisshe'sallIwant.Thesmartthing

wouldbetostayaway.AndbelievemeI'vetried.I'vekeptmydistanceforfour

years...andtime'sup.

IsabelleStewartismine.

I'vebeenafightermyentirelife,andI'mnotafraidtofightdirty-especiallyfor

her.

ClickheretoreaditnowonAmazon

FreeonKindleUnlimited

MorefromCarterBlake

Lookingforyourne xtste amyre ad?

Che ckoutthisPre te ndToBe Mine byCarte rBlake

ThemomentBrooklynWalshwalkedintomyofficeI

wantedher.No,scratchthat,Iwantedtof*ckher.Topull

upthattightlittleskirtshewaswearing,bendherovermy

desk,andmakehermine.

Butdamnifitdoesn’tgoagainstmyoneandonlyrule–

nevermixbusinesswithpleasure.

ShelooksatmelikeI’mPrinceCharming,heretofulfill

allherdeepestfantasies,butI’mfarfromthemanshe

thinksIam.

Filthyrich.Dominant.Possessive.I’mtheBigBadWolf

hermotherwarnedherabout,readytodevourher

innocenceandherheart.

Despitehowdifficultmydelicious,littleassistanthas

madeit,I’vekeptmydistance.

Untiltonight.

Becausetonight,Ineedhertopretendtobemine.

READONAMAZONNOW!

Document Outline

Second Draft
C.M. Seabrook
Carter Blake
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Layla
Chapter 2
Carter
Chapter 3
Carter
Chapter 4
Layla
Chapter 5
Carter
Chapter 6
Layla
Chapter 7
Carter
Chapter 8
Layla
Chapter 9
Carter
Chapter 10
Layla
Chapter 11
Carter
Chapter 12
Layla
Chapter 13
Layla
Chapter 14
Layla
Chapter 15
Carter
Chapter 16
Layla
Chapter 17
Layla
Chapter 18
Carter
Chapter 19
Layla
Chapter 20
Carter
Chapter 21
Layla
Chapter 22
Carter
Chapter 23
Layla
Chapter 24
Carter
Chapter 25
Layla
Chapter 26
Carter
Chapter 27
Carter
Chapter 28
Layla
Chapter 29
Carter
Chapter 30
Layla
Epilogue
Carter
THANK YOU!
More from C.M. Seabrook
Meet Theo Ryan
More from Carter Blake
But damn if it doesn’t go against my one and only rule – never mix business with pleasure.
Until tonight.

Wyszukiwarka

Podobne podstrony:
Ingo reference letter second draft
joe cell discussion with Adrian second draft
Han, Z H & Odlin, T Studies of Fossilization in Second Language Acquisition
Lab 3 Draft forms raport
Draft Import implementing rules 22072008
iecp secondary en
Draft Survey
Draft Survey Wzory, Morskie, NAWIGACJA
Titanic Secondclass crossword
Lab 3 Draft forms cross curves
Draft Notatki
Woolf The Common Reader Second Series
second possible article
zadania second assault
1844 History Of The Second Advent Believers
Locke J second treatise on government

więcej podobnych podstron

Second Draft – C M Seabrook

Document Outline