Fake Fiancée

And I wouldn’t allow it to be part of who I was.

I was saying goodbye and I was going to mean it.

He wasn’t able to speak. Instead he pulled his thin hand out from the covers and showed me a crumpled postcard. His eyes were tremulous and watery, pleading with me.

Feeling confused, I took it, flipping it over to read. Scrawled in my sloppy nine-year-old handwriting was a card I’d dropped in the mail to him from summer camp, a sappy little message from a daughter that told her daddy how much she missed him.

So long ago when we’d been a real family.

And he’d kept it.

My stomach clenched.

Stunned. That’s how I felt.

“I forgive you,” I said, my heart aching.

For him. For me.

For a family that had cracked right down the middle.

Relief flooded his face as if a burden had been lifted. He closed his eyes and wept.

The rest was a blur. He’d passed a few hours later. I sat with him alongside my cousin who’d been caring for him and a hospice nurse.

Mimi’s voice brought me back.

“You going to talk to Max, right?” she asked as I made my way out the door. “He loves you, ya know. I see it. Only one man ever looked at me the way he does you and that was my husband.”

“Of course. Now get some rest.” I waved goodbye, got in my car, and drove home.

And now there he was—coming across the street, looking ridiculously gorgeous in jeans and a black T-shirt. His hair flowed around his shoulders. My Viking.

It may have only been a few days apart from him, but it felt like a lifetime.

I let go of my luggage, sucked in a deep breath, and prepared myself.

What was going to happen to us?

“Sunny,” he called, his eyes full of questions as they roamed my face. He came to a halt in front of me. “I’m so damn glad you’re back where you belong.”

I nodded, feeling anxious and trying to shake it off. We had so much to talk about. “I just got in. It was a long trip.”

“But you’re here now.”

“Yes.”

A loud cheer came from his house, and I looked over his shoulder, taking in the line of cars and the glow from the lights in his backyard.

I started. Oh.

I looked back at him. “Max! The announcement . . . I’d almost forgotten. Are you a finalist?”

He shrugged broad shoulders. “I don’t know.”

My mouth parted. “You don’t know? Why not?”

His gaze zeroed in on mine. “Because I wanted to see you. Everything else can wait—even the Heisman.”

My heart skipped a beat.

“I’ve thought about us a lot . . .” he said, sticking his hands in his pockets. “I guess we should talk.”

“Yeah.”

“I found your pregnancy test. I—I guess that’s what you wanted to tell me. Right?”

My eyes widened. What? How had he—

“I found it when you asked me to make sure you’d locked up. The only thing missing is the test strip.”

Oh. I nibbled at my bottom lip, picturing his reaction. “I packed it with my stuff when I was getting ready to leave. I took the test and then Mimi showed up to tell me about my dad. Things got nuts.”

He reached out a tentative hand and caressed my cheek, but let it fall as if he didn’t know quite what to do with me. “It’s not your fault. You were on the pill, but we were going at it like crazy.”

I sent him a small smile, recalling several of those moments. “I’m not pregnant. If I had known you’d find the package, I would have told you sooner, but I was waiting until we were together so we could discuss things.”

A myriad of emotions flitted across his face, but I couldn’t pin them down. “It would have been okay if you were,” he said softly. “We can handle anything. You and me.”

I glanced up. “You’re not upset at the close call? Even after Bianca . . .”

“You are not her. You’re trustworthy and beautiful and the person I want to be with.”

My stomach fluttered. God. I needed to hear these words. I needed him.

He continued. “I freaked, sure, but I was never angry. I was worried about you, but I didn’t want to bring it up with everything else you had going on.” His hand lifted again, this time more confident as his fingers glided into my hair and tugged me closer to him. “Let’s put the baby scare aside. I’m sorry I roped you into being my fake fiancée—no wait—I can’t say that because I don’t know if things would have turned out like this.”

“Like how?”

“I love you, Sunny.”

Such simple words. Words I needed.

My insecurities slipped away and elation flew over me. I put my hands on his shoulders. “Say that again.”

His blue-green gaze searched mine. “I love you. I have for a long time. I was scared it would screw up my game, but life is crystal clear now. It’s just taken me a while to wake the hell up.” His voice was fierce, almost gruff in the delivery. He swallowed once and then twice, the lines of his throat moving. “Since the night I pulled you out of that car and brought life back to you, you gave life to me.” He looked at me certainty. “You’re mine. You always will be.”

“It’s about time you told me, Quarterback,” I said, my voice thick. “I love you so much. You’re everything to me. You were meant to be mine since the night you saved—”