CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Harlow
“Hi, baby. It’s Noah, leaving you a message. Again.”
His rough, sleep-deprived voice guts me. Why hasn’t he given up on me? I’m defective when it comes to love. Sure, I can care. I can totally help when someone else needs me. But when the time comes to lower the walls and give my heart, I freeze. I feel love. I want to open myself up. But like Noah’s issues between his brain and his mouth, there’s this block between my heart and my ability to trust. I don’t know how to conquer it. Some days I feel strong. But when all it takes to shatter my fairy-tale castle is a few sentences from a total asshole doing his best to make money, my strength is obviously an illusion.
I’m not ready to love.
Still, I can’t bring myself to stop listening to Noah’s voice mails. I grip the phone tighter and close my eyes, pretending he’s beside me and I still have the right to throw my arms around him, bask in his warmth, and kiss him with all my might.
“Listen… In spite of what Cliff said to Mr. Chickman, I married you for one reason only: I love you. I would never put a negotiation or a paycheck above you. But those are just words to you, I know. I’m sure your father and Simon have given you plenty of platitudes and empty promises in the past. So tomorrow before you fly back to San Diego, I plan to hold a press conference and announce that I’ll be turning down the network’s offer.”
“What? No!” I shout at the recording as if he can hear me. “You can do the job.”
But he can’t hear me. I left him.
Because I didn’t live up to my end of the contract we signed. Because I didn’t honor my vows. Because I couldn’t trust in love when things got tough.
“I’m doing it to prove that you’re more important to me than anything,” he says in my ear.
I close my eyes in shame. Nothing makes me feel more terrible than Noah giving up the future he wants because he thinks he needs to prove something so I’ll love him the way I should. He doesn’t have to prove anything, damn it. I know Cliff is a hustling asshole saying whatever he thought would get the deal done most expediently. Even when I left the restaurant, I was half convinced of that. By the time I’d packed my bags and left Noah’s estate, I was eighty percent certain the man I’d married had never once said he’d tied the knot with me to land a multimillion-dollar job. The following morning, I was even less convinced that Noah was that sort of shitbag. Now that the weekend has rolled around, I’m almost completely sure he had nothing to do with Cliff’s BS at all.
But it’s that sliver of doubt that worries me. Given all that, can I ever be the wife and partner Noah needs?
“I know you’re probably thinking that I’ve progressed enough to function as a color commentator. Maybe you’re right. Still, I have this…difficulty to overcome. It won’t be an overnight process. I could probably do it now that you’ve taught me so much about how to cope. The thing is, I don’t have anything left to prove to the NFL, football fans, or the public. Just you. I wanted you to know that before you leave Hawaii—and me. I also need to make one thing clear: If you ever miss me, want me, decide you love me, I’m here. I’m waiting. I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you and I never will. And if you’ll give me the chance, I’ll help heal your bruised heart. Like my speech problems, it won’t be a quick, easy fix. That’s okay. You accepted me—faults, speech glitch, and all—knowing I’d make progress but never achieve perfection. That’s true of you, too, and I’d happily accept your fears and flaws if you ever want to come back. If not, then…good-bye, wahine.”
The subtle click in my ear when he hangs up has so much finality my chest implodes. I did the right thing for him, to save him more of this wretched pain later. But right now, I’m feeling so weak. All I want to do is pick up the phone, apologize, hear him say that he loves me again. Tell him how much I love him in return…
A soft knock on the guest bedroom door at Griff and Britta’s new place breaks my reverie. “Come in.”
Britta sticks her head inside, soft platinum hair a beacon of light in the near darkness. After a heart-to-heart with Maxon and Griff this afternoon, I came in here to shut the door, shove in my earbuds, and process. Since then, night has fallen. So has my mood. It’s been a heavy day.
“I thought I’d check on you. I kept your dinner in the oven when you didn’t answer earlier.”
“That’s sweet. Thank you, but I’m not hungry.” Way too much on my mind.
“How are you handling everything you and your brothers talked about earlier?”
“I’m still in shock,” I admit.
But I also feel closer to them.
After lunch, they pulled me into Griff’s study and sat me down. They both confessed everything Mom and Dad had inflicted on them growing up. I’m still reeling.
Our twisted father insisted on making his sons “men,” so he offered to get them laid at sixteen by whatever secretary he was boffing himself at the moment. He’s belittled Maxon since my oldest brother turned him down, then treated Griff like the favorite son because he’d repeatedly partaken. Why had Dad done it? Because the old man wanted his boys to share in his depravity? Because Barclay thought that somehow made it all right? Because he wanted carbon copies of himself? I’ll never know or understand.
Griff didn’t get off easy, either. Our self-centered mother used his desire to be loved to manipulate him so she could whore him out in order to climb a stupid social ladder.
My brothers’ admissions floored me. Didn’t our parents care at all?
No. They’re self-absorbed monsters. Sociopaths. I can’t think of another reason people would care so little about their own kids’ psyches. They feel superior, and all the “little people” below them are irrelevant, even their own children. I don’t comprehend at all. The baby growing inside me is tiny, the size of a grain of sand, but my number one instinct is to protect him or her. I’d lay down my life to shield this kid’s innocence. My parents couldn’t wait to exploit ours.
After hearing my story, however, my brothers are nothing but supportive and protective. After we all purged, we shared tears, followed by laughter at all the stupid ways we’ve tried to cope over the years. But Maxon and Griff have turned into great men and even better husbands. I left that study reeling and confused…but certain there’s hope for me yet.
“Can we come in?” Britta opens the door a bit wider, and I see Keeley standing there, face looking unusually solemn.
They mean well and they want to comfort me. I can’t say no. They’re awesome women and some of my best friends. “Please.”
They shuffle in. Britta sits on the bed next to me, Keeley in the fluffy chair in the corner. Both stare as if they have more to say. But something has been tugging at me, and I have to know…
“Did you two already know everything my brothers told me today?”
They glance at one another as if confirming their own suspicions.
“I’ve known what had happened to Maxon or a while. But even though I was Griff’s confidante for years and I knew he’d been through a lot, he never told me about the summer that almost destroyed him,” Keeley murmurs. “I still don’t know all the details.”
Britta shakes her head. “Griff finally told me what he’d been through the day we got married. But despite working for Maxon for years, he’s never confided in me. He’s always been a respectable boss mixed with a dash of protective older brother.”
He would have never sullied Britta with his sordid past. Same of Griff with Keeley. It’s exactly why they never told me, either. Well, that and their own respective shame. Neither wanted me to look at them with horror, disillusionment, or pity. And I can only imagine that’s why they never told one another.
But now everything is out in the open, and the truth has brought us even closer as siblings. I understand my brothers so much more now. I also understand the fortitude it took them to overcome the past my parents heaped on them and embrace the love of their spouses.
Can I do that with Noah?
I want to. God knows I close my eyes at night and imagine I’m beside my husband. That he’s just a reach of my arm away. That he loves me and our baby and…
Then I open my eyes to the dark and realize I’m alone. Because I’m afraid. And I’m crushed.
With my sisters-in-law staring at me, the truth hits me. I have two choices. I can either keep bowing to the fear that I can’t love Noah the right way or, like he said, I can accept that I’m not perfect and simply do my best.
Would it work? We did pretty good for a few weeks. I’d been there with and for him until things got heavy. Until Noah unwittingly hit my vulnerable spot. Maybe I could do it again in a bigger, better way.
But what if I can’t? What if it’s not enough? What if I hurt him irreversibly in the end?
“Thanks for everything, you two,” I tell my brothers’ wives. “Your support has meant a lot to me these last few days.”
“Anytime. But Noah loves you,” Britta says.
“I know.”
He’s never given me a real reason to question that. And when I consider that fact, I wonder again if I’m crazy to throw away the kind of adoration and devotion most people spend their whole lives wishing for.
“I’ll say what Britta is too polite to tell you,” Keeley cuts in. “You’re being a moron.”
Despite the pain tearing through my chest, I have to laugh. “I deeply suspect that.”
That doesn’t mean I know how to just get over myself. Does anyone? I’ve met people who were their own worst enemy and wondered why they couldn’t find their fucking gumption and just fix it. But I get now that life isn’t always simple. Fear isn’t rational. Getting over your internal scars enough to carry on again is a bit like committing to a lifestyle change. And like a diet, it doesn’t work instantly. It’s a concerted effort, a commitment—an adjustment of mindset.
I don’t lack grit. I could definitely live with Noah again. I’d love to…at least for a while. But what happens if I fall off the wagon? How badly will he be hurt? And what if I drag our baby through our breakup? This isn’t just about him and me anymore.
Is the joy worth the possible price later, especially since I fear Noah will pay so heavily?
“I know you’re probably tired of me dishing out songs for every occasion but music really helps me think.” Keeley shrugs. She is who she is. “If you’ll open your phone for me, I’ll download you some music I picked that might help you.”
She means well, and it can’t hurt. Why the hell not?
As I hand her the device, I look Britta’s way. “I think…I’d like to talk to my brothers again. Are they still here?”
The sisters-in-law glance at one another again, this time as if they’re trying to decide who’s going to be the one to impart bad news. Finally, Britta sighs. “Maxon and Griff both received calls from the FBI about an hour ago. I knocked but… Your dad has been accused of embezzling from clients for the last twenty years. They’re alleging that your mom aided and abetted him. They’ve both been arrested. Your brothers were asked to come in and give statements as family members and former employees.”
As if the day wasn’t already full of revelations… This one steals my breath and grips my chest. But should I actually be surprised? If Barclay and Linda Reed weren’t above using their own children for their gain, why would they hesitate to abuse clients?
“Oh, my… Wow. I should have seen that coming.”
Keeley gives me an apologetic grin. “That’s pretty much what your brothers said. The FBI indicated they might need to talk to you at some point, but maybe not since you never worked for your father.”
I don’t have anything to add to a possible embezzlement indictment, but if they want witnesses about my parents’ character, I have plenty to say. I’m not vindictive…but they have a lot to answer for as parents and human beings. Maybe this is Karma’s way of getting things done.
“Whatever they need, sure.”
Keeley nods and hands my phone back. “The playlist is downloaded. I bookended you with the Beatles. I hope these songs help you.”
I’m about ready to launch it and start the packing I’ve been avoiding before tomorrow’s flight when the doorbell suddenly rings.
“And that will be Evan,” Britta says, rising to her feet.
“You invited him over?”
She turns back in the doorway. “No. He called and asked if he could see you.”
I can’t imagine why, but before I have a chance to ask, she’s out the door.
Keeley stands and gives me a hug. “We’ll set him up in the study. Head in there when you’re ready.”
“Now’s as good a time as any.” I shrug.
“You might want to fix yesterday’s smudged mascara. And put on a bra.”
I have to laugh at myself. I’ve been so up in my head that I totally didn’t think about taking off my old makeup or the fact that I didn’t have the mental energy to get fully dressed today.
“I’ll do that.” I give her a self-deprecating roll of my eyes. “Tell him I need to clean up, then I’ll be in.”
“Sure thing.” She’s back to her bubbly self, which I appreciate because the mausoleum mode dragging down the whole house has got to go.
“And thanks for everything,” I say. “I don’t know how my brothers lucked into you two ladies, but they should be damn thankful.”
Keeley winks my way. “Britta and I never let them forget it. We’ll occupy Evan with embarrassing stories about Maxon and Griff until you’re ready.”
I laugh as she slips out of the bedroom, then head to the adjoining bathroom and stare in the mirror. And stare some more. Oh, hell. I am a mess. I’m so grateful Keeley said something. I don’t even look presentable enough to socialize with anyone’s pet.
Dialing up the music she downloaded for me just now, I turn up the volume and cut on the shower. I’ll be quick, but it’s going to take some repair.
The first song to blare through my phone speakers is “The Long and Winding Road.” Paul McCartney’s iconic voice, complete with that little break in the first line, is unmistakable. By the time I’m soaping up, my tears are falling down. I should feel noble about my decision to separate from Noah now and save him the pain later, but I don’t. I’d love to change my mind but…all the fears that made me leave in the first place are still there. Sure, progress not perfection, and all that. But what if it’s not enough?
As I’m rinsing my hair, a song I don’t recognize begins to play. It’s kick-ass, beginning with a serious guitar riff. Then a woman with a high-pitched, almost fragile voice belts out that she wants to dream again and this time she’s not scared because she’s unbreakable. The lyrics resonate, pinging and bouncing inside me, connecting deep. She sings a quick bridge about fear being the crutch that holds you back and turns your dreams to dust.
Oh, hell. She’s right.
Noah won’t use me. I know that now. He’s also willing to take me back. What’s keeping me from running back to him right now is nothing more than my own anxiousness and worry.
As my thoughts roll on, so does the song, shouting that all I need to do is trust.
So simple. But so damn hard.
Shoving aside the shower curtain, I wipe the water from my hand enough to tap the screen of my phone. The tune is “Unbreakable” by Fireflight. I’m definitely listening to that again. After hearing the vocalist’s resolve, I know I need more of my own.
And I have to remember to thank Keeley later for telling me so in her way.
The next song up begins with a totally different guitar sound than the last, this one a gentle sway like a breeze-tossed palm. It’s unmistakably Elvis saying that he can’t help falling in love. Yeah, I couldn’t help it, either. When he sings the eloquent plea to his love that she should take his hand and his whole life, too… That’s another sob I can’t stop. Everything Noah said to me boiled down to that message.
And I still walked away.
I have this terrible feeling I’ve made the biggest mistake of my life.
I have to get out of the shower and not keep Evan waiting anymore. Maybe…I need to call Noah to talk, too.
As classic Elvis drifts off, I cut the faucet and hop out of the shower. I refuse to cry over this mess I’ve made anymore. I’m going to figure out how to be happy and start doing it.
The King fades, leading into John Legend. “All of Me” is a beautiful song with a beautiful message. That man loves his woman, the same way my husband said he loves me—with all my curves and edges and my perfect imperfections.
Damn it, that starts the waterworks again.
Grabbing a pile of comfy clothes from my suitcase, I scramble into something I hope is presentable—along with a bra—as the ballad mellows into another fitting choice on Keeley’s part. Katy Perry’s “Unconditionally” captures the essence of the way I’m supposed to love my husband in return. When she croons about letting go of the fear and just being free, I laugh through the fresh sting of tears. Keeley isn’t subtle in delivering her message, but she’s effective.
As I wrestle a comb through my wet hair and wrangle it into a bun, George Harrison sings me out with “Here Comes the Sun.” It’s the vocal equivalent of light peeking through the darkness. Upbeat. Happy. Hopeful. Keeley—and the Fab Four—are telling me that everything will be all right.
The collective message of this playlist isn’t lost on me. I’ve put Noah and myself on this long, winding path to misery, which will only get longer unless I decide that fear will no longer break me. If I’ll embrace the fact that we both fell in love and believe that he loves all of me unconditionally, my long, cold, lonely winter will be over.
I sigh as I stroke some lip balm across my mouth. Keeley is probably right. And now I’m feeling like a total coward. What if Maxon hadn’t gotten over himself enough to admit he loved Keeley? What if Griff hadn’t worked past his anger enough to marry Britta? What kind of loser does it make me if I don’t even try to make my relationship with Noah last?
Yeah… I have to talk to him.
After rushing out the bedroom door, I race down the tiled hallway and approach the study to ask if I can borrow someone’s car because I’ve got to go. Instead, I hear Evan talking—and his words stop me short.
“So I don’t see any other choice. I’ve given this a lot of thought. I’m going to have to buy a wife.”
Is he kidding?
One of my sisters-in-law chokes. Britta, I think, since Keeley has no trouble finding her voice.
“That’s not really legal. You know that, right?” Maxon’s wife points out.
“It’s merely a business transaction.”
Okay, he’s not kidding.
“So is prostitution.”
“Keeley makes a good point,” Britta says softly. “I’m sure you’ll find someone special again someday. No one will replace Becca. She was your only girlfriend and your first love. It will take you time to recover and you’ll have to work through your grief before you can fall in love—”
“No. I don’t want love. I will simply offer someone young, socially adept, and mildly attractive the position as my wife in exchange for stability, fidelity, and financial security. A housekeeper and a cook can’t meet all my needs.”
“Can’t you hire a hooker for sex?” I stroll into the room with a frown, unable to stay out of this conversation.
He frowns my way. “I want children someday. For obvious reasons, a prostitute won’t serve my purposes. A surrogate won’t work, either, because I want my son or daughter to live with both a mother and a father. Rather than hire someone to help me navigate corporate galas and fundraisers that exhaust the introvert in me, as well as a cook, a housekeeper, a Girl Friday, and a hooker, I can simply buy a wife. It’s far more logical and cost effective.” Evan rises to his feet. “Hello, Harlow.”
I swallow as Keeley and Britta both stand and head for the study door, shaking their heads.
“Well, good luck with that plan,” Maxon’s redhead says in a tone that more than conveys she thinks he’s being a dumb ass.
“The right candidate is out there,” he assures me. “Not every woman marries for romantic reasons.”
Britta gives him a tightly polite smile. “Let us know if you need anything else.”
Griff’s wife doesn’t know what to say, and I don’t blame her. I’m kind of at a loss for words, too.
“Thank you for your hospitality.” My half brother nods.
“And before I forget, thank you for the music, Keeley,” I say softly.
Her face brightens. “Did it help?”
“Actually…yeah.” I smile, and she claps her hands with a little squeal of delight.
After the women back out of the room, I hug Evan awkwardly before we both take our seats.
“How would your late wife feel about you hiring someone to take her place?” I challenge.
“Becca understood me as no one else ever has or ever will. I loved her with my entire heart, and I buried my soul with her and our unborn child. But Fate or God or whatever you believe in has decreed that I should keep living. I’m having trouble doing that,” he admits.
“It may take more than a month to adjust. It must be a terrible shock and—”
“Unimaginable. Becca was my rock, my crutch…my sun. But I have to be practical. I work fifteen hours a day, often seven days a week. I don’t have time to grocery shop or cook or pay my bills. I can’t run errands, drop off dry cleaning, deal with the tax assessor. I don’t function well at parties where I need to be charming. And while I don’t have the time or inclination for romance, that fact has done nothing to mitigate my sex drive. After dissecting the problem, I came to the logical conclusion that I need a wife who understands what our relationship is…and isn’t.”
Before Noah, I would have completely understood his point of view. If his prospective bride came into the marriage with all the facts and her eyes wide open, the arrangement would have made total sense to me. In fact, I probably would have applauded Evan for his out-of-the-box thinking.
But not anymore. Now, I’m horrified.
And that should tell me something about how connected I am to my heart.
“You don’t ever want love again?”
He drags in a deep breath. “Would I like it? Very much. But I’ve loved deeply and totally. I believe it’s something we’re only entitled to once in our lives and only if we’re very lucky. Though Becca was taken from me too soon, I had my chance. I won’t have another, so my heart is now closed. Would it be better to marry someone on a pretense?”
“No, but I don’t think you should shut yourself off to the possibility that—”
“It’s not possible.” He raises a dark brow, and I’m struck by how much he looks like a Reed, like a younger blend of Maxon and Griff. He acts like one, too. His bravado hides a pain he doesn’t want to show and I can’t really fathom. “I could ask you the same question. In fact, that’s why I came here tonight. I heard you left Noah and your sisters-in-law told me a bit about why. I have to say, I’m shocked.”
“Well, join the club. Griff said roughly the same thing. Maxon just asked me if I’d lost my damn mind.”
“Smart men. I would do or give anything to have Becca back for even a day. I won’t waste your time asking if you love Noah because I know you do. And I won’t let you insult my intelligence by hearing you insist otherwise. You’re throwing your chance away.” He grabs my hands. “Stop before it’s too late. I’ll never love another day in my life, and I fucking regret that I let my wife drive to her appointment in that rainstorm because I was too busy to tell the windbag on my phone to shove his sales pitch up his ass and take her myself. I certainly treasure the time I had with her, but what’s worse is regretting every moment we’ll never share—the children we’ll never have, the adventures we might have taken, the gray hairs we’ll never fret about together… Don’t throw away what might be a lifetime of love together.” He stands suddenly. “I’ve overstepped my boundaries, haven’t I? Did I mention that I’m not good socially?”
His words—and the emotion he’s forcing himself to bury—bring me to tears, and it’s all I can do to hold myself together. I can’t imagine how much admitting that cost him emotionally. But he’s right.
And I’ve been a terrible idiot.
“You did mention it, but you didn’t overstep. Thank you for looking out for me and for being so honest.”
“Of course. You and your brothers, along with your spouses, have been more family than I’ve ever had. If Rebecca could see me now, she’d be smiling.” We hug again, this time much less awkwardly than our greeting. He tugs at my ear fondly. “Go get your husband. I can’t be happy for myself anymore, so you be happy for both of us.”
The Four Seasons in Wailea is a gorgeous paradise and someday I’ll stop to appreciate it. But today I only care about my husband. His press conference starts in three minutes and I have to get there before everything goes horribly wrong.
I ached to see him last night, but after Evan’s departure, Britta and Keeley were rattling around the house, worried about my brothers’ return from wherever the FBI had taken them. Besides, I wanted to take time to be one hundred percent sure of my decision.
So we watched a funny chick flick, baked brownies, and stayed up until the guys came in after one a.m., utterly exhausted. But they were smiling. They’d been able to add surprisingly helpful information for the FBI, and the case against our parents is now looking tight, according to the special agent who interrogated them. All it took was for one whistleblower—one of my father’s former assistants/mistresses—and their entire scheme began to crumble. They’re both in custody and it doesn’t look as if they’ll be getting out anytime soon.
Maybe I should pity them or feel sadness that my parents are probably going away for a long time. But no. They’re getting what they deserve. They won’t be able to hurt anyone again. My brothers and I, along with our spouses and future kids, can finally be a family without their dark presence in our lives. We can finally look to the future.
And after sleeping on it and listening to Keeley’s playlist again, I’m more sure of the future I want than ever.
I scramble down a series of hallways and wonder why these places are always like a maze. It’s frustrating. Parking was a bitch, and I just want to reach Noah, say my piece…and let the chips fall.
When I approach the meeting room, reporters are already jammed into the space, double-checking equipment and jockeying for the best angle. No one notices me as I slip in the back, hair pulled into a braid, borrowed ball cap low over my face.
My heart is pounding and my palms are sweating. This could end fairy-tale happy…or Greek-tragedy sad. The fear I haven’t learned to tame yet still nips at my heels with a hundred what-if questions and the accompanying doomsday scenarios. I shove them all down.
I’m choosing to embrace love.
Right on schedule, Cliff files into the front of the room, to a bank of mics set up at a podium behind a long banquet table. Noah is right behind him.
My heart stutters. If that sounds trite, I don’t know how else to describe my chest seizing up in joy at the sight of him, then pounding again simply because we’re in the same room together.
When he steps out of the shadow, he looks as big and Alpha and sexy as hell as usual. But he also looks exhausted, resigned. Grim.
I did that to him. Never mind if I might hurt him in the future. I’ve brought him pain now. And that’s something Noah Weston, football great and amazing husband, should never feel because of me. All season, he should be in the booth, providing the best color commentary for the sport that’s made him the man he is. The rest of the year, he should be letting me give him all my love and devotion.
He’ll give everything up if I don’t stop him. And he’s willing to do that. For me. To prove something I don’t need him to.
That realization tears at my heart.
Cliff steps behind the podium and taps the mic in the middle with his finger. It’s definitely hot, and the screeching feedback has reporters covering their ears. Then he clears his throat. “Ladies and gentlemen, Noah Weston has a major announcement about his professional future. The message is prerecorded. He will only take questions afterward about the video.”
A tech dressed in a collared shirt with the hotel’s logo springs into action and taps a few keys to launch whatever they recorded onto the screen behind us as the lights dim.
I know what Noah’s announcement is, and I’m not having it. This is my moment. It’s now or never.
With my insides churning and chugging, I push away from the wall, tear off my ball cap, and stride down the middle aisle like a badass bitch with a point to make. “I know you said Noah would take questions after the announcement, but how about a comment beforehand?”
My husband’s head jerks up. He sees me. Our gazes meet, and a zip rolls down my spine. Brutal relief rips across his face as he stands. His eyes pierce me with hope and something that’s unmistakably lust. “You have something to say?”
Every camera suddenly swerves and points in my direction as I smile out my love to Noah. “Yeah. Wanna hear it?”
Noah doesn’t bother walking around the table. He leaps over and meets me halfway across the room. I hold out my arms to him and he takes me into his own. Our bodies meet. His heat seeps into me. His musky scent is arousing, but it’s also as familiar as coming home. He clasps me so tight I can barely breathe, but I don’t need to. I have the man I’ve realized I can’t breathe without.
“Why are you here, baby?” he whispers in my ear.
“Because I can’t let you give up this opportunity.”
He pulls back enough to scan my face. “Is that the only reason?”
I shake my head solemnly. “Because I can’t live another minute without you. Forgive me?”
“Already done.” Apparently he doesn’t care any more than I do who sees how elated we are to be together again. Euphoria slams me as his mouth crashes down on mine and he reminds me that I belong to him.
I’m going to kiss this man every day for the rest of my life. I’m going to tell him that I love him. And when I feel uncertain or scared, he’s going to tell me everything that’s in his heart. But I’ll never let him go again.
“I love you,” he murmurs against my lips.
“I love you, too,” I assure him as I sniff back tears, then whisper for his ears only. “You’ll never have to wonder again if it’s true or if I’m ready to be with you. I do and I am. I called the firm that offered me the job in San Diego and turned them down. If you’ll have me, I’m staying in Hawaii. With you.”
He looks as if he’s struggling to keep the press conference macho enough for the sports crowd, but he’d rather be alone with me, telling me exactly how he feels with his words—and his body. “Thank god. Oh, baby… Yes.”
Noah’s face clouds over with that mixture of love and need that tells me if I don’t wrangle control of this situation, I might find my clothes flying off because he’s too eager to touch me to wait. In truth, I’m eager, too. But I don’t want an audience. I very much want to be alone with my husband so I can atone and worship him in every way he deserves.
“Hold that thought, big guy. Let’s make an announcement.”
“What do you think I should be saying to these eager reporters?”
I brush a kiss across his mouth again. “Why don’t you let me get you started? Take over when you’re ready.”
I don’t say if. I know Noah will be able to speak and get his message across just fine.
He cocks his head, clearly intrigued as we stroll, hand in hand, to the front of the room, behind the podium. “You do that.”
Cliff shoots me a wary stare that says he’s waiting for me to tear his balls off. He should be. But I won’t…at least not today. No promises about tomorrow.
I give Noah’s hand one last squeeze, then step up to the mic. “Good afternoon, everyone. As some of you know, I’m Harlow Weston, Noah’s wife. He’s gathered you here this afternoon to let you know that he’ll be accepting a job to provide color commentary he was offered earlier this spring by Mr. Gus Chickman and his esteemed network. Noah will do a fantastic job, and he’s thrilled to be continuing to serve the sport he’s loved his whole life.” I send him another glance, and he beams back at me with pride, so I forge ahead. “I’m making the announcement for Noah to bring attention to an issue that doesn’t get the airtime it deserves. Too many players in this great game suffer concussive injuries and head trauma that can lead to lasting damage. I’m proud to tell you that my husband and I met because he hired me professionally as a speech therapist so he could accept Mr. Chickman’s offer with an open heart and an open conscience. He may occasionally struggle, and I ask that you be patient and remember that, unless you’ve had more than a handful of concussions, you can’t understand what he’s enduring. We’re hoping to use our platform to not only elevate the sport, but the wounded warriors who have played it bravely and paid a price they never anticipated. Noah and I are also thrilled to announce that we’re expecting our first child and now that the situation with Mercedes Fleet has been resolved, we’ll be taking an extended honeymoon before his exciting new job starts.” I turn to the man I love with all my heart. “Ready to take questions?”
The smile he turns my way is one I’ll never forget. He’s relieved to have his secret out. He’s grateful I did the heavy lifting, just in case anxiety tied his tongue in knots. Most of all, he feels blessed that we’re going to live the life we promised one another on our wedding day.
“Thank you, Harlow. I’d love to.” He squeezes my hand, takes a couple of calming breaths, and palms a foam ball he extracted from the back of the podium. “But first I have to thank my wife for her wisdom and all she’s done to support me, for the joy she’s given me, and for reminding me today of all the reasons I fell for her. Progress, not perfection.”
“Progress, not perfection,” I chime back, wanting to kiss this man more than I can ever remember. But he needs his moment in the spotlight, and I’m so happy he’s taking it.
The next forty minutes are a whirlwind of questions, and Noah answers them both perfectly and patiently. He sounds smooth and relaxed, joking with reporters—looking nothing like the fatigued, washed-up athlete he did before the press conference began. He oozes confidence and charm as he provides enough details about the role he’ll be playing with the network, the nature of his speech issues, some of the therapy we’ve been employing, as well as announcing that we’ll be starting a players’ assistance organization to give advice and direction in the event a player, current or former, needs help, direction, or an ear.
I’ve never been prouder of him.
The inevitable question about my parents’ arrests arises. He lets me field that with a vague answer that the investigation has just begun, no criminal charges have been filed yet, and that I know very little about the allegations because I haven’t been involved with my parents in quite some time and never with their business.
Finally, the rapid-fire queries slow, and Cliff steps in to end the press conference. With a wave, we clasp hands again and file into the back room, away from reporters’ prying eyes and his watchful agent.
“You came back to me. I’m so relieved.” He cups my face in his hands and searches my face for answers. “What changed your mind?”
“I realized I was an idiot.”
“You were afraid.”
I nod. “Of getting hurt. Of hurting you. Of how much I love you. So many things… Then I realized that I was hurting you anyway. All of my brothers talked to me, even Evan. Keeley came to my rescue with songs, and Britta gave me space when I needed it. These last two days, my family has been there. But something still felt missing, and that was you. I’m not whole without you. It’s hard for me to admit that.”
“I know. But your trust means so much to me.”
“You’ve done nothing to make me doubt you. It was all in my head. And I had to decide whether to make us both miserable or fulfilled for the rest of our lives.” I cock my head with a little grin. “I think I chose well.”
“I know you did. What shall we do now, Mrs. Weston? Go home and celebrate naked?”
“We’re awfully far from home. Isn’t this a hotel? Can’t we just get a room?”
“We could, but I want you in our pool, on our dining room table, and wrapped around me in our bed.”
“That sounds”—I sigh, contentment brimming inside me that’s so bright and sharp I’m almost painfully happy—“perfect. I want you inside me, next to me, a part of me forever.”
“You’ve got it, baby. You can have me however you want me. Once we’re both sated, which may be a few decades from now, can you show me how to kill that damn Draugr Deathlord who keeps whipping my ass on that fucking video game?”
I toss back my head and laugh. I might not be good at love with the usual guy in the usual way. But I think I’m going to be damn good at loving this one for the rest of my life. “You’re on.”
Noah brushes a kiss over my lips. “You know what I thought the first time I saw you?”
“Tell me,” I whisper.
“That I had no idea when I purchased my dream home that it would come with the woman straight out of my fantasies.”
His words make me smile. He makes me glow. With Noah, I’m sublimely happy. “Well, now I’m your reality, big guy.”
“And I’m so blessed.”
I join our hands, thumbing his wedding ring, gratified that he’s still wearing it. He thrusts his hand into the pocket of his pants, pulls out my wedding ring, and begins fitting it on my finger again. “I’ve been carrying this around because I can’t stop thinking of you. Do you, forever this time?”
“I do. Forever and always. I promise.”
“I’m going to hold you to that.”
“You can hold me to that, hold me down, or just hold me tight. I’ll always be yours.”
The End
Read on for excerpts from Shayla Black!