Chapter 45
Chapter Forty-Five
Dara
“That’s going to hurt like a …”
The doorbell rings in the nick of time. I close the pregnancy book with a flourish and set it on the sofa.
I get to my feet, still quite sore, and pretend I just didn’t see how wide my vagina is going to have to stretch for this little munchkin to come out of it.
Your body is made to do this, the book says. Maybe. But I’m definitely opting for the epidural.
Decision made.
“What did you forget … Wade!”
My voice raises as I set my sights on the handsome man on the porch.
Just the sight of him brings tears to my eyes. He’s wearing my favorite navy cardigan that I used to tease him mercilessly about but quietly loved.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“May I come in?”
I want to say no, but I don’t have the heart to do it. Nor the willpower.
“Sure.” I step to the side and close the door behind him. “I’m surprised to see you.”
“I bet you are.”
Huh?
I walk around him and head to the sofa. Thinking fast, I grab the pregnancy book and shove it under the couch cushions as I sit.
“How have you been?” he asks, taking a seat on the other end of the couch.
“Fine. Just like I tell you every day in texts.”
“I hate texts.”
“Then stop texting me.”
I really want him to stop talking to me and to grab me instead and kiss the hell out of me. But, even if he did that, I don’t know that I would let him.
My heart aches from not having him around.
The struggle to deal with the pregnancy news alone was my choice, one hundred percent, but it didn’t have to be that way.
It could’ve been completely different had he come to the hospital and not freaked the fuck out.
And I don’t want to blame him for that but … I do.
I’m tired of making excuses for people when they fail me. And I’m tired of thinking it’s okay to be failed by everyone.
I put my hand on my stomach without thinking about it. I withdraw it slowly.
“So, why are you here?” I ask. “You knew that I was fine.”
“I wanted to talk to you.”
“So talk.”
He grins. “Why are you being so mean?”
“Because you hurt my feelings, so proceed or leave.”
I mentally pat myself on the back. Good job. Stay strong.
He sighs. “I’m sorry.”
Well, damn. I wasn’t expecting that.
“For what?” I ask.
He rests his elbows on his knees. “For a lot of things.”
“Like … words, Wade. I know you have them.”
He grins again. I try not to see it—I look away as soon as I see it start to form—but it’s addictive.
“I wasn’t there for you. I’m not there for you,” he says. His words are crisp and clear, and he looks me in the eyes as he says them. “I should’ve put my fears aside and been stronger for you, but I didn’t. That was my true failure in all of this. I failed you. And I’m sorry.”
Wow.
His honesty and vulnerability sink some of my anger and resolve. That irritates me a bit, but I can’t help it much.
“In your defense—”
“No. This isn’t about defending me,” he says.
“Then from my perspective,” I say, “I can’t imagine how that déjà vu must’ve felt to you. And I had no idea you’d lost a child.” I frown. “That’s heartbreaking.”
He gazes into the distance. “It was a long time ago, but, yeah, that’s a hard one.”
We sit quietly, and I use the opportunity to study him.
He still has bags under his eyes, and his skin is ruddy. His hair is a bit longer than usual, but at least he’s shaved.
The most striking thing about him, though, is the clarity in his eyes. I feel like I could look right through him if I wanted to.
I hold on to the armrest and try to decide if this is a good time to tell him about the baby. We’ve both needed a little space to heal from the accident. Maybe we can talk about it now. Maybe we can come to some sort of agreement.
Or not.
I have to be prepared for either because I won’t beg him. I won’t beg a man to love me or my child.
My child.
Our child.
I grin.
I imagine a little boy with Wade’s dimpled chin. I wonder if he’ll wear glasses like his dad or if he’ll have an interest in architecture.
Or maybe it’s a little girl, and she’ll have his wickedly green eyes and an eye for detail. She could be an amazing photographer. Or architect. Maybe she’ll want to follow in her daddy’s shoes.
My eyes blur, and I blink as fast as I can to suck the tears back into my body. I don’t know if that’s biologically possible, but it’s worth a shot.
“You know, I should’ve let you go with me,” I say.
“I’m not saying that would’ve stopped anything from happening.
And maybe things happen for a reason.” I press against my tummy.
“But all I wanted while I sat in that huge house and listened to them”—I look into his eyes—“was you. I just wanted you.”
“I knew something was wrong,” he whispers. “I could feel it. I called you so many times. I was two seconds from calling your grandfather, which made me feel like a psycho, but I just knew.”
“Thank you for caring, Wade.”
He holds my gaze, and then, slowly, he reaches for me. I want to fall into his arms, but I don’t. I take his hand, give it a gentle squeeze, and then let it go.
“I’m going to be super honest with you,” he says.
“Okay. Please do.”
I hold my breath while he turns in his seat to face me. His eyes sparkle with an excitement that I can’t place. That I can’t name.
“I love you, Dara.”
What?
Whatever I expected him to say, it wasn’t this.
I laugh in disbelief. “You’re leading with that?”
He frowns. “That’s not the reaction I was hoping for.”
“I’m sorry. You threw me for a loop.” Because the last time you told me you loved me, you walked away.
“I love you, Dara Alden. And I want you to find someone who can take care of you. Who will give you all the things in the world that you want. But that guy isn’t me.”
But something in his expression is different this time. He doesn’t look as … forlorn.
I raise my eyebrows at him. He needs to use more words still.
“You’re lucky that I don’t throw you over my knee,” he says.
I give him a look. He shakes his head, unsure what to do.
“So, you love me, huh?” I ask. “In what way?”
My nails dig into the cloth of the furniture as I try to keep my hopes in check. Will it even matter in the long run? Sure, if he really does love me, it will help. But if he still doesn’t want children, then there’s not a lot I can do, and no amount of love will fix that.
“I want to …” He shrugs. “I want you in my life. I want you to be my partner. My wife. My best friend.” He scoots closer. “I never want to not have you by my side. I want to be your first call. I want people to know that you are Dara Mason, and they better not mess with you or I’ll come for them.”
You cannot suck tears back into your tear ducts.
They splash down my cheeks.
There is something very different in his expression, especially compared to the last time he eviscerated me with his proclamation of love. The last time, he was halfway out the door—terrified, sad, immovable in his rejection.
Now? Now he’s reaching into my heart, showing me it’s lovable and desired and wanted—providing the balm it has needed.
His love. His desire to stay.
A future. A refuge.
A family.
This man. This fucking man.
“I can take care of myself,” I say.
“I know you can. That’s one of the reasons I love you. But you don’t have to because you have me.”
Do I?
I get to my feet and put a little space between us. It’s not this easy. It can’t be.
“What about your family doing business with Curt? Curt and I didn’t end things well,” I admit. “I’m not sure how he would feel working with you if he knew that you and I were together like that.”
Wade grins. “We aren’t working with him.”
“No, your brothers are. The Mexico project. I heard Oliver talking about it at your mom’s.”
He stands too. “And when they heard about your grandfather’s bullshit, they pulled the plug. Oliver and Holt sent a letter yesterday to cancel everything. It’s done.”
I heave a breath. I can’t believe what I’m hearing.
“Why would they do that?” I ask, my hands trembling.
“Because you’re family.”
My face screws up into one of those ugly cry memes on the internet, and I can’t stop the sob that erupts from my chest.
Wade catches me in his arms and holds me tight. He runs a hand over my head and whispers things in my ear that I can’t hear over my stupid cries.
I don’t know how to deal with this.
I pull back, wiping my eyes with my hands. It’s a routine I’m familiar with these days.
“They would also be very pleased if you will take me back,” he says.
My chest shakes as I try to calm down. I sit on the edge of the sofa and breathe.
“I have something else,” he says, handing me an envelope from his back pocket.
I take it with a heavy dose of suspicion. I unfold the letter inside and gasp.
Dear Mr. Mason,
This letter serves to inform you of our agreement for purchase of the Bartholomew Gardens estate. A formal contract will be sent from our attorney to yours.
It gives me a great deal of happiness to know that my precious property will be in good hands. I hope it brings you and Dara the joy it’s given me over the years.
Respectfully,
Philip Bartholomew
“Wade. What did you do?” I crack the paper against my leg and look at him in pure disbelief. “What is this?”
“I bought it.”
“I … Why?”
I have to laugh. I think I’m in shock.
“Because even if you don’t take me back today, you will,” he says. “You have to. We have this connection that will bring us together over and over until you relent. I know it. It’s the only way it can be.”
I hang my head and try to calm down.
“You bought the entire thing? What are you going to do with it?” I ask.
“I thought we’d figure it out. Maybe we could put a house on a piece of it.”
My face snaps to his. He’s serious.
“It would make a hell of a photography studio,” he says.
“My … I don’t know what to say.”
This is too much. Way too much. And way, way too much considering he doesn’t know we’re having a baby.
Shit.
I blow out a breath and hope that I don’t puke.