He exhales slowly when I don’t turn around.
“Molly’s mother is an addict who left her on my doorstep in a peaches delivery box. A fucking box, Tate.”
I move slowly, braving a glance at him over my shoulder first. He’s standing in front of his desk, the room around him chaos where he threw everything off his desk to help me.
His eyes have an emotional sheen to them I’ve never seen before.
“She was three months old. And it’s been just me and her ever since.”
“I thought Claudia?—”
“She’s not Molly’s mother. We were engaged. And that ended the night Molly came into my life.”
“She didn’t want to stick around?” I turn to face him, my heart clenching at the way his entire body seems to have lost its fight.
“She wasn’t sure.”
“But now she is? Is that why she came back?”
His face hardens. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t give second chances where my daughter is concerned.”
I stare at him, unsure where this sudden barrage of openness has come from.
“Molly isn’t baggage, Tate. I won’t have her being seen as a catch to being with me. She’s everything to me. She’s the reason I’m still here. After my brother, I?—”
“You wondered how you’d keep going,” I say.
He nods. “You understand.”
“After my mother died I knew my father needed someone to make sure he was careful. Make sure he took his medication. His need for me stopped my grief from taking everything from me.” I give Sullivan a weak smile.
He walks over to me slowly, like he’s concerned I might still run out.
“I should never have treated you like I did last night. I panicked when Molly woke up.”
I look into his open gaze. “I don’t know whether to believe you or not.”
His eyes pinch and he presses his lips together as his eyes roam over my face. “I’ve given you no reason to trust me. But I’m telling you the truth. I wanted last night to happen. I wanted you. And even though forgetting it would be easier; I know I can’t do that. I don’twantto do that. Not if it means you walking out of here and never coming back. There’s something between us. You can’t deny it. Not after how we were together last night. You can’t fake that kind of connection.”
He takes my hands, lifting them to his lips.
Warm breath skates over my fingertips as he gently kisses the teddy bear Band-Aid.
“I can’t let you walk out of here hating me.”
My throat’s too dry to speak easily, so it comes out as an uneven whisper.
“I don’t hate you.”
“Thank you?—”
“I did twenty minutes ago.”
Sullivan’s mouth softens. “I hated myself twenty minutes ago too.”
“And now?”
He brings my finger to his lips again.
