“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I know you’re doing all this because you want to. You’re doing this because of her.” I cradle my belly and say something that I know in my heart. “Because you love her.”
That throws him.
That makes him take another step back. The word ‘love.’
So along with ‘protect’ and ‘save,’ love is another one of his triggers.
“Don’t you?” I prod, digging my fingers in my bump. “You love her.”
His features ripple with surprise as if this is such news. When it has been apparent to me, to my brothers even, since day one.
That he wants her. Genuinely.
He loves her — as much as I do — and he doesn’t even know if it’s a her yet.
I know he thinks that he doesn’t love anything, that he has no space for love, but he lovesher.
His chest is not barren after all. There’s at least one flower in it. For her.
For our baby.
He stares at my belly really hard before looking up. “Yes, I do.”
“I know.”
“She’s mine.”
My eyes sting with happy tears. “She is.”
See? How can I be mad at him anymore for what he did two years ago?
How can I be mad that he never loved me when he loves her?
When he loves our baby.
I can’t. I’m done.
I thought that nothing he could do would make me forgive him. But turns out, all he had to do was love her.
Love this accidental, wonderful gift he’s given me.
I’m done living in the past and thinking of him as my villain. The predator who fed on my heart and left me to die. When he’s also a hero.Herhero, her protector.
He’s both, a gorgeous villain and a haunted hero.
“But that doesn’t mean anything,” he snaps, plowing his fingers through his dark overgrown hair. “That doesn’t mean I want your forgiveness. I don’t. You can fucking keep it. Throw it out the window for all I care.”
I don’t even flinch when he says that.
In fact, I take a step closer to him as I ask, “Why?”
“What?”
I take another step closer. “Why don’t you want it?”
He watches my feet with a thick frown. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“Tell me why you don’t want it.”
