Three sets of eyes turn to him, face practically glowing with how red he turns.
“I asked them to call me that so Matt wasn’t the only one. He called me honey badger but deemed it too long and switched to honey. Now, I swear to fucking god, if you don’t sit your ass on that couch and drop it, every one of you will be getting thrown out, and I won’t give a single fuck if you kill each other or not,” she shrieks. Her cheeks are hot with anger, watching to see what the men will do.
Mikey is the only one stupid enough to say anything further.
“Now that it’s out there, I will make myself very clear, matching jammies is our thing, and no, you can’t get in on it,” he says in his strong, sergeant tone. “Also, I didn’t do anything, so it’s not fair if I get in trouble, too.”
Liz drops her head. With shoulders slumped, she practically drags her feet back to the couch, roughly throwing herself into it. This is not going to end well, no matter what she says, so she mightas well give up and let them beat the hell out of each other instead of working to find out who is sending supplies overseas.
Closing her eyes, she rests her head on the back of the sofa, waiting to hear the sickening thuds of punches landing and furniture being thrown around. Liz is pleasantly surprised when none of that happens. Footsteps are the only sound in the room before the couch dips next to her.
“Well, this went south fast. I think I’m going to take a nap before shit hits the fan again. Do what you have to do, just leave me out of it,” Liz says.
Exasperated, she goes right to her room and pulls the door shut behind her, not wanting or willing to know what is going to happen next.
CHAPTER 17
Liz sits up in the bed, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, awoken by the soft knock at the door. She already knows who is on the other side, but she is unsure if she wants to let him in so easily. After she stormed out, the men stayed relatively quiet until they left. The second the apartment emptied, she curled into a ball and fell asleep. Knowing she can’t stay mad forever, Liz slides over to the door and opens it. She fights the smile as long as she can before breaking. How could she not when Riley is in the doorway, bouquet of peonies in hand, smiling down at her.
Her stomach is in knots when she looks into his amber eyes, seeing how nervous he is already. Liz should have known he would hold her to that conversation. Instead of trying to sleep her troubles away, she should have been thinking about how she feels, and what she truly wants from her second chance at life.
“I got dinner,” he says sweetly, stepping aside to show off the dark living room that is now lit by all the candles she splurged on, not having the heart to tell him the mix of all the scents smells awful.
Reluctantly, she steps out, following him to the table he clearlyworked so hard to set up. She sits, ready to get this uncomfortable conversation over with.
“I want to start by saying I am sorry for earlier. I never should have put my hands on you, and I swear that will never happen again. I know that’s what every abusive douchebag says, but I truly never meant for any of that to happen and it will be the first thing I bring up when I start seeing the therapist in a few days,” he says.
She can hear the pain in his voice, see it etched into every line of his face. His bright eyes seem dimmer, holding the weight of what happened within them. Without thinking, she reaches over and plucks his hand off the table, holding it tight.
“I know, sweetie. Trust me, I was pissed, but I get it. You have been through so much, and it’s understandable that certain things would set you off. It’s something I need to work on too, so we can do it together.”
They eat in silence, neither one quite knowing how to move on from Riley’s apology and steer the conversation to where it needs to be. It gives Liz the time she needs to think about everything she wants to say, if she can muster up the courage to say it.
“I didn’t think a relationship talk would be this awkward,” Riley finally blurts after too many failed attempts at small talk.
Liz can’t help but giggle at the truth of it. They move over to the couch, and Liz snuggles in, resting her head in his lap so he can play with her hair like he always does when he’s nervous. The silence ticks by before Riley starts chuckling.
“This is so stupid. I love you, yet I can’t figure out how to even begin bringing up where we see this going,” Riley says.
“I mean, you sort of just did. I think you just go for it, say whatever is on your mind, or we can play your favorite game and ask questions,” she says, giggling. She glances at her nearly empty wine glass, regretting getting tipsy before having this talk.
“Okay… Fuck this is hard,” he says sipping his own wine. “I just wish I knew where your head was at with us. I don’t want to scare you away by moving too fast, but I have been in love with you for longer than I was willing to admit, and being taken only solidified those feelings. I can see us getting married, and spending our lives together, but I never bothered to ask if that’s something you want.” He picks up a loose strand of hair, twisting it around in his fingers before asking, “Is it?”
“I have been so scared of you asking that.” The words come out too sad. She quickly speaks again when she feels Riley’s hand still. “That’s not an easy answer. If I am being honest, yes, I would love to marry you someday, but that thought gives me butterflies and nausea.”
“I’m sorry?” he asks, more a statement than a question.
“Youdon’t make me nauseous, the thought of getting married does,” she groans, shooting back up, racking her brain to find the right way to explain. “Not that either. If we were to stay together, and make it to marriage, I would be leaving them behind,” she says, holding back tears. The realization washes over him the moment she says that.
“James and Maria?” he asks sadly.
“You remember their names,” she whispers.
“Of course I do, that’s your family. I couldn’t forget them,” he says, positioning himself so he is seated facing her, opening his arms so she can crawl between his legs and be held.
“How could I get married and take your name when it means I won’t share theirs anymore? It’s the last piece of them I have,” she sniffles.
“You don’t have to take my name. Hell, we don’t even have to get married if that’s not something you are comfortable with. As long as I have you, I am happy.”
