Page 50 of Working for the Runaway Bride

“The Chevelle is metal,” I say. “It’s steel, rubber, glass, and paint. It’s the first thing I rebuilt after prison, and for years I thought it was proof that my life could become something again.”

“It was.”

“But it was never the life itself.”

I step closer. “You are.”

Her breath catches.

“I’m not giving you that money so you’ll love me,” I continue. “I’m giving it to you because I love you. Whether you stay or go, whether you forgive me or never speak to me again, I need to know you have a chance to rebuild what you lost.”

She wipes a tear from her cheek. “You love me?”

“Yes.”

“Say it again.” She says.

“I love you.”

The words feel too small for what they mean. I take another step.

“I love you, Molly. I love you enough that selling the Chevelle was easy. I love you enough that I’m willing to lose Carter, though I’ll spend the rest of my life hoping I don’t. I love you enough that if you leave tomorrow, I’ll let you go because I want you to be happy.”

Her chin trembles.

“But I’m begging you not to,” I say. “Stay.”

“Grayson—”

“I was a fool.” My voice breaks. I don’t care. Pride is useless when the woman I love is packing her life into three suitcases. “You offered me everything in that chapel,” I tell her. “You stood there in your wedding dress and gave me your heart, and I was too afraid to take it. I told myself I was protecting you, but I was protecting myself.”

“From what?”

“From believing I could have you.”

She lets out a quiet sob. I reach for her, then stop before touching her. She has to choose. I won’t take that from her.

“I know I’m not what you planned,” I say. “I’m too old. I’m a felon. I have a son who may hate us both if we do this. I can’t promise any part of this will be easy.”

“You aren’t making a very good argument.”

A rough laugh escapes me. “No.”

“What can you promise?”

“Me.” I hold her gaze. “All of me. No lies. No running. No deciding what you deserve without asking you. I can promise that if you give me another chance, I’ll spend every day trying to be worthy of it.”

Her eyes drop to the envelope. “I still don’t want the money.”

“Take it anyway.”

“I can’t.”

“You can.”

“It’s too much.”

“It will never be enough.”