"But the first time it was tested-"
"I want to trust you—more than anything in the world." Impulsively, he grabbed her hand, entwining his fingers with hers. "I love you, Mariela," he insisted. "I love you so much. If you'd agree—I'd marry you tomorrow."
"Travis-" Biting her lip, she wondered whether this conversation would prove even harder than she'd imagined. Marriage? Hell—he was so far from ready for marriage, it was too scary to contemplate.
"Don't look at me like that." Squeezing her hand, he stopped her from speaking. "I know . . . that's not what you want to hear."
Confusion flaring in his eyes, he released a deep breath. "I . . . love you. I just . . . I don't know why I’m so afraid to believe it."
"This is good." Painful—but good. That Travis knew part of the problem. But—could it be fixed? "We're finally having the conversation I've longed to have with you. But, I'm not sure where we go from here-"
"From the beginning—you were different. I was drawn to you," he confessed. "In a way I couldn't control-" His hesitation was painful, his eyes tortured. "And that terrified me. That I could need someone so much."
"Before any of this mess with Patrice—you were pulling away from me," she reminded, unable to hide the pain shimmering in her voice. "I don't think you can help it . . . but it still hurts."
"The more I needed you . . . the more exposed I felt. So—I convinced myself I shouldn't spend time with you. But, then I'd miss you—so much." He closed his eyes. "I knew it was hurting you. But . . . I didn't know how to stop."
Not good enough, Travis. There had to be honesty between them. If they couldn't do it now, they would never resolve their issues. Any future problems—would be glossed over—instead of worked through. Unsure how to respond, she allowed the silence to lengthen.
"Mariela—I came from nothing. I was— worthless."
"You're not worthless-"
His smile was laced with pain."When you hear those words as often as I did—it's hard to ever forget them. At some point, I-I just stopped trying. I trained myself to feel . . . nothing."
Her heart contracting, MaryJo absorbed his pain like a blow. In his agonized eyes, she saw the lonely, rejected boy he'd been. She saw the years of wanting someone to love him—and never receiving it. Because of the damage his mother had inflicted, Travis had stopped trying. If the rare impulse ever managed to flicker to life, he'd beaten it into submission through sheer willpower.
Guilt crashing over her, she wondered whether she was doing the right thing. More than anything, she wanted to pull him closer. She wanted to comfort him—as he'd never experienced. She wanted to ease the troubled expression from his eyes. But, Travis had to know the reasons why he felt the way he did. Or he'd never come to grips with them.
"What if . . . I love you—and—it's not . . . good enough?"
As his mother had done. Travis had been the recipient of his mother's perverted version of love—that it was a competition. Something he had to win. Her love was something sick and twisted and manipulative. No wonder he ran from it.
"I could promise you that will never happen, but—how do we really know?" Steeling herself to his confusion, she took a steadying breath. "No one knows the future, Travis. There are no guarantees. I could get sick-"
Recoiling at her words, his voice shook. "Don't say that-"
MaryJo held his gaze. "What I'm trying to say is—it's not my job to convince you. I could try . . . but my assurance would never be enough. If you don't trust yourself, you're never going to trust me. I can't change what happened to you."
Raising his beautiful eyes to hers, his smile was wistful. "It's my job, right? I need to have confidence that you love me, too. I need to believe it means something to you. That it means the same thing to both of us?"
His beautiful eyes held her gaze. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me . . . but all I can think is—what happens next?"
"What happens?"
"You . . . you figure out I'm not good enough." His jaw tightened, his face ashen as he worked through his anxiety. "How do I . . . keep the voice in my head from ruining everything?"
She found her first smile. "Travis, the voice in my head has been bound and gagged in the hall closet since the day I met you."
He glanced up, stunned. "Really? You? You never seem to have doubts." He paused when she laughed. "But—you have rules. I don't get it-"
"When you want something bad enough . . . you take drastic action." She reached for his hand. "My voice said someone like you would never be interested in me."
Sober eyes reflected his confusion. "Someone like me?"
"Out of my league. Perfect. Sexy. Beautiful," she ticked off on her fingers. "Guys like you don't-"
"Find beautiful women like you," he interrupted.
"Although my voice tried really hard to wreck things—I didn't want my fear to be the thing that ruined us." The admission lanced her heart. Instead—it had been his voice.
"I think I need to work on that." His smile twisted. "For so long, it was me and Curt. Protecting him." He dropped his gaze. "Taking the . . . beatings for him." His voice an agonized whisper, he paused. "Making sure he . . . was fed. Making sure he was safe."
"Travis—you don't have to-"
"And then . . . it was just me." He acted as though he hadn't heard her. "I know I hurt him when I left for college. But-" He released a shaky sigh. "I came home—and I'd lost him."
Her heart clutched at the torment in his voice.
"He didn't . . . want me anymore." He tried to hold her gaze. "After the accident . . . I thought . . . he'd want my help. I thought he'd—forgive me-"
His hand clutching hers, she stroked the warm skin, wishing with everything she had that she could release some of the sadness inside him.
"I've never had someone like you in my life. In my corner." He swallowed convulsively. "I've never had . . . anyone." He released a ragged breath. "No matter how successful I've become . . . I still hear Shirley's voice—telling me-" He dragged a hand through his hair, his movement jerky. "All these years, I've let her ruin my life—in ways she isn't even aware of."
"It doesn't have to be like that anymore," she whispered, aching for him.
"Why do I allow it? Why do I only think about-" His voice broke. "What she did to us?"
"Because—we can only do the best we can." she reminded, tears spilling down her cheeks.
"No matter how successful I get, it's never enough to erase her voice in my head . . . reminding me I'll never amount to anything. My entire life has been based on proving her wrong—instead of being happy—that I survived. That I'm free of her."
"That part can change," she suggested gently. "Your motivation can change. Attitude can change."
He nodded. "You've never let yourself be measured by guys who didn't value you."
She smiled. "Yeah, but that's because the main guy in my life bullied me into being tough. Sean would've smacked me if he thought I was a pushover." She squeezed his hand. "You didn't have a champion. It's not a guarantee, of course-"
"But, it gives you a fighting chance," he filled in, staring at her, the strain in his eyes easing. "How did you get so smart?"
"Too much time spent with that voice in my head—instead of here—loving you."
"I love you, MaryJo." His voice fervent, his eyes reflected hope.
"Someday you'll know that it's safe for you to tell me . . . anything."
"I think I know that now," he confessed. Travis didn't understand why—but as he'd spilled the caustic secrets inside him—as he'd shared some of the fear that had resided in him—forever—he'd felt- Better. Less angry. More—in control. MaryJo's beautiful smile reflected confidence. In him. In them. Her luminous eyes held knowledge. Of something Travis was finally beginning to suspect was possible. "MaryJo, I've already had thirty-four years of being alone. Of being without you. I don't want to go another minute." He raised their joined hands to his mouth, pressing a kiss to her stro
ng, capable fingers. "Are you saying . . . you'll be my champion?"
"I'm saying—I'll beat the crap out of anyone who tries to hurt you."
A rumble of laughter burst free of his tightened chest. He closed his eyes, embracing the joy of her laughter joining his. Embracing the stunning realization his life had finally changed. "You will, huh?"
When she nodded, the shy determination in her eyes seemed to light her face. Travis was suffused with the powerful knowledge he was no longer alone. That she was . . . part of him. That MaryJo would always have his back, as he would always have hers. That he could truly tell her anything and she—would accept him. That all the corrosive, bitter words—the violent abuses floating through his memory—could maybe be neutralized when aired in her sunny light. "I think you already are my champion."
Leaning in, Travis was careful to keep his weight off her. When he kissed her, he tasted miracles. Hope. And more love than he'd ever dreamed possible. When they reluctantly parted, he whispered against her lips. "I love you, Mariela. I'm not afraid anymore. The only thing I'm afraid of is how my life would look without you in it. Please—let me prove it to you?"
"I love you, too," she reminded, her eyes heating with happiness. "We have all the time in the world."
Chapter 16
"Travis?"
"Hmm?"
As he carefully chopped radishes for the salad, MaryJo paused to admire his meticulous cuts. Like a sponge, he'd been absorbing his cooking lessons with an intensity he seemed to apply to everything he became enamored with. Including her, she acknowledged with a smile. The past few months had only confirmed there was no half-way with Travis. Once he set his mind to something, he was all in.
"I was thinking . . . you haven't proposed to me lately. Were you planning to anytime soon?"
Shifting his gaze from the paring knife to her, his hand stilled. "In the last four months, I've proposed no less than three times—not counting the first one." A smile quirked on his serious, beautiful face. "I'm averaging once every five weeks or so. If we assume a continuance of that pattern, I can safely project my next proposal will fall . . . sometime in the next ten days. Give or take."
"Okay." She bit her lip, trying to keep a straight face over his very logical explanation. "I was just checking. Thanks." Hiding her smile, she reached for a bread basket.
"Hold up." Paring knife clattering to the counter, his radishes momentarily forgotten. "You can't ask a question like that and—not finish it." Drawing in a deep breath, his eyes lit with the blue fire she'd grown to expect. "Are you trying to tell me something, Mariela?"
Her heart thumping with joy, MaryJo knew Travis was the best person in the world for her. Even better, she'd finally come to embrace the fact that she was—hands down, the best person in the world for him. And to keep waiting . . . when they belonged together. . . when they already belonged to each other. . . was just plain stupid. "Only that I absolutely, totally, one hundred percent am completely crazy in love with you . . . and I don't want to wait any longer."
Releasing a gusty breath, Travis nodded, his boyish smile one of glowing happiness. "Not that I'm complaining—but you couldn't have drawn this conclusion when we flew to Paris last month? When my official proposal would have been number three? On the Champs Elysee? Where we would have celebrated with a bottle of Champagne—likely with the Eiffel Tower in the background?"
On a bubble of laughter, MaryJo realized she'd known exactly how he would react to her news. Calm. Matter-of-fact and with a sense of humor she'd grown to rely on. "We did all those things—including wild sex in our palatial suite at the Renaissance," she reminded. "Just without the ring."
His eyes heating at the memory, he pulled her in for a long, slow kiss. "As great as that was—it would've been even better had you officially been my fiancée."
Hazy memories flooded her brain, heating her face. "I'm not sure that's physically possible."
Reading her expression, he grinned. "You still have a great deal to learn about me, Mariela. You've never seen me truly inspired."
"That wasn't inspired?" Curiosity overtook her amusement. "Why, Travis? Why is this so important to you?"
"Aside from the obvious reasons?" He shrugged. "I love you and I don't ever want to be away from you? That I need you—like I need water? That I can no longer imagine my life without you standing beside me?"
Tears filling her eyes, she nodded, unable to speak around the lump in her throat.
"I want my ring on your finger," he emphasized, his husky voice growing tender. "Because I want everyone to know you're mine. Because I want to be the only guy you ever practice your jump shot with." He paused as she smothered a giggle. "Because I want to spend every night with you—in our kitchen just like this." He pulled her closer. "Because if you're ever sick—I want to be the one taking care of you."
When her breath caught, he smiled. "And I want to send a message to all the guys who had a shot at you before I came along-"
"A message?" Raising her gaze to his, she blinked back her tears, afraid she might miss something, then smiled over his sudden ferocity.
"That they were idiots," he explained. "That—right under their noses—they missed the most amazing, kind, beautiful, sexiest woman in the world. That they had a chance and blew it." Kissing her passionately, he finally loosened his clasp. "That I saw what they never bothered looking for."Gently swiping the tears from her cheeks, he finally smiled. "Every day—I'm so thankful they missed it, MaryJo. Because it gave me the chance to find you. And now that I have, I'll never let you go."
Reaching behind him, he revealed the ring box that was hidden on the counter. Surprise took her breath away. "You—you had it here? All this time? H-how could you know-"
"Baby, I've been carrying this ring every day for the last four months," he confessed. "The only proposal I didn't have it with me was the very first one. And we were sort of in a shambles that day—what with Patrice trying to kill you and everything."
Emotions tumbled through her. Love. Happiness. Humility. Gratefulness. They'd found each other. It was the greatest gift she would ever receive. "Travis—I'm . . . speechless."
"I take it everywhere I go. Aside from my every-five-weeks proposals, if the opportunity ever presented itself . . . I wanted to be ready."
Stepping away from her, Travis knelt to the floor—on her dull, scratched linoleum. And he'd never looked more perfectly at ease. Earnest. Sweet. Loving.
"Mariela, love . . . will you do me the greatest honor of my life and marry me?"
"I love you, Travis. And I can hardly wait to marry you." Releasing a shuddering breath, she reached down to tug his head up to hers. After kissing him senseless, she pulled back reluctantly and smiled. "If this was your off-the-cuff proposal—I don't know how I would have made it through a prepared speech."
"You want to see inspired?" As he rose to his feet, his smile was only slightly smug. "Just wait until the honeymoon."
"MARIELA?"
"Dad?" MaryJo turned, the ivory satin train impeding her movement, as a momentary panic flashed through her. "Is something wrong?"
His leathery face crinkled in a smile. "How can anything possibly be wrong today? You worry too much, sweetheart."
"Good point." Her father looked sharp in his snowy, white shirt and tuxedo, almost military in the way he carried himself. She knew Madeline had forced him to refresh his buzz-cut earlier in the week. "It's just . . . you never call me Mariela."
"Can we talk for a minute? Or do you and the ladies-" He nodded to the buzz of activity surrounding them, "have last minute primping to do?"
Her gaze following his, she acknowledged Juliet and Alyssa chatting with Madeline, arms flailing excitedly as the florist nodded vigorously over some last minute concern she had no knowledge of, nor desire to find out. "I'm good. Why don't we step into this anteroom?"
The hushed quiet in the small, dusty room felt amazingly like a hidden, peaceful escape from the bustle going on all around them. "W
ow—I wish I knew about this place an hour ago."
"MaryJo—before all the craziness starts today, I want you to know—how happy I am for you. All these years . . . I couldn't have asked for a better daughter." Sean's gravelly voice was both serious and pleased. "Fathers never think anyone is good enough for their daughters—and I'm probably the same," he admitted, his face loosening with a craggy smile. "But, I don't think you could do much better than Travis."
Noticing his choice of words, MaryJo smiled over his assessment. Much better. Later, she'd have to advise Travis that, in her dad's eyes, there was still room for improvement. "Thanks, Dad. I think he's going to fit in well in our family. At least we haven't scared him off yet."
His smile was distracted. "I want to explain something that . . . seems ridiculous now—after all these years. I've never said it before . . . but it just needs sayin' and today's gonna be that day."
She stilled in anticipation, knowing instinctively he was about to say something vitally important. Her dad didn't talk like this. Ever. Good Lord—she hoped it wasn't something bad-
"Now, don't go panicking, MaryJo. I see that look in your eyes." Chuckling, he rubbed his hand over his crewcut and winced. "Travis mentioned something a few months back . . . and it sorta stuck with me. Made me realize I wanted to clear something up for you."
Travis? What could he have said that would cause her father to—even remember it? "Dad?"
"He said you'd mentioned that you always thought I wanted a son. And—while, he was right in one way . . . your mother and I always wanted more children, Mariela—but it just never happened. We tried for a few years and then Isabella got sick-"
"Daddy, you don't have to explain-"
Holding up a hand, Sean frowned at her. "Now, sweetie—just let me get this out. I never wanted only a boy," he emphasized. "No one was more over the moon the day you were born than me. You can ask any of the guys in the department. I was damn near—a woman about it."
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