“You fuckin’ blind, brother? You had two years, but it doesn’t change the fact that she left! She destroyed you. I don’t even know who the fuck you are. Haven’t known who you are for five fucked years.”
He didn’t have time for this shit. He had to go. Shooting Bud his deadliest stare, he turned and ran to the ambulance parked just outside the chain-link fence enclosing the backlot.
“Daddy! Daddy!”
He twisted.
Bree, tears streaking her face, rushed him. “Don’t leave me, Daddy! Don’t…” A sob tore through her, her little body shaking with the strength of it.
He met her halfway and caught her as she jumped on him. Carrying her, he headed toward the ambulance, glaring his way in. No way in hell would he leave Em alone, and no way in hell would he leave Bree.
Over the muffled sounds of Bree’s crying, he heard the paramedic say, “Enroute with one GSW to a forearm, laceration to the head, possible concussion.”
His heart clenched, pain radiated out of his chest and spread leaving no part of him untouched. If he hadn’t been holding Bree close, he would’ve lost his goddamned mind. His arms instinctively tightened around her. “Gonna be okay, baby,” he whispered against her hair and hoped to God he hadn’t just lied to his baby girl.
The ride to the hospital seemed endless. The whole way, he held Bree close, whispering reassurances. His gaze on Em, so pale, so still. Then it hit him like a sock to the gut.
What happened to them all those years ago wasn’t anyone’s fault but that bitch Lilliam’s. If he was wrong, and it was Em’s fault, it was his too.
A love like he had for her, he should’ve chased her.
A love like the one he still felt after all that had happened, he should’ve fought for.
The thing that stopped him—his pride, the reason he missed out, on her, on Bree, on life.
He was done missing out. It took him long enough to realize it, but now that he had, he’d never forget. He’d make her his, fully, completely. Then he’d find a way to make her fall for him, again.
****
God, her head hurt, a lot. Em tried to pry open her eyes. Light, too bright, blinded her. She winced making the pain worse. Pressing her hand to her forehead, a sharp sting shot up her arm.
What the hell happened?
It came to her slowly. Bree swinging, Rip pushing her, laughing. She and Mia talking. Then the shots.
Her eyes slid open. A bandage covered her forearm. That explained why it hurt. She scanned the room and stopped dead when her gaze landed on him sitting at her bedside. Head slanted down, his elbows resting on his knees, hands at the back of his neck.
“B-Bree?”
Bryce lifted his head and moved. Standing, he strode closer, sat on the edge of her bed, and cupped her cheek. “She’s safe.”
She sighed. “She’s safe.”
“Yeah. She’s worried about you but safe.”
“Anyone hurt?”
“Nothing big, except you.”
She waited for him to elaborate. He didn’t, not before a man wearing a white coat walked into the room.
“Emelia Knight, glad to see you’re up. I’m Dr. Anderson.”
She pressed her good hand on the bed lifting herself to a sitting position. Bryce’s arm went around her back helping her up. His other hand clasped hers. Then he stood and faced the doctor.
She forced a smile. “Good to be up.”
He retrieved a small flashlight out of his pocket and neared. “How are you feeling?”
“My head hurts, a lot.”
“That’s normal. You have a concussion.” He checked her eyes then tucked the flashlight in his pocket. “The head injury caused it and a laceration to the back of your head. It’s not deep enough you need stitches. You were also grazed by a bullet on your forearm.”
She nodded.
“There’s one other thing.”
Shit. She knew. She hadn’t known for sure, not until she saw the look in his eyes. Then she couldn’t deny it. She also knew what had once been was no longer.
“I’m sorry to tell you, you lost the baby.”
She lost the baby, her baby, her and Bryce’s baby. God, it hurt. It hurt so much she couldn’t do anything but feel the ache ripping her insides apart.
Bryce stilled, his hand squeezing hers, the heat of his eyes burning her.
“Were you aware, Mrs. Knight?”
Missus? She let that slide. “I knew it was a possibility, but I wasn’t sure.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
Sorry? Hard to believe, he said it so emotionless. Then again, she supposed he had no other choice. Being a doctor meant delivering bad news to people and their loved ones often. He had to find a way to distance himself from it.
Her chest squeezed. She nodded then looked down at her lap and ignored the tears flooding her eyes. When she heard the door open and close, she let the tears stream down her face.
“Em?”
Lifting her head, her gaze cut to his. He settled beside her, wrapped his arms around her, and held her. She let him. His hold gentle and tight, she buried her face in his chest.
“Talk to me.”
“I lost our baby.”
He released a breath. “We lost him.”
“No, I did. It was me who lost him.”
He pressed his lips to the top of her head. “We’re both missing out, babe, so we lost him. It isn’t your fault.”
“I wasn’t sure. I mean…I knew it was possible, but I didn’t know, and it…”
Cupping her face, he angled her head to his slowly and gently.
When her eyes met his, she finished, “…hurts.”
“We’ll make another one.”
Her eyes widened. “W-what?”
He smiled. “We can make another one.”
She tried to pull away, but his arm tightened around her. “It wouldn’t change the fact we lost this one. It wouldn’t make the loss of this one hurt any less.”
He nodded.
“Besides…we can’t. I mean we can, we just shouldn’t.”
“’Course, we should. We make them pretty and smart and sweet. I want another girl.”
What? She thought she was the one who hit her head. “Are you crazy?”
His brows creased. “Why?”
“Because this isn’t… You aren’t…” In love with me. Instead, she said, “We aren’t…together.”
Eyes hardening, he clenched his jaw. When he spoke, he kept the anger out of his voice. “I thought we went over this. You’re mine.”
She swallowed. No time like the present to say what she had to. “Fucking me doesn’t make me yours. Me letting you doesn’t mean you’re mine.”
His face softened as he leaned to lightly graze his lips over hers. “I’m not with anyone else. You aren’t with anyone else. That means you’re mine, and I’m yours.”
Her head throbbed.
“What else do you want? Do you want a ring? Do you want to go to the courthouse? We’ll do it.”
Heart pounding too fast and hard against her ribs, she parted her lips then tried to swallow the emotion clogging her throat. A ring? The courthouse? Marriage? Shit, did he just propose? No, Bryce didn’t believe in marriage. She forced herself to point this out. “You don’t believe in marriage.”
“Never said that.”
Hard to deny, she was thinking about it, about actually considering his ridiculous proposal. No, it wasn’t a proposal. Proposals were planned and romantic, right? What did it matter? Marriage didn’t mean he loved her, didn’t mean he wouldn’t eventually cheat, again.
He closed his eyes and swallowed then asked, “What do you want?”
“What do you want?” she returned, instantly.
“I want you.”
She wanted him too, more than she’d ever wanted any man, but he didn’t love her, and he’d broken her once before. Tying herself to him was much more reckless and stupid than giving herself to him.
&n
bsp; She scanned his face for a long moment then whispered, “Like you said, I’m yours.”
His gaze trailed to her lips as he slid his thumb across them. Then he met her stare and spoke. “Yeah, but I want you in every way, Em. I want my ring on your finger. I want everyone to know you belong to me. I want it on paper, too. I want it official.”
Either he really went crazy, or she hit her head harder than anyone thought and had hallucinated.
“Bryce…” Yes. The word was on the tip of her tongue. A bad idea, bad decision.
Before she said more, the door parted, and Bree and Strike walked in.
Bryce would want a response soon, but for now, she got a reprieve and got to spend some time with her baby.
Chapter Sixteen
Ripper thought long and hard. Sitting at her bedside, he’d thought about Em all night and all morning. He thought about how Em could’ve been injured worse or killed, thought about how she still managed to look beautiful with dried blood matting her hair, suffering from a gunshot wound and a concussion. Quite frankly, it wasn’t fair to other women. He thought about how he’d stupidly asked her to marry him, and the fact she hadn’t given him an answer. He knew asking her was a long shot—one he took because he almost lost her, one he took because now he’d fight to get all of her. Though not getting a response made him think he shouldn’t have asked.
She kept giving herself to him, but she hid it from everyone, even Bree who’d no doubt be thrilled her parents were together. All those years ago, Em used to be affectionate, touching him, grabbing him, kissing him, constantly. Now, any time they were around anyone else, and he made a move toward her, she looked hesitant, sometimes even scared. There was a time when she should’ve been afraid. When he’d found her and Bree, he’d been an asshole, but he’d changed his tune that night she told him the reason she left. All of this led him to think she didn’t love him, so it’d been senseless to ask her to marry him. He scolded himself all night, all morning while he woke Bree, who slept in a cot in Em’s hospital room because she refused to leave them. He scolded himself while he got Bree ready and until he dropped her off at school. Since then, he’d only thought about what Bree said.
Ripper hadn’t wanted to leave Em even though she’d still been asleep, even though a couple of his brothers stayed to keep an eye out. But he left because he needed to take Bree to the compound and get her ready. He did amazingly considering Em always handled it. Like usual, he walked her to her classroom, his mind still on her mom. He kissed her forehead and promised to be back to pick her up.
She looked at him, a gorgeous smile in place, and said, “Mommy loves you, Daddy. I know she does.”
The breath froze in the back of his throat as his stomach hollowed out then rolled. “W-what?”
“Mommy. She loves you.”
He swallowed. “How do you know that?”
“I know, Daddy. I just do.”
He knelt in front of her and threaded his fingers through her hair as blonde and as thick as her mother’s. “Baby, you’re too young to know something like that.”
“I’m not, Daddy. I know. Mommy used to tell me stories about you. She told me how much she loves you.”
His chest tightened. “She told you she loves me?”
Bree nodded.
It couldn’t be, just couldn’t. Why didn’t she want to marry him then? She must’ve lied to Bree, must’ve wanted their daughter to think she loved her dad.
“What’s wrong with you, brother?”
Ripper lifted his head and caught Strike’s gaze. He didn’t know how long he’d been staring at the ground after his set of bench presses thinking about what Bree said.
“Thought you’d be done by now. Saw you come in here a couple of hours ago.”
Had it been that long? He ran for a while then moved on to weights, but his head wasn’t in it. He lost count between sets more times than he cared to admit.
“Are you about done?”
“Yeah, yeah…I’m done.” He might as well be done. It’d be the afternoon before he knew it, and he wanted to see Em again before he had to pick up Bree from school.
Strike laughed. “Are you moving anytime soon, or should I come back?”
He needed to get his shit together, quick. Only normal he felt out of sorts after the drive-by shooting yesterday. Now more than ever though, he couldn’t afford to lose focus.
He stood grabbing his towel then wiped his face.
“You okay?”
Ripper shook his head. He hadn’t meant to admit it. It’d been so long since he confided in anyone, but he needed to get shit off his chest.
“Want to talk about it?”
He didn’t but should. Even though he wasn’t one to share, he found himself saying, “I asked Em to marry me.”
Strike’s jaw dropped. After a moment, he grinned. “She said yeah.”
Why did he think that? Ripper didn’t respond, just stared back, the question in his eyes.
Strike quirked a brow. “She said no?”
“She didn’t say anything, but it was… It was like…” He gritted his teeth. “I felt like I had to convince her.”
Strike laughed. “Are you kidding me?”
Again, why Strike thought this, Ripper had no clue, especially since he wasn’t the type to share.
“You must’ve done it wrong.”
His brows furrowed. “How many ways are there to ask a woman to marry you?”
Strike chuckled. “You have to ask that, we have problems.”
Was there really more than one way? Would it have made a difference? He was so lost about shit like this. He never had a good mother, never kept a woman but Em, and everyone knew how that turned out.
Strike lifted his chin. “Tell me what you said.”
He thought back for a second. “I said she was mine, and if she wanted a ring or to go to the courthouse, we’d go. I told her I wanted everyone to know she was mine.”
Shaking his head, Strike released a loaded breath. “I’ve never asked a woman to marry me, but you can bet your ass I ever do, I’m not proposing like that. I don’t even think you can call that a proposal.”
His eyes widened. “Why the fuck not?”
“You want her to marry you, you tell her you love her then ask her to marry you. I think it helps if you do it when she’s not in a hospital. Maybe take her to a restaurant or the beach or some romantic shit like that.”
Clenching his jaw, he snapped, “She knows how I feel.” She had to know. Everything he did, everything he didn’t showed it, proved it.
Crossing his arms over his chest, Strike shot back, “Does she? You sure?” He shook his head. “’Cause I’m not. And if I was her, I’d think you hated me.”
No, Strike had it wrong. She knew. She had to know. He’d been a dick, but he’d changed the moment she told him why she left. Since then, he’d tried his hardest to show her that he wasn’t that man, and he did it by treating her right.
“I haven’t…” Shaking his head, he lost sight of Strike’s eyes. “I was a dick, but I haven’t been that for a while. I’ve been different, and we… We’ve been together, a lot. And I’ve been good to her. I’ve shown her what she means to me.”
Strike nodded. “Right, then the only thing I can say is that she’s in love with you, always has been, and the only reason a woman wouldn’t accept a proposal from a man she’s in love with, even if she was asked the way you asked her, is ’cause she thinks he doesn’t love her.”
In love with him? Was she? Why didn’t she act like it? Why didn’t she want people to know about them? Why didn’t she want Bree to know about them? Why hadn’t she said yes? All of it reinforced what he thought—she was using him.
Strike shrugged. “Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe she knows you love her. Maybe she’s holding back because she’s scared you’ll hurt her again. Have you told her the truth?”
Rip met his gaze questioningly.
“Have you told her you never cheated?”
“I think you should start with that, Rip.”
He couldn’t, not until he found Lilliam. Em had to hear it from Lilliam. She wouldn’t believe him.
“A piece of advice, the best I can give you—talk to her. Tell her the truth. Tell her how you feel. Both of you need to learn from your mistakes and talk to each other.”
Strike had a point.
Still, Rip couldn’t tell her he never cheated, not yet, but it was about damned time he told her what she meant to him even if he didn’t mean the same to her.
****
Emelia didn’t know how she’d manage it, but she knew she had to.
Her hair was a mess of dried blood. She felt dirty, sticky, and gross. She hadn’t looked in the mirror yet, but she didn’t need to. She knew she looked like crap. Hell, she felt like crap. Horrifying to think Bryce had seen her like that and proposed or whatever it was he did. The wound on her forearm and her head still hurt, but she had to shower. She should call a nurse, but she didn’t want anyone’s help. Doing it on her own would give her something to think about besides the sadness that clung to her since having found out she lost her baby.
Decision made, Em slowly angled herself, so her legs hung off the bed. Even slower, she shifted until her feet touched the cold linoleum floor. Then she stood and moved toward the bathroom. Opening the door, she strode in. Once there, she grabbed onto the metal rail and paused to catch her breath. After, she removed her gown, set it on the rail, strode toward the shower, and turned it on, tempering it just how she liked it, really hot.
“Em?”
She froze. Just like him to show up at the worst time. She didn’t get a chance to cover herself before the door to the bathroom parted. She turned toward it. His gaze hit hers, and he exhaled like he was relieved to see her standing there dirty, butt-naked.
She grabbed her gown and brought it to cover herself.
He chuckled. “Seen you naked before, babe.”
“Not while I’m sticky, dirty, and gross.”
He ignored her comment, not denying she was, in fact, sticky, dirty, and gross. “Don’t know what you think you’re doing.”
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