Page 90 of Fighting Fate
“Sure?”
Turning to look at him, I draw in a deep breath while he sits back up. “I don’t want her to crumble. At first, I thought that if I ground her down enough, she’d break and need me enough to forget what happened.”
“What actually happened?”
“I promised I would protect her and that I would never hurt her…and I failed in every way. I…I should’ve been better. I should’ve been a man, but I was a coward.” Flicking the hair tie on my wrist, I allow the frisson of pain to crackle up my forearm. I hate when it ebbs into nothing, leaving the permanent ache in my chest to pulse away as though it’s the new beat of my heart. “Anyway, I don’t want her to crumble or break. I love that she’s strong. I love that she weathers whatever blows her way. Whether she’s sad or scared. The more vulnerable she is, the deeper she digs her heels and refuses to fall. Willow is a fighter, and it’s why she’s perfect for me.”
“Fuck me sideways and call me an altar boy…” he laughs, getting up from his seat and fixing his suit jacket. “You know, you could’ve said this at the meeting instead of acting like an asshole caveman and stomping out.”
“You could’ve been upfront when you asked me about having lunch. I don’t play those shitty games.”
“No, you don’t,” he says as the door behind us opens and the sweet scent of cherries and almonds wafts my way, filling my chest with warmth. “That’s what makes you perfect for each other,” Frank adds in a muted whisper before he leaves the box.
“Here you are,” Willow murmurs from the open doorway as Frank pauses beside her.
“The dinner reservation is in forty-five minutes,” he scoffs, looking over his shoulder at me before he closes the door behind him.
“You weren’t at the bar…” Willow whispers as I stand and get a good look at her.
The black dress she’s wearing skims her body from her chest to her calves. It’s not tight, but it doesn’t disguise her belly like the looser clothes she’s been wearing recently. The straps that cross over her chest, tying at the back of her neck into a bow, showcase her delicate throat. The loose ends draping forward around the tops of her arms, twisting back up into the knot at her chest, show just how slender she still is. Although the details are all subtle, they make it obvious that her rounded belly has our little boy nestled inside her. I love that.
“You look pretty.”
With her eyes flashing over me, she replies, “You don’t look so bad yourself.”
“Guess we clean up kinda nice.”
“I’d say more than nice.” Willow shrugs, taking a step towards me. “I like your suit.”
“This old thing?” I laugh. All my efforts at trying to sound cool and collected go out of the window, and when she takes another step forward, I meet her the rest of the way.
“You were wearing it when we met.” Shaky hands brush over the lapel of my jacket.
“And you remember that?”
“It’s blue…” she says into my chest. Since we’ve been this close, she hasn’t met my gaze once.
“Your favourite colour.”
“My very favourite colour.” The subtle nod of her head slowly tips her chin up with the flutter of her lashes and a coy nip of her lips.
It takes far too long for her eyes to meet mine, but when they do, they are the prettiest picture I’ve seen all fucking day.
A quick gasp pulls her face into a frown as she pinches my chin and lowers my face to hers. Worry widens her stare as she traces my lips gently with her thumb. “What happened?”
It’s only now that I remember my lip got busted in training this morning. It didn’t look too bad when I was getting ready earlier.
Going in for a closer inspection, she repeats between gritted teeth, “What the hell happened?”
With a shrug, I tug her hand from my chin, only for her to mould it to my jaw. The concern and annoyance radiating from her give me pause before I shrug. “Just training.”
“Just training?” The scoff that pushes from her soft ruby lips is sharp. “Why are you being so blasé, and how? How is it training if you’re getting hurt?” Her chest presses into mine as her other hand moulds to the other side of my face, making it impossible to pull away without her long nails scratching the crap out of me. “Isn’t the point of it to make you stronger?”
I did not see this coming, and the ferocity of her concern makes me chuckle. It only pisses her off more, making her chest puff against mine. I love the feeling of it. The light friction through our clothes and the way her body instantly presses for more. Just like mine.
“God, I fucking hate it when you laugh and smirk like this. It’s so irritating, and it only makes me want to give you a matching bruise on this side,” she growls, her thumb pressing to the right side of my lips. “How can you be so blasé?”
“You gotta train hard to fight harder.” Pursed lips curl into a sneer with the glowering narrow of her eyes. We met at a fucking fight—she knows how the game works. You get bruised and bloody. She knows this. “Winning doesn’t come any other way.”