Page 68 of Theirs to Treasure

At some point, I have to be true to myself.

He’s striding toward me, so I back out of the driveway. The moment it’s safe, I join the traffic that takes me away from my home.

When I reach a stoplight, I drop my head onto the steering wheel, tears stream down my cheeks, and my heart breaks into two awful and distinct, jagged pieces.

CHAPTEREIGHTEEN

Forrest

“No fucking way, Forrest.”

Across the table in our private dining room at the Braes, I study Zev. His face is set in don’t-fuck-with-me lines.

I haven’t slept in a week, and at this point I’m losing my shit. “I’ve goddamn well had enough waiting.”

“What you’re gonna do is keep your ass in that chair before I tie you to it.”

Frustrated, needing something to do, I pick up my glass of whiskey and tip it back, downing the shot in a single gulp.

The burn hits my gut.

Shit.

Shaking my head, I slam down the glass and stare at it. “The hell?”

“You ordered the house brand, idiot. Not Bonds.”

It’s been a hell of a week. My executive admin is threatening to quit because I’ve been a bigger asshole than usual. She hung up on me yesterday for the first time ever.

Since I’ve had no interest in food, Zev insisted we come here for a meal, and he ordered a steak for me when the only thing I requested was whiskey.

After refilling my glass, I look at him. “Being patient hasn’t gotten us anywhere.”

“You don’t have a choice.”

Ready to deck him, I come to my feet.

Zev seems spectacularly unconcerned. “For the last time sit your ass down.”

Impossible. I pace to the window and stare out. Then I sneer.

Families are frolicking in the pool, and a dad walks back and forth while holding what appears to be a brand-new baby against his chest.

Harper’s selfish behavior is costing us precious moments together.

I want to see the changes in her body, see how she’s doing, make sure she’s taking care of herself. Are her clothes still fitting? Or does she need a new wardrobe? “This can’t continue forever.”

“It’s been a week.”

I despise his reasonable response. “Eight days,” I counter.

He shrugs.

“You’re forgetting what got you into this mess in the first place. And you haven’t learned a damn thing.”

“She’s our woman, and she belongs with us.” Beside me, beneath me. In my arms.

He steeples his hands. “She would be if you didn’t keep fucking up.”