I want to say yes and keep myself on the pedestal they have me perched on, but I can’t lie to him. I didn’t lie to them six years ago when our parents died and I had to explain to three teenagers that they would never come back, and I won’t now.
Not even to save my own arse.
“I like her. A lot. But I can’t say I love her. She’s smart and funny and so fucking beautiful, even though she thinks she’s fat and plain and never believes a compliment. She’s brilliant, but I…I’ve never set out to love anyone, and I don’t know if I can.”
That’s what terrifies me most about all this. I’ve closed myself off to the point that I only know how to give love to those I consider mine. I must have said that out loud, because Ry walks over and slaps the back of my head.
“So make her yours, you dumb fuck. We go over there, and you make sure she becomes ours, and bob’s your uncle.”
“What if she’s not pregnant? She never phoned back, and she won’t answer my calls.”
He gives me a look like ‘are you barmy’ and rolls his eyes.
“Then make sure she gets that way, you arse. Seriously, I’m the seventeen-year-old and have more game than you do, old man. If you want something, you don’t give up. You taught us that. You want this bird?”
“Yeah.”
And I really do. Even if she’s not pregnant now and hates my guts, I want her all for myself. I see things in her I haven’t allowed myself to see in years, and now that the thought has taken root I can’t get it out of my head.
Imp is mine. I may not love her, yet, but I want to. I want to give her my family and let them be hers. I want more with her. Children and home and even her orange, knitted doilies hanging over the couch arms.
I want my brothers teasing the hell out of her and that sexy smirk she gets when she’s done something naughty and thinks no one knows. I want so much I’ve denied myself, but mostly I just want to make her look at me the way she used to, like I hung the stars.
What I got from her last time was sadness, disillusionment, and a whole lot of scorn. I deserve it, but I want my biggest fan back, weird as that sounds, and I won’t rest until she’s so tongue-tied she recites the names of every vegetable in existence.
“Right then. You sort out all the grown up stuff, and I’ll go see if she’ll talk to me. Now now, old chap, keep your dirty looks to yourself. Not my fault you bolloxed things up with her. I’ll just help you fix them. Pay me later. I take cash and checks, no IOUs.”
I laugh when he looks hopeful and flip him the bird, waving him away even as I bring up my contact list and take a deep breath. I need an inside man on the job, and while I may end up losing my dick in the process, I’ll risk it if it gets me that little bit closer to my goals.
Chapter Thirteen
Becky
“Go ‘way!”
I roll over in bed and shove a pillow over my head to drown out the banging noise in an effort to get another hour out of the snuggly place I’m drifting in.
I don’t want to get up yet because then I’ll have to face reality, and that’s a place I really don’t want to go right now. At least not till I’m feeling better and have a definite plan of what to do next.
Devon’s been calling me nonstop for the last week, really insistently, till all calls stopped yesterday. Not even one. I feel a little hurt that he’d just give up that easily, but I have no room to complain, since I had answered not one of his calls and the guy’s probably sick to death of hearing my voicemail.
“Rebecca Joan Slade, open this goddamned door before I kick it in!”
Logan? I jump out of bed and race to the door, swallowing through the dizziness as I throw it open to see my big-ass, badass soldier of a brother standing there, his face one big thundercloud.
“You look like shit,” he mutters, pushing his way in and scrunching his nose at the cartons of old Chinese takeout and empty whipped cream cans.
“Thanks. Don’t hold back with the compliments. God knows I could use it right now,” I say sardonically, banging the door shut and walking into the kitchen.
“Beck—”
“If you’re here to give me shit about what I said at the wedding—”
“No. You were right. I got mad about Dad giving me the cold shoulder and the rest of them not standing up and defending me when I should be pissed with myself about not having the balls to sit down and make him see what I want. That’s on me, not Mama or Grey or you. I just don’t know how to say what I need to without saying something that I can’t take back.” He sighs, shoving his feet onto the coffee table. “This place is a mess.”