Something Reckless(80)

My thoughts of Liz must be making me hallucinate. That’s the only way to explain all this hope in my chest. It’s the only explanation for the question I hear myself asking. “Are you saying you had the baby? You had our baby?”

“I sold my soul.” Her face is wet with tears now, and my gut twists into knots. I don’t know if I can believe her or if this is just another manipulation. “I sold my soul to a blond-haired devil and now I’m paying the price.”



* * *





Liz


I don’t know why he invited me.

The dinner table is overflowing with the dishes Sam’s mother and sisters prepared, and the dining room is so full of people, smells of warm food, and at least half a dozen conversations that I don’t feel like there’s room for me to breathe, let alone think.

Watching Mr. Bradshaw with his wife and kids is fascinating. He’s not the candidate today. He’s the man. And it’s so refreshing to see that the two aren’t all that different that it makes me like him even more.

I love the way Sam’s siblings poke at each other, joking and teasing.

I want to love this. I want us to be any other couple sharing a family holiday for the first time. But I feel like everything changed the minute I walked in the door. Connor was holding his baby and paled at the sight of me. Della sneered. And when Mr. Bradshaw spotted me, something flashed over his face, and I could tell he was hurt that I didn’t stay away from Sam as he’d requested. But worst of all is Sam. He barely greeted me when I arrived, and he hasn’t said a word the entire time. He keeps glaring at Connor, and he barked at him when Connor dared wish him a merry Christmas.

If Sam’s rethinking having me here, I wish he would have called and asked me to stay home. That would have hurt, but it would have been preferable to being a pariah at another family’s Christmas.

“Potatoes?” Sam asks from beside me. I jump at the sound of his voice, then paste on a smile and dish myself some out of the big ceramic dish.

Sam’s younger brother, Ian, takes the seat next to me. “If you have some time after dinner, you should let me show you the Corvette I’m restoring in the barn.” He drags his eyes over me meaningfully, obviously. “I’m pretty good with my hands, you know.”

“Little man,” Sam warns in a growl, never turning toward his brother or me, “if you don’t take your eyes off my girlfriend, I’ll do it for you.”

Ian flushes and turns his attention to his food, and my cheeks burn too. Maybe he’s in a bad mood, but he just called me his girlfriend again. Such a silly little word, and it means everything.

“He’s fine,” I mumble. I wish he would tell me what’s gotten him in this mood. Unless it’s me.

“Girlfriend?” Della says. “Huh. Interesting.”

It’s his mom’s turn to give me her attention, it seems. “So with your sisters marrying and starting their families, are you looking to do the same, Liz?” she asks. It seems like she’s the only one happy to have me here.

Across from us, Ryann starts humming “Fixer Upper” from that Disney movie. I cut my eyes to Sam, but he seems unfazed. I’m guessing he’s not familiar with the song.

Della stabs her chicken so hard the fork screeches against the plate.

“Um . . .” I look to Sam for help, but he’s scowling into space. Real helpful, buddy. “I don’t know? I mean, I’m just starting a new career and . . .” And this is Sam we’re talking about here, right? Do you know how he feels about commitment?

And yet here I am.

The best plan of action is to change the subject. “So, what are your hobbies?” I ask Ian. “Do you spend a lot of time restoring cars?”

Ryann snorts. “That’s just want he wants you to think. He spends more time at his computer running code.”

“What kind of code?”

“Ian developed the code for the Something Real dating site,” Connor says, grinning at his brother-in-law.

I choke on my wine. “That’s your site?”

“Yeah,” Ryann says. “He understands how hard it is for ugly guys to find a date, so he invested hundreds and hundreds of hours into developing a workaround.”

“Just because you’re too shallow to appreciate true connections,” Ian says to his sister. “I am a romantic. I believe in love.”

The rest of the meal passes in a haze as Ian chatters on about his pet project and the rest of the family chimes in about the various ways they helped. On the outside, I’m a quiet woman pushing food around her plate, but on the inside, I’m panicking.