The Perfect Game(78)

“I wanted to see you in person.”

He suddenly shifted his weight and his eyes widened. “Are you okay? Everything is okay with you, right?”

I smiled at his protectiveness. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

I watched as he regained his composure with a shaky breath. “That’s good. I don’t know what I’d do if something ever happened to you, Kitten.”

“Like if I was marrying a complete stranger tomorrow?”

His body stiffened. “Is that why you’re here?” I watched his shoulders and head drop as the realization hit.

“Jack. It’s a mistake. You shouldn’t do this. Please don’t do it…don’t marry this girl.” My left hand balled into a fist and rested between my breasts. “I’m begging you. I am literally begging you to not do this.”

I started crying. The ugly, uncontrollable kind of crying. His eyes glistened and I watched him blink back his own tears.

“It’s too late. Her whole family’s in town.” His face pinched with pained emotion.

“It’s not too late. Tomorrow at whatever time you’re supposed to marry her is too late. Tonight isn’t. Please.” I reached for his shirt and gripped, balling it tightly in my fist. “Please don’t do this to me.”

“I’m sorry you flew all this way.” His eyes looked away from mine.

“So that’s it? You won’t even consider not going through with it?”

“I already made my decision.”

“Do you love her?” I asked, my heart beating as if the next pulse depended on his answer.

His body suddenly pressed against mine as he cupped my face with both hands. “You’re so beautiful.”

I struggled to breathe. “Do you love her?” I choked out the words.

His dark eyes narrowed. “She’s not you.”

His breath was a mixture of warmth and cinnamon from his long-gone breath mint. “What does that even mean?” I asked, my tears spilling over his fingertips.

His hands fell from my face as he breathed in and out through his nose, his temper rising. “Fuck, Cassie. What do you want to hear? How much I hate myself for getting drunk that night and losing the only girl in my life I’ve ever trusted and truly loved? How I called Dean fifty times a day for weeks begging him to tell me how I could get you back? Do you want to hear how fucking weak and pathetic I think I am for not being able to tell her no that night, when I knew what was at stake?”

His eyebrows pinched together and his jaw tensed as his emotions spilled out into the night air. “Do you want to hear how I tried to talk her out of keeping this baby so that it wouldn’t fuck everything up? How I begged her not to keep it, told her I’d pay for everything, I’d drive her there and give her money after it was all over, just to please not do this to me. And then how much of an asshole I felt after that too? Who tells someone that?”

I watched as he paced back and forth before falling to his knees, his hands covering his tortured face. His hands fell as he glanced up at me, tears reflecting in his eyes. “I am so fucking in love with you I can’t see straight. I don’t love her. I’ll never love her. But I fucked up and now I have to pay for it. I’ll never forgive myself for hurting you,” he said. “Or losing you.”

I fell to the ground next to him, my teardrops staining the dry concrete below. I reached for his arms as he wrapped them tightly around my waist and pulled me in. There was no space between us, our bodies sharing the same air. Our foreheads touched and I closed my eyes. “Knowing you’re marrying someone who isn’t me,” I squeezed my eyes tighter to fight back the pain, “is literally killing me.”

“You don’t hate me?” he asked tentatively.

I opened my eyes to him, my pulse racing at his nearness. “I flew to Alabama to tell you not to get married, dummy. I’m pretty sure I don’t hate you.” I forced a small laugh.

“How about one last kiss then?” He grinned, his dimples illuminated by the moonlight.

“My heart’s already shattered beyond repair, what more damage could it do?”

My eyes closed as his lips pressed against mine. My broken heart sputtered to life as those pesky butterflies in my stomach flapped the dust off their wings. My mouth opened slightly and my tongue was immediately greeted by his. His lips softly opened and closed as our tongues danced with one another as if thrilled to have reconnected. Everything in the background faded away and nothing existed except that kiss. Nothing but the feel of his lips, the taste of his tongue, the smell of his sweet, cinnamon-scented breath. His lips closed gingerly as he pulled away.