After a long moment, I crossed the kitchen and wrapped my arms around him, resting my cheek against his chest so I could hear his heart. I never thought about Fisher’s memories coming back in tiny pieces. And I didn’t think about those tiny pieces cutting so deeply.
“I invited her over for dinner that night to tell her we needed to cancel the wedding.”
My gaze shot up to his as I released him. “What? Are you … are you serious?”
He frowned. “Then the memory came back. Then she started crying. And I couldn’t add more to her that night. So it turned into a total disaster because she had me backed into a corner. And while her eyes were still puffy, she asked me to go to her cousin’s wedding with her.”
I took another step backward.
“And she started crying again thinking about how her mom wouldn’t be there. So I told her I’d go with her.”
“Okay …” I drew out the word with caution. “So you go to a wedding with her. No big deal.”
“It’s in Costa Rica.”
Not okay. That was not okay.
“We’ll be gone for four days. It will be fine. Maybe it will be a good chance for me to really talk with her, express my feelings or lack thereof for her.”
It sounded logical coming from him. He presented it like it really wasn’t a big deal. But it felt like my bachelor was taking another woman to the fantasy suite instead of me. And they were just going to “talk.”
“Tell me you’re okay with this.”
I backed up another few steps and shook my head. “I’m just really tired. I don’t have the mental or emotional capacity to feel anything right now.”
“Reese …” He set his beer bottle on the counter and followed me to the back door.
“I’m going to crash. I’m over twenty-four hours with no sleep.”
“Then crash here.”
“It’s not a good idea.” I shoved my feet into my shoes and opened the door.
Fisher pressed his hand above my head to the door and shut it on me. “It’s the best idea I’ve ever had.”
I turned and shoved his chest.
He lifted an eyebrow and smirked. “You can shove me as much as you want, but it still doesn’t change what I want.”
I coughed a laugh. “What you want? What you want? What about what I—”
In a blink he was all over me.
Lips.
Tongue.
Hands.
A fisherman tornado.
My jacket … his hoodie … gone.
Three steps toward the hallway … shirts discarded.
Several more steps … the tie to my scrubs yanked undone while I made haste with the button and zipper to his jeans.
Several feet from the bedroom door, he pushed my back to the wall and kissed down my neck while shoving the straps of my bra down my arms, exposing my breasts.
“Fisher …” My fingers dove into his hair as he licked, sucked, and bit my nipples.
“Hello. Hello. Hello …”
Rory.
We froze, but there was no time to run or hide. No time to gather the trail of clothes from the door to our exact spot, which happened to be in plain sight of Rory and her unnaturally wide-eyed expression, hand cupped over her mouth.
I closed my eyes and cringed.
Fisher stood tall and buttoned and zipped his jeans before taking my shoulders and guiding me toward the bedroom and shutting me inside.
I fixed my bra and pressed my ear to the door, but it was hard to hear past my rapid breathing.
“Rory … ever heard of knocking?”
“What in GOD’S NAME is going on?”
I flinched. I couldn’t remember a time in my entire life when I heard my mom’s voice sound that angry.
“I love her.”
Dead. Fisher just slayed me. Lassoed my heart. And locked it up in his castle where it will take an army or an act of God to steal it from him.
“That is not an answer! That is my daughter. What the fuck are you doing with my daughter? She is ten years younger than you … and YOU ARE ENGAGED!”
There was an uncomfortable silence for a few seconds.
Then Fisher spoke. Calm. Controlled. Matter-of-fact.
“I love her.”
Tears burned my eyes, and I couldn’t take it any longer. I opened the door.
“Stay in the bedroom, Reese,” Fisher said with his back to me as Rory stared me down.
My hero. Protecting me. Loving me …
Tying my scrub pants, I slowly shuffled my feet down the hallway.
Rory’s jaw clenched, readying for whatever she might have thought I was about to say.
Plead my case?
Apologize?
Beg for forgiveness?
None of the above. I came out of the bedroom for one reason and one reason only. Turning to face Fisher, I blinked and the tears fell in heavy streams as I lifted onto my toes, pressed my palms to his face, and whispered, “I love you, my lost fisherman,” before kissing him.
Soft and slow.
No regard for Rory and her audible gasp.