More Than Hate You (More Than Words)

“Well, we have that in common.”

“Did it ever occur to you for one fucking minute that I might have valid reasons for marrying you?”

“Like taking the company I’ve dedicated my adult life to and getting your jollies off making me miserable for a year? Sure.”

“Why do you do that?” I growl quietly, aware that a few people gathered around the unmoving baggage carousel are watching. “Why do you push and shove everyone away who just wants to be close to you?”

Sloan answers with a silent glare, then wanders away when the bags start to roll down the conveyer.

But she doesn’t have to reply for me to know the answer. Everyone in her life has hurt her. She’s protecting herself because she’s expecting me to be as selfish as all the others.

By marrying her against her will, aren’t you proving her right?

I try to shove the thought aside, but it lingers like the smell of skunk.

The fact I want to be with her, beside her, there for her, encouraging her, pleasuring her, giving my all to her… That counts for something, right?

Not if she doesn’t want you.

She will. I’m not giving up.

It’s not long before our suitcases come down the ramp. Sloan reaches for hers, but I grab it first, then take hold of my own. She doesn’t acknowledge me but follows me to Evan’s side. My buddy sends me a scowl that lets me know he’s expecting an explanation ASAP, then we hop into his SUV.

The ride is uncomfortably silent. I try to fill the empty cabin with small talk. But Evan won’t answer questions about the office, and Sloan is apparently not in the mood to talk about our plane ride.

It’s going to be a long evening.

When we reach Evan’s place, Nia emerges, hand stroking her rounding belly, wedding ring glinting in the last of the day’s rays. Will that ever be Sloan? Will she ever open the door to welcome me back to our home, silently protecting and loving our unborn baby?

Probably not. When I impulsively decided to marry her, I didn’t think that far ahead. I barely thought beyond my irrational need to make her mine. I didn’t even dwell much on the repercussions or likely outcomes. Will I be going through a nasty divorce this time next year?

“Y’all made good time.” Nia welcomes us inside with a hint of her Georgia upbringing in her voice. “Food should be ready soon.”

“Thanks, honey.” Evan pauses in the door to brush a kiss on her cheek and cup her belly. “You two okay?”

“Doing better today. I think I’ll even be able to keep dinner down.”

His smile is full of warm affection, and I realize my best friend never adored his late wife this way. He looked after her. He cared for her. He guided her. He removed obstacles in her life. He held her hand when her dreams turned to nightmares. He shielded her from the outside world. The fact he wasn’t in love with Becca seems so obvious now.

I look at Sloan way differently than I saw Becca. What does that say about me? About my feelings?

“Hi, Shaw. I won’t ask if you’re staying out of trouble. I know better.”

With a faint smile, I squeeze her hand. “Hi, Nia. Glad you’re feeling better.” I turn to wrap my arm around my fiancée’s waist. “This is Sloan O’Neill.”

Though Nia knows Sloan is the competition, she gives my girl a smile. “Welcome. Come on in.”

Sloan rarely behaves less than her ballsy, brash best, but Nia’s warm welcome takes her off guard. “Thank you.”

Nia’s smile brightens. “The guys will drink beer, I’m sure. I can’t imbibe obviously, but I have some great wines if you’d like a glass. What am I saying? You sat next to Bas for eight hours today. You deserve the whole bottle.”

Her quip coaxes a smile from Sloan. “I’d love a glass. Anything red would be great.”

“You got it,” Nia promises as they step into the foyer.

Sloan takes in the house with a sweeping gaze, lingering on the full oceanfront access out the back. “Your place is beautiful. Your view…”

“Thanks. We love it. Why don’t you follow me to the kitchen? I can tell from my husband’s face that he’s itching to grill Bas about what went down in Dallas.”