She shoved her hands into her hair and saw the sympathetic faces. She lifted up her hand. “Don’t feel too sorry for me, guys—this was all my fault. I knew that if I allowed myself to get close that I’d get hurt.”
Sage stared at the books of fabric swatches, her eyes wet with tears. “I love him. I do. I think I always have but as soon as he gets too close, I push him away.”
Tate sank to the floor next to her legs and rested her temple against Sage’s knee. “Oh, honey. What are you going to do?”
Sage shrugged. Since this was the first time she’d frankly and openly admitted that she loved Tyce, to herself as well as to her family, she hadn’t given the next step much thought. “I don’t know. I know I need to apologize but I can’t do that unless I speak to him. And I don’t know if I can do the whole sleeping-together-without-love thing anymore. I want to tell him that I love him but I think that he might run. Fast and hard.” Sage placed a hand on her stomach. “And, man, that will hurt like a bitch and you guys know how hard I work to avoid being hurt.”
“So you love him?” Tate asked.
Sage nodded. “Yes, I love him.” Of that much she was sure. “I always have.”
“So do it,” Tate said, her voice firm.
Sage frowned. “Sorry, what?”
“So you’re scared, so he might run. Do it anyway,” Tate said, resting her hand on Sage’s thigh. “We think that we have to get rid of the fear first when, actually, what we have to do is act first. Only then does the fear go away.”
Cady nodded. “The only way to stop being afraid of loving someone is to love them.”
Sage stared at her flat biker boots. “But what if he leaves?” she quietly asked. “Or dies?”
“Then he leaves or dies,” Piper said. She climbed to her feet and, moving behind her, leaned over and wrapped her arms around Sage’s waist, her chin on her shoulder. “We can’t be responsible for, or try to control, what other people do, baby. We only have control over our actions. We can only worry about what we can control.”
Sage hugged Piper’s arms to her, her eyes filling with tears. This was what a support base felt like, what belonging to a tribe of strong women felt like. These were the Ballantyne women—Sage had always thought that Amy should change her name to Ballantyne and be done with it—and they were a unit. And, her blurry eyes focused on her niece, who was sitting in Tate’s lap, they were raising another generation of strong Ballantyne women.
Their wise counsel made sense and she was grateful for it. She wasn’t sure if she’d take their advice but she’d certainly think about it. She’d think about it a lot.
“Wine!” Amy said, standing up. “I know that Linc recently bought a case of Domaine de la Romanée-Conti. He won’t miss a bottle, or three.”
Tate groaned. “He’ll kill us, Ames. It’s one of the most expensive wines in the world.”
“Pfft.” Amy waved her concerns away.
“Touch my wine and you’re fired,” Linc said, striding into the room. He walked into the center of the carpet, dropped a kiss on his wife’s head and grinned when his daughter held up her arms, her face splitting into a huge smile at the sight of her dad.
Sage fought tears and tried not to think of her baby looking at Tyce like that. She owed it to their child, she owed it to herself, to tell Tyce how she felt, to express what she wanted. If she didn’t, she’d regret it for the rest of her life.
She needed to be brave because if she wasn’t, how would she teach her child to be courageous, to take a chance?
Yes, it was scary; yes, terror was congealing her blood but Tyce was worth a little fear.
Sage just stared at the carpet—Was that a purple crayon buried in the threads?—as determination pushed fear into a corner, holding it at bay. She could do this. She would do this.
Sage stood up, smiled and headed for the door. The last thing she heard as she bolted out was Tate’s cheerful statement. “That’s our girl. Ames, the case of wine is still in the hallway—neither Linc or I have had a minute to take it down to the cellar. Go grab a bottle. Or three.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
We really need to talk.
Tyce looked at his phone and sighed. Yeah, they did. Where are you?
Tyce waited for her reply message to appear on his screen. Sage was at The Den. Of course she was; when her world fell apart she had a place, people to run to. He didn’t. Neither did Lachlyn.
I can come to you. Are you at your studio?
Tyce shook his head, a futile gesture since Sage couldn’t see it.