Mark (Mallick Brothers 3)

"Didn't want to drag me down," I supplied when she refused to go on, feeling a weird as fuck swelling sensation in my chest that I didn't know what to blame on, so I went ahead and called it frustration even though I damn well knew that wasn't it. "Alright," I said, exhaling as I reached down to grab her arms, dragging her to stand with me beside the bed then reaching to snag her chin in my fingers, forcing her to keep eye-contact. "Let's get some shit straight right now."

"There's no reason," she objected, voice hollow.

"Well, fucking humor me anyway," I suggested with a smirk. "I think you know that the locking shit down thing has never been my style."

"And by 'locking shit down thing' I am assuming you mean relationships?" she asked, lips twitching.

It didn't take much to get past her shields if you were able to see them for what they were protecting. All the soft and sweet and vulnerable that she kept hidden behind them.

"Yeah, that shit," I agreed with a smile, making one spread across her face too. "But I'm also someone who knows a good thing when he sees it and knows his own mind. You, Scotti, whether you believe it right now or not, you're a good fucking thing. You're the best fucking thing I've ever had and I made my mind up about wanting you in my life. Now, you might be a stubborn pain in the ass," I said, ducking my head a little and smirking, "But I am just as stubborn and just as big a pain in the ass. So this running away shit, this isn't going to fly. You want to be grown-ups and sit and hash this shit out, I'm game. But I'm not accepting you just up and leaving."

"It's not your choice, Mark," she said, trying to sound firm, but only ending up sounding deeply unhappy instead. "I have every right to leave you for any reason I see fit. And you can't stop me."

"No," I agreed, nodding. "I can't stop you. But I can follow you. All the way to goddamn Russia. I'll buy an obnoxious fur coat and matching hat and follow your sexy ass through the streets until you're so fucking embarrassed to be seen with me that you inevitably follow me back to the states and come raise our chicken together like a happy family."

"Nugget..." she said, need clear in her voice.

"Is enjoying his chicken mansion. I have word to Lea to drop in with some feed if I am not back by tomorrow afternoon. But I have a feeling I'll be back," I said, arms moving out to slide around her hips and fold at her lower back, pulling her closer. "And that I won't be alone."

"You seem pretty sure of yourself," she said, softening already.

"And you," I agreed, nodding.

That seemed to do it. Maybe she didn't think I was as serious as I felt. Maybe I hadn't been clear with that shit. I figured that my actions spoke volumes- the flowers, the invitation for her to stay as long as she wanted, the building of the chicken coop. But maybe she was someone who needed to hear the words.

That was my fuck up.

I would remedy it.

She needed words; I was full of them.

"I don't know, you know?" she asked, tone coy, dark eyes dancing. "I mean, I've been getting really good at my Russian."

"I'm cool with bilingual kids," I said with a shrug. "Spanish might be more useful, but Russian would be more badass. Ever hear someone cuss you out in Russian? Scary shit."

"Well, I would hope our kids wouldn't be cussing people out," she said before her eyes went huge and her mouth clamped shut, likely realizing what she had just said.

Maybe, normally, this kind of talk this soon would freak me out. I was pretty sure it was supposed to freak me out. But I meant what I said to her; I was a man who knew his mind. I knew she was it. And if she was it, I also knew I wanted a shitload of kids with her. Coming from a big family herself, having the huge support system that was four other siblings, she likely wanted the same exact thing as well.

So it wasn't too soon for me.

"Dunno, baby. You heard Fee about Becca. If we think our kids won't be cussing, we're fucking dreaming."

"Well, I guess that's..."

Her sentence got cut off by the sound of my phone screaming in my back pocket. Normally, I would ignore it.

But it was almost fucking two o'clock in the morning.

No one called me that late save for the times Fee went into labor.

"You should get that," she said even as my hands unfolded from around her and went for my pocket, seeing my mother's number there, and feeling my guts twist.