Can’t wait.
The cold dread scooped up my insides and splattered them against my bones.
My ex was manipulative, persuasive, and completely emotionally abusive. He’d never flat-out hit me, but he didn’t need to. There were ways to touch and bruise without the stark violence of slaps or punches. And he’d done enough damage to my mind that I’d barely stepped out of line when I was with him.
It took the news of my father leaving my mother to rot, to shake me awake.
To return my senses.
To find myself again.
Having the power and will to leave him and never look back.
And now he was coming here. With all the power in the world to ruin me if he chose it.
I wouldn’t let him.
I would sit with him. And we’d discuss things rationally.
He didn’t want me anymore, had no use of me, he just hated that I’d left.
I would make this right.
And when he was finally gone from my life, I’d be free to—
“Hey,” Bentley said, stepping out of the door and leaving it opened. “Chloe.” His eyes widened when he took in my face. What he saw there, I wasn’t sure, but he cupped my cheek. “What’s wrong, baby?”
So warm, his light spread into me, soaking through my skin and soothing my erratic heart.
I held my hand over his, closing my eyes against the truth. If I told him—Bentley wouldn’t hesitate to go after him, on the ice or not.
And that would be bad for Bent.
I wouldn’t do that to him.
Not when Coach was finally starting to see him for the asset he was.
“Chloe,” he said again, my name a plea on his lips.
I opened my eyes, smiling softly at him. “I’ll explain another time, okay?” My voice was soft as I stepped closer to him, needing to drink him in while I could.
But he didn’t respond.
“I promise. When the time is right, I’ll explain what this”—I motioned to my face, which was likely rooted in fear—“is all about.”
He wetted his lips, the heat between us crackling and begging. “All right. It’s always your choice. But I’m here.” He moved our hands to his chest, right over his heart. “I’m right here, Chloe. For you. For whatever you need of me.”
My heart beats for yours.
His eyes screamed the words.
Three little words—words he’d heard before—were on the tip of my tongue.
I parted my lips, my heart racing with the declaration—
“You’ve always taken such good care of my Chloe.” Mom’s voice sounded from inside her room, startling us both. We turned to see her smiling from her seat and pointing at Bentley. “I knew you were the one. Since you were a kid. No one could handle my Chloe like you did. No one made her laugh like that either.” She folded her hands in her lap. “I’ve always loved you, Bentley Rogers. I’m so glad you married my daughter.”
Tears coated my eyes, her memories of the past getting tangled with a future she always assumed would happen but never did. But she remembered, in that moment, she saw us.
“I’ll always take care of her,” Bentley said, glancing down at me. “Don’t you ever worry about that.”
He hugged me fast and comforting, just enough time for me to pull myself together before rushing into the room to speak to my mom . . . as her daughter, not a stranger.
And as he gave me the space to do so, I knew how damn lucky I was to have a man like him in my life.
Now, if I could get everything else sorted, maybe, just maybe, I’d get my happily ever after, after all.
Chapter 15
Bentley
“Here is your copy of the newly itemized bill based off the cocktail,” the receptionist said, handing Chloe three pieces of paper, stapled together.
Chloe blew out a long breath as she read and registered each dollar sign on the bill.
I tried not to read over her shoulder, knowing if she wanted me to see it, she would show me. But from the crease between her brows and the slight panic in her eyes, the bill was astronomical.
“All right,” Chloe said, finishing up her scan of the papers. She quickly signed the last form.
“So, this is all good to continue auto-pay, correct?” The receptionist was talking to Chloe but kept flashing glances at me, that familiar excited look in her eyes.
Normally I would turn up the charm, smile back, ask if she wanted a photo—fans meant everything to me—but this was the wrong place, wrong time.
I was still reeling from seeing Chloe’s mom, the fact that she’d recognized me in three different ways—one from my career, one for the boy I used to be, and one for the future she always thought I’d have.
A sledgehammer to the chest. That’s what it felt like when she said she was happy I married her daughter.
I’d always planned on that, but life had other plans.
And the more time I spent with Chloe, the more I saw her struggle with the money and the strain of putting her mom in this place.
Hard not to wonder if being with me really was worth the risk for her.
“Yes, thank you,” Chloe finally answered, then flashed a smile at John who had walked with us—chatting about her mom—as we headed to sort this out.
“Awesome,” the girl said. “We’ll adjust this and then we’ll see you soon, right?”
“I’ll be back in a couple days,” she said, doing her best to keep that smile on her lips, but I could see the worry cracking her eyes as she turned away and headed toward the exit.
She stopped just outside the building, her heavy sigh twisting my gut as she glanced up at me.
“Thank you for that,” she said.
“For what?”
“For showing up. For putting that smile on her face.” Chloe grinned. “I’m so happy she recognized you. It means so much to me.”
I swallowed the thick knot in my throat. “Me too,” I said.
A silence fell between us, one that was too tense, too strained for us.
“Will you come to my house?” I asked, almost a whisper.
“I would really like that,” she said like she was afraid I wasn’t going to offer.
I grazed my finger down her cheek.
“See you soon,” I said, and turned to walk to my car.
Sinking behind the wheel, I gripped the thing harder than necessary while I drove.
My stomach twisting with guilt like I’d swallowed sharp bits of metal.
Chloe had told me what her mom was like before she got her in this place. Had described in detail, mainly because I think she needed to get it off her chest because she felt responsible—even though it was in no way her fault. She’d talked about how she was practically a zombie, barely speaking, barely eating, lost in the recess of her clouded mind. Never connecting the dots to find her own happiness.
The woman I saw today was nothing like what she described. She was more like the woman I remembered from my past—only changed slightly. Her coloring was great, including the blush on her cheeks as I teased and laughed with her. The paintings in her room reflected a happy artist, a certain contentment in each colorful canvas. Her body was full and healthy looking, like she enjoyed eating again.
Chloe’s mom was thriving.
And it was because of the excellent care and medicines the facility provided.
My knuckles went white as I took the exit that would lead to my home—Chloe a few cars behind me.
A throbbing, aching hole opened in the center of my chest as a certainty snaked through my soul.
I was not worth the risk of Chloe losing her job. The money she needed to take care of her mother, the proof that the place was the absolute best for her health.
I loved Chloe more than I’d ever loved anything on this earth.
My heart beats for yours.
The words whispered from somewhere deep inside me, my heart battling against my brain.
But there was no use.
I would never wreck Chloe.
I’d let myself burn first.
“Was it too much?” Chloe asked, sitting on the same chaise I’d fucked her on a few weeks ago. The memory was one I’d put in the permanent bank, knowing it was my awakening after a decade of being in a fog.
“What?” I asked, blinking out of my haze from where I sat on the couch, away from her. Needing the distance. Not trusting myself to touch her and not claim her.
“Seeing my mom like that,” she said, wringing her hands, her eyes noting the distance between us. “I understand if it was too much—”
“I said it wasn’t,” I cut her off, sharper than I’d intended. My soul was shredding knowing what I had to do.
Cold crept into her beautiful hazel eyes.
Ice crystalized over the silent seconds that hung between us.
Something shifted in her eyes and she stood, getting a few feet away before I bolted toward her.
“Where the hell are you going?”
She paused, glaring at me. “Was it because I didn’t tell you who texted me?” She asked. “I can tell you now, if it’s that important to you. I just wanted to handle it on my—
“I don’t care about that,” I said, though I sure as hell wanted to know what she was hiding.
What haunted her.
What scared her.
I wanted to know and crush it.
But on her terms, not mine.
“Then what?” she demanded.
She couldn’t understand. How sick I was. How I had to take the risk out of the equation. Make sure she was secure, protected, provided for.
After a few moments, her frustrated expression smoothed into a calm sort of sadness, and she turned to leave again.