Attached to You (Carolina Rebels 4)

Deanna: That looks like a trick question, to ask and then say you don’t have time.

Me: I’m tired. I have a game tonight. My time is limited today. My point is you need to quit fucking around with me.

The next text is an address. Nothing mor

e. I don’t waste time putting it into the GPS and driving over there. The house sits in the middle of nowhere, it seems. It’s the kind of house that needs a little work. Just looking at it makes me want to create a list of the minor work that needs to be done. Deanna opens the door as I open my car door and Otis runs out to greet me.

She doesn’t smile. For some reason, I expected as much.

“Did you bring me out here to break up with me or something?”

She shrugs. Shrugs! What the fuck does that even mean? It’s not a yes, but it’s not a no either. Deanna sits in one of the rocking chairs, the air not too terribly cold out here today. I sit in the one next to her, the wood groaning under my weight. My hand is still on Otis’s head, rubbing behind his ears. Safe to say he missed me at least.

“Why did you tell your employees you’re on vacation if you’re hiding out in your grandma’s house?”

“I needed a break and I come here sometimes when I need one. She left this to me, too.” She glances around at the yard and the porch.

“A break from what?”

“Everything.” Before I can ask her to elaborate, she says, “I met your ex-girlfriend.”

I frown. “Which ex-girlfriend?” There aren’t that many.

“I don’t know. She was in the store with her grandmother that day when you brought me lunch. She saw you, snorted when you promised to see me today, and said she hoped you were better now than you were with her.”

“Well, that’s not very helpful.”

“Did you treat all your ex-girlfriends badly?”

“No, but—”

She looks up at me with no emotion in her eyes. “Then how hard can it be? Maybe it’s the girl you kicked out of your house the last time you were injured.”

My muscles tense and my fingers freeze on Otis’s head. “How do you know about that?” Otis nudges my wrist, wanting me to keep rubbing. I get back to making him happy.

“Maryann told me. Brayden, how exactly does that equate to not finding a balance, which is what you told me?” Her tone is full of accusations. You’d think I did her wrong and not some other girl.

I sigh. “Because work was the priority. Why does that even matter? What does that have to do with us?”

“Do you even see a future of any kind for us?”

For fuck’s sake, why do women have to bounce around from one topic to another like a pinball? “Of course I do,” I answer. “Where is this coming from?”

“That’s not what you said at Thanksgiving. You said you hadn’t thought of a future.”

“I was talking about kids!” I interrupt.

Deanna keeps talking, ignoring my interruption. “So, in my head, I have that comment, how your mother said you broke up with your last girlfriend because you thought she got in the way of your career, and the fact that for the most part, I make poor decisions when it comes to life. On top of all of that, I run into one of those slime bags who doesn’t hesitate to remind me because he’s an asshole after all. And then, I thought I was pregnant.”

“What?” The word is loud and full of shock in my head, but it leaves my mouth in a mere whisper.

“I’m not, but I thought I was, which is why I ran here. My period was just late for some reason. Before it started, I couldn’t help but think about all those things my mother wrote, how I definitely don’t want to be a mom right now, and how you most certainly don’t want to be a dad. Afterward, I felt guilty and really couldn’t deal.”

Her words take two minutes to sink in. “You don’t trust me.”

She doesn’t say a word, and I give her ample time to speak. Finally, she does say, “I don’t trust myself either.”

I stand and move to the edge of the porch, leaning against the railing as I face her. “What the fuck, Deanna? Having doubts is one thing, but thinking you’re pregnant and fucking running? Ignoring me for days? And when I finally see you, you’re throwing my past against me when it has absolutely nothing to do with you?” She opens her mouth to object. I lunge forward and grab the armrests of the rocking chair, my face an inch from hers. Otis stands between our knees, but I ignore him.