Linda, the writer-sister, steps between us and gives me the stink-eye above her tea cup. “You done messed up, cowboy. She’s not stupid—you only break a Burrows girl’s heart once.”

“I didn’t do anything to break anyone’s heart.”

“That’s not what I heard.”

From the corner of my eye, I see the other three peek around the corner—like a blond totem pole.

“Look—you’re Lainey’s sisters and I get that—but can you all kindly fuck off for two minutes?”

Slowly Linda sets her tea cup down on the counter, smiling ruefully. “I do like you, Ken-doll. I really hope you don’t turn out to be an asshole, because that would just be a damn shame.”

Then she steps out of the room, taking the other Three Amigos with her.

I hold out my hand to Lainey. “Come on.”

She lets me lead her outside to the back patio. I grab her coat, the pink Sherpa one, off the hook because it’s cold.

Lainey crosses her arms and looks out across the lake as the breeze tousles her hair.

“I talked to Jason. He told me what he saw.”

“Kelly’s husband was screwing around on her. He left her. She came to me, she wanted to hook up and I turned her down. That’s what Jason saw.”

Lainey fidgets and twists her fingers together—it’s what she does when she’s nervous or uncomfortable or upset—and I hate that I’ve made her that way.

“I think we should take a step back, Dean. Slow things down between us. Focus on the baby.”

I laugh and it sounds bitter. Because “take a step back” is just woman-code for break up.

“You don’t believe me?”

“I’ve thought about it, I’ve processed it . . .”

My words come out clipped and colder than the breeze off the lake.

“Oh, you’ve processed it? That makes me feel so much better.”

“It’s fine, Dean. I understand. I get it.

“What do you get, exactly?”

“We can be friends.”

“Fuck friends. I don’t want to be your friend.”

I want to be her everything. Because somewhere along the line—Lainey, Jason, our baby—that’s what they’ve become to me. Everything.

Her stance changes, she leans forward breaking out of whatever shell of passive acceptance she’s retreated to. Her eyes heat up—sparking with anger.

“You’re a player. Self-admitted.”

“I’ve never played with you.”

“You’ve lied. Cheated. That’s what you told me.”

“I was trying to be honest.” Boy, was that a fucking mistake. “I’ve never lied to you, or cheated.”

“This wasn’t ever supposed to be anything.”

“But now it is. And it’s so good, Lainey. Christ, it’s so good between us and I want it so bad, sometimes I can’t stand it.”

She pokes my chest, fully fired up now—and I’m glad. I want her to get it out—the hurt, the doubt—so we can fight it out and then move on. Move past this.

“You kissed Kelly Simmons! While she was in her underwear!”

“She kissed me!”

Lainey’s eyes dart between mine, and then she laughs—and now she sounds bitter too.

“Do you hear yourself? Are you serious right now?”

I step closer, standing over her. “It’s the truth. You want to hear another truth? You’re just scared. That’s what all this is about.”

“I’m not scared.”

“Bullshit! You’re so scared you can’t see straight. So you go through life, telling yourself you’re easygoing and a free spirit and it’s fine—everything’s fucking fine. I want to walk away, I don’t want to be in the baby’s life—that’s fine. I’m screwing around on you, you can’t trust me—that’s fine too—we’ll just be friends. And it’s all because you’re too fucking scared to take a chance. Jesus, Lainey—you’ll pull an ugly, broken table out of the garbage because you can see how beautiful it could be . . . but you’re so goddamn eager to throw us away. And it’s because you’ve convinced yourself it won’t hurt if you’re the one who walks away first.”

I move forward, lean in toward her, close enough I can feel her panting breath against my throat. And my voice turns aching and desperate.

“But I’m not going anywhere. I’m not walking away from you, ever—why can’t you see that? I’m a chance worth taking, I swear to God.”

When I open my eyes and look down at her, her skin is bleach-white and she’s stone-still—like she’s about to pass out.

“Lainey?”

I brace my hands on her hips.

“What’s wrong?”

She takes a step back, holding her stomach with one hand and lifting the hem of her floral maternity dress with the other—high enough to expose her thighs.

“Dean?”

And my heart, my stomach, my whole being plummets. Because she’s bleeding.

Chapter Fifteen

Dean

There’s a special kind of hell when your child is hurt or in danger—even if they’re not born yet. I didn’t know that, didn’t understand it—one of the many things I didn’t know until I met Lainey Burrows.

But I know it now.

There’s a four-alarm fire burning in my brain as I get Lainey in my car and tell her sisters I’m not waiting for an ambulance, that it’ll be faster to take her to Lakeside Memorial myself.

Tags: Emma Chase Getting Some Romance
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