Follow Me Back (Fight for Me 2)

Fuck.

I wanted her.

I wanted her so damned bad I could taste it.

“Kale.”

“Hey,” I said, taking one step in from the door, feeling flustered and hot. So unlike me, but this girl had me outside of myself. My attention darted to the spot where the lollipops had been, a bunch of coffee mugs filling the space. “I’m out.”

Hope frowned in confusion. “What?”

“I need more,” I stammered.

Her frown deepened.

Brilliant.

If only Ollie could see me, he’d be giving me shit for the rest of my life.

I drew a circle in the air with my index fingers, starting at the top and meeting at the bottom.

She looked at me like she was concerned for my sanity.

Yeah.

Me, too.

“The lollipops. I’m out of the lollipops,” I finally managed.

“Oh.” Disappointment or surprise, I wasn’t sure, but she blinked like she was rearranging the idea of why I was there around in her brain.

I guessed maybe I should have been doing that, too. Too bad all I could think about right then was stalking around the counter and propping her on it.

Kissing her and touching her and sinking inside.

All the reasons why I couldn’t slammed against the visions.

Cold, stark lights. That fucking flat line.

My heart shivered in my chest, and then I was thinking about why this was bad for her, too. The fact she was fucking terrified of whatever that dickhead was demanding of her.

I’d seen it. Written all over her when she’d made that admission in the examination room. When she’d told me what she had to lose, which was so much more than I could even comprehend or imagine. Knew I wasn’t even close to understanding what she was going through.

The thought of that sent a fresh round of rage rushing through me.

I had this intrinsic need to know what that asshole was demanding of her, of Evan, all the while I was contending with all these images of what their lives might have been like when he was in them. If it was good or bad. If she missed him or was glad he was gone.

If he’d hurt them.

My nerves zapped with the threat of rage.

Fuck. I couldn’t even tolerate the thought.

She smoothed her hands over her apron nervously. “I’m still out. I was planning to make some over the weekend at the house. If you want to come back on Monday, I’ll have them ready for you to pick up.”

Right then, the swinging door to the kitchen swung open and Evan came bounding out.

Joy.

Life.

Hope.

It swirled through the air. Filling the space.

Radiating and vibrating and confusing.

It made it difficult for me to stand, the solid ground suddenly unsteady, those memories trying to press themselves into the forefront.

His entire face lit up when he saw me, and he pushed his glasses farther up his nose with both his hands like he was making sure it was really me he was seeing.

God, the kid looked like the cutest little bug when he blinked at me from behind the thick lenses.

Heart squeezing in a fist, I lifted a hand to wave at him.

HI, he gestured. Now that I could read.

He gestured a bunch more while he mouthed, Dr. Bryant.

All of a sudden, he darted back into the kitchen, the door swinging behind him. In a flash, he was bursting back through, holding a big spiral-bound notebook and a marker. He went straight to the counter and started writing on the notebook.

He held it up.

What are you doing here?

Hope fidgeted beside him, her expression nearly unreadable because it said too much.

Why are you really here?

You’re only making this harder.

I wish things were different.

Stay.

Carefully, I edged across the space, eyeing Hope as that energy lit between us. That insane attraction I felt when we neared.

Flares.

Fire.

Flames.

I wanted to lick her up and down. Touch her and fuck her and maybe hold her afterward.

That right there was the reason I should hightail it out the door.

Among a million others.

Instead, I accepted the marker Evan offered.

I’m out of lollipops. All the kids love them. I need more.

His attention dropped to read it and then he looked back up at me.

I swore the magnitude of his smile knocked me back a step.

REALLY? he gestured. I got that, too.

“Really,” I said.

He went back to writing.

That’s good because me and mom and Aunt Jenna are going to make a lot. How many do you want? Maybe we’ll sell enough that there will be no more bad hearts.

I rubbed at my chest, having to wonder exactly what it was this kid was doing to mine.

That depends on how many you can make.

Lots. Do you want to help? I bet we can make a million.

Hope cleared her throat and touched his shoulder to get his attention. Apparently, she’d been watching the interaction over his shoulder. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. The kitchen is already going to be pretty crowded with the three of us.”