Tyce just stared at her, shock on his face. Sage didn’t know what else to say, how to express her heart, how to ask for what she wanted. Didn’t he understand that she was willing to risk her stable, constant life for one filled with a lot of passion, a little uncertainty, risk? Didn’t he understand how hard it was for her to be in this position, to love someone so much and be scared of being rejected? Words, pleading, desperate words bubbled in her throat and as they rose they burst apart and all that remained was a bitter taste on her tongue.
But she knew that if she didn’t speak them, if she let them die, if she let him walk out that door without expressing them, she’d lose the moment forever.
Tyce took a step back and, operating on instinct, Sage grabbed the open sides of his leather bomber jacket to hold him in place. He started to pry her hands off but she tightened her grip and shook her head.
“All I’m asking you to do is to stand here and listen to me, just for a minute, maybe two. I know you are angry but you need to hear this. You need to hear me.”
“You’ve got two minutes and that’s it,” Tyce growled.
“Okay, I’ll keep it short.”
Sage pulled in a deep breath and looked for her courage. This was too vital to mess up but her tongue was battling to form the words. Voice croaky, she got the first sentence out. “I love you. I think I fell in love with you the first time I saw you and I’ve loved nobody else, ever. I want you, I want us. You, me, our baby, a family.”
Tyce didn’t react and just stood statue still.
“Be my family, Tyce, within this family. Yeah, my brothers are annoying but you can handle them.”
Still no response. Sage blew out a breath, dropped her hands and stared down at the floor. “If my love isn’t enough, then walk out that door and we’ll communicate about the baby through lawyers.”
It was an ultimatum but she had to know, she couldn’t live with maybes or possibilities. He either loved her or he didn’t, he either wanted a life with her or didn’t. It was actually a fairly simple choice.
Tyce shook his head. His words, when he finally spoke, felt like splashes of acid on her soul. “It won’t work, Sage. I’m sorry.”
“Now it’s your turn to push me away.”
Tyce nodded. “It’s easier to be alone… We both know this.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Tate’s hand shoot out to grab Linc’s arm as he stepped forward. Really? Did Linc think that he could force Tyce to stay? Feeling shocked and saddened, Sage watched as Tyce opened the front door with a vicious yank. In the open doorway, he stopped abruptly and Sage couldn’t help the surge of relief, the rush of hope.
Maybe he’d changed his mind; maybe he was prepared to give them a chance.
Instead of moving toward her, Tyce looked at Linc instead. “You should know that, somehow, certain members of the press have information about Lachlyn, about Lach-Ty and about her connection to Connor. Handle it any way you see fit.”
“Tyce—” Linc stepped forward and Tyce shook his head and stepped into the cold, dark night.
Sage stared at the door for a long time before turning back to her family. She tried to smile but she could feel her chin wobbling, the tears sliding down her cheeks. “So,” she said, trying for jaunty but failing miserably, “anyone have any idea what I can do about this gaping, bloody hole where my heart used to reside?”
* * *
Tyce, standing in his studio, released a violent curse and threw his custom-made palette knife across the room so that it bounced off a wall. Annoyed and frustrated, he punched his fist through the big blue abstract canvas before shoving his hands into his hair.
He had to get out of his studio, get out of the warehouse. He couldn’t think in here, couldn’t create, couldn’t paint. The portraits of Sage were all facing the wall but he knew that they were there and he was constantly tempted to turn them around, to waste minutes and hours looking at her glorious face, remembering how they loved each other.
Your choice, moron.
It had been two weeks since he’d seen her and he’d spent every minute of each day missing her. The news was out that Lachlyn was a Ballantyne and the press had gone nuts, as he’d expected. Surprisingly, Sage’s pregnancy wasn’t reported on and, for big mercies, he was grateful.
He’d called Lachlyn to find out if she was okay, if she needed his help to deal with the press, but she’d moved into The Den and he heard that Linc had hired a bodyguard to accompany her wherever she went until the furor died down. The press had camped outside his warehouse for half a day but wet, snow-tinged rain had sent them scurrying back into their holes.