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“And it won’t work.”

“Why?” I huff. “Have you not been paying attention to how at the drop of a hat I turn into a human wrecking ball that chews out kids and punches their mothers?”

“I like that about you.”

“You don’t,” I snap.

“And if I say no? If I say you don’t get to push me away? That I’m going to be the one to show up, no matter what?”

My gaze cuts to him. “You can’t say no, that’s not how this works.”

“It is. We actually specifically said, ‘no pushing away.’”

We did say that.

“But I’m giving you an out,” I argue. “And Wren.”

He laughs. “We don’t want an out. We love you.”

I suck in a sharp breath; this makes no sense.

“I still might sell the house,” I persevere. “And move to the desert. And I ruined Wren’s Homecoming. I got drunk and acted like some kind of wannabe superhero trying to clean up the streets of Gotham. And I had a kid. By you. That I never told you about!” My blood is boiling now. He’s making this harder than it needs to be. Impossible even. Blind to the fact that this kind of crazy is just who I am. “Just let this go. Let me go. Letusgo.”

His mouth tugs to one side. “No can do, Scotty.”

“No can do?” I echo with a groan, struggling to get the key in the ignition. Not sure when or why I took it out to begin with. “It’s not an option.”

“I’m not going to let you do this.” He relaxes back into his seat like the decision has been made. “Go ahead. Throw a tantrum. Letthe viper come out to play. But it won’t work. I left once because I was scared. I’m not letting you go now because you’re feeling the same thing.”

I glare at him as I peel onto the highway with a squeal of the tires. Fuck him for making this so hard. If he wants to prove some kind of point with a game he’ll most certainly lose, I’ll play. “Fine. Try. You won’t win this.”

I ignore the veryverysmall part of me hoping he does.

“And when I convince you that you’re wrong, you’ll propose to me.”

“I’ll what?!” I slam on the brakes, jerking us both forward. He doesn’t react.

“That’s what you just told me you wanted to do twenty years ago—why not now?”

Asshole.

“Fine,” I grit out, accelerating again.

Over my dead body.

I have gone from loving this man to hating him in the span of fifteen minutes.

At a stop sign, I glare at Ford, who smiles smugly, then punch the gas—purposefully driving over the speed limit.

The entire time, I’m seething.

“Ooh!” he says, angling his head to see out the windshield as I drive. “Think that was a pileated woodpecker.”

He smiles, his face all warm eyes and smile lines that makes me want to shove him right out into the road and run over him.

By the time we get to the church parking lot, I’m a powder keg ready to explode.

He unbuckles his seatbelt, leans across the center console, and kisses me on the mouth. Then, cooler than the November breeze blowing outside, he pulls away, winks, and says, “Thank you for telling me about Blue. We did good. You did.” In my silence he adds, “Tell me something real.”