Page 9

How could I not love him?

“I love you,” I whispered. I punctuated that statement with a kiss to his temple. He trembled underneath me, as if my tenderness unraveled him. “I love you so freaking much.”

My lips lowered, landing on his chest. His unicorn tattoo.

“You haven’t told me why you have this,” I murmured, replacing my lips with the pad of my finger. His eyes watched my hand on his inked skin with rapt fascination.

“My tattoo?” he asked for clarification, and I nodded.

“I haven’t told anyone this before, not even Ryder.”

“No lies in this fort, remember? Only truth.”

His anguished eyes met mine. “When I was sixteen, I got a girl pregnant.”

Whatever I’d expected his words to be, it wasn’tthat, and I was taken by surprise. I pulled away from him so I could see his face fully. Those glorious amber orbs of his were filled with unshed tears.

“I wasn’t in a relationship with the mom, Ali, but I was good enough friends with her. We decided to keep the baby.” He took a deep, shuddering breath. “I didn’t love her or anything, but I was willing to put my life on hold for her and our baby.”

My hand continued to idly trace the unicorn on his chest. I knew, innately, that this story wouldn’t have a happy ending. Wasn’t that why we connected the way we had? Two broken souls grasping for each other in the monotonous darkness? Two tragedies desperately searching for relief?

“What happened?”

“Car crash,” he answered brokenly. “She was seven months pregnant.”

My heart broke for him, the girl, and his unborn child. I knew that that pain could leave thousands of invisible scars on a person’s soul.

I wiped at a tear cascading down his cheek.

“I understand,” I whispered.

“Do you?” The question wasn’t accusatory, but curious.

“I got pregnant when I was fourteen,” I admitted softly. His eyes widened, and his strong arms tightened around me. “My dad made me...he made me…” I couldn’t finish my sentence. The pain was too raw, an open wound in the beginning stages of scabbing. I didn’t know which part pained me more: the fact that I was in that position to begin with or that I’d had my choices ripped from me.

“Was it…?” Ronan’s face was red with rage, no doubt knowing the hideous truth behind this story.

I nodded. “A business associate of my father’s.”

A man three-times my age.

A man who wouldn’t take no for an answer.

Dozens of emotions flitted across Ronan’s face. Anger, sadness, agony. At the end of the day, there was nothing either of us could do to change the past. We could only look at the future and grasp it with two hands.

Placing my head back on his shoulder, I outlined the unicorn with my pointer finger.

“Would you want kids?” I blurted out before I could stop myself.

The man had only just confessed his love to you, and you are already asking him to be your baby daddy. Smooth, Addie.

He made a surprised noise in the back of his throat. “I would love kids,” he admitted at last. “And...I think you would make an amazing mother.”

My heart, which was beating rapidly from my impulsive question, stopped.

Me? A mother?

The thought filled me with both dread and excitement. My mother hadn’t won any “mother of the year” awards, so I didn’t have a good role model to follow. However, I knew I would never be like my parents. I would never harm my kids the way they had harmed me. I would never discard them, make them feel unloved.

Would that make me a good mother?

Chuckling humorlessly, a futile attempt to diffuse the tension-soaked air, I added, “And I won’t name my vagina Elena. I’m thinking Buttercup. What do you think?”