Page 82 of Between Commitment and Betrayal

“Declan, it’s five thirty in the morning,” my sister snipped when she answered.

“I need to talk to Cade.”

She muttered out, “Of course you do. Just don’t do anything stupid.” Izzy, the freaking wild child of the family, was warningme.

“Give the phone to your husband,” I said and she knew I meant it because a second later Cade grumbled in the background.

“I want all the information on him and his family,” I spit into the phone.

“I don’t think me giving you that information is very legal,” Cade drawled on the other line.

“I don’t give a fuck.”

“Oh, so now whenyouwant something done it’s fine if it’s not legal? What happened to me not being good enough for your sister because of my background?”

“I swear to fucking Christ, Cade. You met her, it’s for her.”

“I’ve met a lot of people,” he deadpanned. “There’re a lot of women in the world—”

“There’s only one woman you’re going to have to see around the family for the rest of your life attached to me and that’s mywife,” I bellowed, losing my patience. Quite frankly, I think I’d lost my mind. “You want to cross me? It will mean you dealing with me and my sister. Izzy will—”

“The information’s in your email, fucker. Stop acting like I wouldn’t get it for you. You’re part of the family now.”

“I’m not a part of your family, Cade—”

“Oh, you are. You’ll see.”

My brother-in-law hung up the phone on me, and I didn’t bother picking apart what he had to say. My focus was on her. Everly Belafonte. The woman who’d stood up for what was right and been torn apart for it.

My phone beeped as I scrolled the email he’d sent.

Izzy: Declan truly is being the reckless child now. Make sure all you Hardy men are watching him. He even called Cade.

Me: Fuck off, Izzy.

Dimitri: Too early for sibling chat. But I will say, Dec, the press is doing her dirty because she’s married you. You’d better handle that shit.

Dom: Honestly, I got my own problems, but if Declan can’t handle it, I definitely will. Everly’s my girl.

Me: She’s not your girl. She’s my fucking wife. I’m handling it.

I grumbled to myself as I stared at the sunrise outside. I had let all of the day pass without calling or texting her or barging back into her place. Now, it was breakfast time. And the clock ticked.

6 a.m.

7 a.m.

8 a.m.

I still hadn’t eaten, but I made scrambled eggs and biscuits and cut up damn strawberries, like I was ready for us to have a gourmet meal.

Me: Are you coming to breakfast?

Everly: I don’t particularly enjoy breakfast, as you know.

Me: You didn’t come to dinner either.

Everly: I wasn’t sure you wanted me there after everything we discussed. So, I decided against it.