Page 35 of Risk (Gods #3)

“Can I ask you something?” Kaden says in a cautious voice. “And feel free to say no.”

“How about I say yes, and if I don’t want to answer, I won’t?”

He gives me a half smile. “Works for me.”

“Okay, then ask away.”

“Is your dad the reason you want to be a psychologist?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Just wondered.” He shrugs. “I don’t know everything, only bits and pieces that Zeus has told me, but I know your dad fell into alcoholism after losing your mom, and you and your brothers were left to pretty much raise yourselves.”

“Zeus and Ares had it tougher than me and Lo. They were teenagers, left to deal with our alcoholic father, who wasn’t abusive,” I’m quick to add, “just useless. I know that sounds harsh to say—”

“It’s not harsh if it’s the truth.”

I let out a sigh. “No, it’s not. He was lost in his own grief and forgot that he had four kids to care for. Four kids who had just lost their mother.”

Weirdly, my eyes start to fill with tears.

“Shit, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

The concern in Kaden’s voice and the visibility of it on his face make me want to cry harder, but I hold those tears back because I don’t want to cry any more, and I don’t want to worry him more than I already am.

“No, you didn’t. Honestly. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” I clear the water from my eyes with my fingers. “Must be hormones.”

Or maybe not. I don’t cry about this stuff because I rarely talk about the loss of my mother or my father’s alcoholism and the effects it all had on my childhood.

I talked all that out years ago and don’t feel the need to go over it.

I accepted what had happened in my past for what it was a long time ago, so for me to be crying about it now is strange.

I know, if I were my therapist, the first thing I would do is encourage me to talk about it again now because, clearly, there are some residual feelings that have arisen now that I’m about to become a mother.

I’m aware that having my own children will force my fears back to the surface, and it’s better if I deal with them now, before the babies arrive.

And there I go, getting all clinical again. Only I could mentally analyze myself while watching a chick flick. Surely, this must be some sort of talent.

A lame talent. But a talent nonetheless.

I make a mental note to book an appointment with a therapist first thing in the morning.

“You okay?”

Kaden wraps his fingers around my wrist. His hand makes my wrist look so small, and it’s a welcome feeling because, currently being pregnant, I feel anything but small. Not that feeling small or dainty is something I’ve ever been.

But Kaden makes me feel that way, and I like it a lot.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” I give him a small smile, but it’s genuine.

He lifts my arm to his mouth and presses the softest kiss to my pulse point. I have to hold back a shiver.

Damn this man and his sweetness.

“So, what did you ask me?” I go back to his question to take myself away from the fluttering I feel inside my chest, which is ridiculously close to my heart.

“Oh, if I want to be a psychologist because of my dad. Maybe, partly. To help people who suffer with addiction like him, sure. But more so to help kids…”

“Who have parents that suffer with addiction,” he finishes for me.

“Pretty much. Kids who need help.”

“Like you did.”

Damn. Shit. Fucking. Crap.

My eyes are leaking again.

“I’m okay.” I wave my hand around when worry etches his face again. “I swear, it’s just hormones. I’m not crying because you made me sad.”

And it’s not because he made me sad, but it’s not just hormones either. But I don’t want to tell him that because he’ll worry, and it’s not something that can’t be fixed with a little therapy.

“No, just when I put my size fourteens in it and say something related to your childhood.” He cups my face with those strong hands of his and stares into my eyes. His thumbs brush the tears on my cheeks away.

The air thickens between us.

His eyes drop to my lips.

Do I want him to kiss me?

Yes.

One hundred thousand percent yes.

But he doesn’t. His eyes lift back to mine. He gives me a sad, soulful smile and then slips his hands from my face and tucks them between the pillow his head is resting on and his cheek.

The disappointment I feel is immense, and I know that should tell me something.

That I want this man.

“Can I ask you something?” I continue when he doesn’t say anything. “Same as what you said to me before, you don’t have to answer.”

“Hit me with it.”

“If you knew back then—like, if you had a foresight to the future and you knew what would happen with boxing, that you would suffer the injury you did…” I choose not to say the words almost die .

Or that he did die. For those brief horrific moments before he was brought back.

Because I can’t begin to think of a world without him in it.

“Would you still have stepped into the ring?”

“Yes.”

There isn’t even a second of hesitation in his answer.

“Why?” My voice is croaky, and I’m not completely sure why. Maybe it’s the way he’s looking at me so intently, so sure.

His thumb sweeps over my cheekbone. “Because it brought me here. To you. If I’d never stepped in that ring with Zeus, then I would never have met you, and you wouldn’t be carrying my babies right now, so, no, I wouldn’t change a single second of the past because it gave me this present.”

I can’t help it. I kiss him.

For the second time in less than two weeks.