Page 106 of The Game Plan

Fiona

The bedroom is dim and cool, the covers heavy and warm. I love this bed. It’s big, the mattress firm yet plush on top, thebedding soft and brilliant white. Ethan’s bed. Our bed. But it smells of him, spice and warm.

I hug a pillow close and sigh. But the snick of the door opening has me tense. Light angles across the bed then fades as thedoor gently shuts. I hug the pillow closer, trying to keep it together as Ethan walks in. I don’t have to see him to know.He’s in my blood now. I’m as aware of him as my own breathing.

The bed creaks and he sinks into it, pulling the pillow free and gathering me into his arms. I flow into his embrace, a sobbreaking free despite my best effort.

“Ethan.” I wrap myself around him, clinging tight.

“Cherry, baby.”

His hold is so hard it aches. I love it. He holds me like he’s trying to make me part of his body—strong, capable, a sentinelagainst all the shit the world has thrown at us. His hands stroke my hair, my back, everywhere he can touch.

“Darlin’,” he whispers. “Cherry... I...” A ragged breath tears out of him, and he shakes. “Fuck. I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

I cling to him, fisting his hair. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” he snaps, low and angry. He takes a deep breath that ruffles my hair. “It was my fault. I let you down.”

He sounds so broken that I turn my head and kiss the sweaty crook of his neck, feeling his throat move as he swallows.

“What happened?” I ask.

Ethan swallows again, another tremor running through him. His lips press against my head as he takes deep, hard breaths. AndI’m afraid. What has he done?

When he begins to tell me what happened, I’m no longer afraid. I’m enraged. It runs through me like wildfire, heating my bloodand setting my heart racing.

He finishes on a garbled sigh, his head sinking as if he can no longer hold it up.

I lean back to face him, touching his cheek so he lifts his head. His bleak expression hurts to see.

“You want to hear the fucked-up thing?” I ask.

He frowns. “What?”

“My brain stalled out at the naked woman in your bed.”

A sad smile drifts across his face. “That was the least important part of the whole story, Cherry.”

“I know. But I have this mad urge to hunt her down and punch her in the tit.”

Ethan laughs as if he can’t help it. “Her tit? That’s... oddly specific.”

I shrug. “I’m not thinking very rationally at the moment.” My eyes begin to water again. “I guess I have tits on the brain.”

As if the wordtitflips a switch, I start to cry, an outright bawl that has my chest heaving. Ethan curses and pulls me tight against his bodyonce more.

“Fi... angel, baby...” He murmurs endearments as he strokes my back, runs his fingers through my hair.

Gently, he rocks me as we lie in bed and I cry.

“You’re killing me, Fi,” he whispers brokenly.

“I know.” My breath hitches. “I just can’t seem to stop.”

I want to pull it together, get on with life and forget all of the shit. But it doesn’t work that way. I have an endless supplyof tears and rage.

His embrace goes tighter, near the point of pain, but I welcome it, want him to hold me this way forever.