Total pages in book: 180
Estimated words: 182075 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 910(@200wpm)___ 728(@250wpm)___ 607(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 182075 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 910(@200wpm)___ 728(@250wpm)___ 607(@300wpm)
“You weigh nothing,” he told her before standing and handing her to Slade who held her close to his chest, nuzzling her hair.
“Where are you going?” she cried.
Was she losing Rock too? Again?
Why had she thought it was a good idea to come home with them? All she was doing was causing issues.
“Back. Stay.”
What? What did that mean? Where was he going and why?
“He’s not going to find that weasel, is he?” she cried.
“Shh. No,” Slade said. “Keep calm, Boo. This isn’t good for you or the baby.”
She knew that. But wanting to calm down and actually being able to were two different things.
Rock and Quaid rushed into the room.
Shock filled Quaid’s face. What was in the pretty, sparkly pink bag he was carrying?
Did he have a girlfriend?
Her sobs grew louder.
“What is going on? Why is she so upset?” Quaid asked, looking around. “I was only gone ten minutes. I went to the car to get this.”
She stared at him longingly, wishing that he wanted her the same way she did him.
Rock leaned forward and whispered to him. No doubt he’d strained his vocal cords today with all of the talking he’d done.
She should make him a warm honey drink. Once she felt better.
Then Quaid’s eyes widened. Which for him was a big display of emotion.
“You think I can’t trust you, Indie?” he asked. “And that’s why I’ve been avoiding you? Because I think you might betray us?”
How did she answer him?
He moved toward her and cupped her chin firmly. “The truth.”
“Yes. I’m so sorry, Quaid.”
“Sorry?”
“I know you’re avoiding being around the guys because of me. Maybe I should just leave.”
Quaid gaped at Indie in shock.
Leave?
What the hell was she saying? Why would she think that she had to leave?
This is your fault.
Do fucking something.
Let go of that tight hold on your control and show her how you feel. Some fucking pompom sweater isn’t going to do that.
He shouldn’t have left to go and get the gift. He should have stayed. She was obviously upset and fragile right now.
And he was making things worse because he didn’t know what to say.
Because his father never showed him anything but anger and disdain.
He was the biggest dumbass. He’d thought he’d been doing the right thing staying away from her, hunting down those that had hurt her. Then he’d had to take some time to think about how he could repair what he’d done.
And now all he was doing was ruining everything.
Showing emotion is a sign of bad breeding.
No son of mine is going to act like a wimp.
I will beat any sign of that woman out of you.
Fuck.
He thrust his father from his mind. He might have made Quaid into who he was today, but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t break. That he couldn’t splinter.
And then rebuild.
With Indie helping him. Because he had no clue how to do that. How to be any different than this.
The faceless robot in the background, protecting his friends, taking care of them.
But never letting them do the same in return.
He couldn’t be like that with Indie. It wouldn’t work.
Quaid could feel his friends’ condemnation. Their anger beat down on his chest.
“Indie,” he managed to get out. That single word was filled with so much pain that Indie actually flinched. “You’re not leaving.”
Great.
Is that all you have?
An order for her to stay?
“You shouldn’t have to put yourself out in your own home. Avoid me because you don’t like me. I’m the intruder. I always have been.” She let out a small sob.
No.
No, no, no.
Find your words. Now!
“Fucking hell, Quaid,” Slade said as Rock let out a low rumble that warned of violence coming his way very soon.
It took a lot for Rock to lose his temper, but Quaid knew the other man was close.
And that he was justified.
This was it. Make or break.
He could get all of them. Or end up with nothing.
Then he saw her move toward him. She was blurry and he had no idea why. What was wrong with his vision?
She reached out a hand, then drew it back.
No!
“Touch me,” he commanded.
“You don’t like to be touched,” she said.
“I like when you touch me,” he told her, hating the sad look on her face. “Indie, you are—”
Suddenly she let out a small cry, her hand coming up to her head.
What the fuck? What was wrong?
“Indie? What is it? What’s wrong?” he asked in alarm.
“My . . . my head . . . I . . . sick.”
Before he could move, she was leaning over and vomiting all over him.
Not that he gave a fuck about that.
Especially as she suddenly collapsed.
Right into his arms.
Fuck. No! The sudden terror filling him stole his breath, his ability to move as he lifted her into his arms.
Was she breathing?
Was she alive?
She was so pale. And so light. Should a pregnant woman be this light?