“He’s out,” she said with a smirk.
First he gaped up at her. Surprised she had such devious moves—and that his spine was still intact? Then he laughed. A full on, nothing held back laugh. His eyes crinkled at the corners, and his entire chest rumbled. He was so beautiful, like a work of art epitomizing happiness. She remained on top of him, utterly stunned. He’d always been sexy and beautiful, but now also...devastating.
His gaze met hers, and though his laughter faded, his smile remained. “Thank you. I haven’t laughed like this in...ever.”
“You mean you didn’t laugh like this with Constance?” As soon as the question left her, she bit her lip, wishing she could take back the words.
He answered after the slightest hesitation, scratching his chin and saying, “Well, she never beat me up.”
“Hey! I didn’t beat you up.”
“My relationship with her was different from my relationship with you,” he continued. “We were parents so young, the bulk of our attention devoted to our kids. You and me are all about fun.”
Her jaw dropped, realization striking her with the force of a baseball bat. Jude Laurent had just shared personal information about his wife, without reservation or regret. And he’d admitted he had fun with Ryanne.
He placed a soft, sweet kiss on her cheek. “Do you want to tell me goodbye? I’ve grown fond of your method.” As she sputtered for a response, he gave her another kiss. “You’re important to me, shortcake. You and I...we want the same thing, and I’m going to prove it.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
BY NOON THE NEXT DAY, Jude had created a nest in bed. Everything he needed surrounded him. Pillows. Bottles of water. A bag of hand-cut chips he’d taken from the bar. Baby book. Pen. Laptop. He was home. His real home. The one he shared with Brock, but had so rarely visited lately, instead choosing to spend his nights at the Strawberry Inn, where he could be near Ryanne, even if they were separated by walls.
Last night, after oil wrestling with her, he’d returned to the cabin to give Ryanne time to think about everything he’d said. Because he was a gentleman. Sometimes. And because he’d been hiding from life far too long.
He’d tossed and turned all night, his mind in turmoil. Finally, he’d known what he had to do.
Today, he would slay his demons and become the man Ryanne needed him to be.
He leaned against the headboard, his laptop at his left, feed from the bar constantly playing—all was still and quiet. The baby book Carrie sent him rested on his lap. He’d already flipped through the pages once, but he’d done it quickly, simply glancing at every photo without reading what Constance had written underneath.
Miraculously, he’d survived.
Now he flipped through the pages slowly, reading every word, studying the minutest detail on every picture. In fact, he’d been staring at a picture of Constance and the girls for over an hour, misty-eyed. His beautiful wife had been blessed with silvery white hair and a smattering of freckles, and she’d hated both. As a child, she’d been teased mercilessly, called Ghost Girl and Freckle Face. Jude had loved running his fingers through her silken mass of curls, and tracing his tongue over her freckles.
She’d been adorably short and naturally thin, so delicate he’d sometimes suspected a strong wind would knock her over. He’d felt like a giant in comparison, but also invincible. Protecting and defending her had been an honor and a privilege.
He ran his finger over the photo, tracing the length of her arm, before shifting his gaze to the girls. They’d had his hair, sandy-blond with a slight wave, but they’d had Constance’s eyes, as green as emeralds. In the picture, they were three years old, full of life, love and laughter. The princess and the tomboy, two halves of a whole.
The caption read: Daddy is overseas and had to miss the girls’ birthday party. While he couldn’t be there in body, he made sure to be there in spirit.
In Constance’s hand was a photo of Jude wearing a birthday hat. He’d had the photo printed, glued it to cardboard and cut out his image, then anchored feet to a popsicle stick and mailed the whole thing home. How he’d hated being away, missing important events. Some nights he’d lain awake, eaten up with guilt.
He flipped to the next page—a picture of him with the girls. He cradled a plastic baby doll in his arms while Bailey and Hailey played doctor, checking the doll for a rash and giving her a shot of water, aka medicine.
This caption read: Time for a checkup!
He remembered holding his newborns in his arms, counting their fingers and toes and rubbing his freshly shaved jaw against their chubby baby cheeks. The girls had smelled like heaven...until they’d dirtied their diapers. Then they’d smelled like hell.
Jude chuckled and once again admitted Virgil was right. He wouldn’t have given up his years with Constance and the girls to save himself from the agony and anguish he would suffer later. Not for any reason. He cherished every second he’d spent with his sweetheart and little sweets.
But all too soon, his laughter turned to sobs. Life wasn’t supposed to be this way. Daddies weren’t supposed to lose their children. Husbands weren’t supposed to lose their wives. So why had he lost both? A simple case of bad luck? Fate? No. Hell, no. Fate hadn’t forced a frat boy to go to a bar, drink too much and drive home. Fate hadn’t led Constance to put the girls in the car at night and drive...who knew where. He could only guess. Both girls had suffered with a cold. They must have run out of medicine, and Constance, who hadn’t had a babysitter, had felt she had no choice but to take both girls with her to pick up more.
The same pang he’d felt since their deaths sliced through his chest yet again, but it wasn’t quite as sharp this time, and the pain didn’t linger. He’d lost his family because of choices. The choice made by Frat Boy. The choice made by Constance. Every decision mattered, because in the end, there was no changing the past.
I can change my present and my future. He could have forever—with Ryanne.
The loss of his family had knocked him down hard. He’d stayed down for two and a half years. With Ryanne’s help, he’d finally found the strength to stand.
He wasn’t sure when or how it had happened, but at some point, he had risen. He was no longer defeated, but ready to fight for better. No longer despondent, but hopeful. He had a purpose again. A life with Ryanne Nicole Wade.
He could make her happy. And in turn, she could make him happy.
Who was he kidding? She was already making him happy, even though she was nothing like Constance. She wasn’t shy, but bold. She wasn’t fragile, but strong. Strong enough to knock him on his ass. She wasn’t subdued, but witty. Her warped sense of humor was a perfect match for his own, now that he had a sense of humor again.
He couldn’t live without her.
He’d have to tell Carrie and Russ he wouldn’t be moving to Texas, ever. He would be staying in Strawberry Valley, and he would be fighting for his happily-ever-after.
A knock sounded at his door, echoing through his bedroom. “Hey. You spanking the monkey in there?” Brock called.
With a snort, Jude climbed from the bed and hopped to his desk to place the baby book in a drawer. “No monkey spanking. You can come in without burning your corneas.”
His friend marched inside, dark circles under his eyes and a week’s worth of black stubble on his jaw. He had a smile as wide as ever, but for the first time in a long time, this one appeared genuine.
“What?” Jude demanded, instantly suspicious. No one had a more warped sense of humor than Brock. “What did you do?”
“Only the best thing ever. You’re about to fall to your knees and thank me for being the best friend you’ve ever had, will ever have, can ever have. I put Daniel to shame, and I’ll expect you to tell him so.”
Jude fought to maintain a stern expression. “What did you do?” h
e repeated.
“Called in the best crews throughout the US and offered the most obscene amounts of money for quick, quality work. As soon as the oil wrestling ended last night, we started. You and your crews had already done the bulk of the work, but we were able to clean up the parking lot and create a brand-new one. It’s red brick, with a yellow brick path—details don’t matter right now, you’ll get to see for yourself. Anyway. It’s the coolest parking lot you’ve ever seen. Also, we finished up the repairs inside the bar. Crews worked all night and all morning. Just finished up, in fact.”
His brows drew together as he wavered on his foot. He hadn’t anchored his prosthesis in place. “I’ve been watching the camera feed. No one—”
“I hacked your feed, because I wanted to surprise you,” Brock said, his grin widening. “Ryanne should be able to open tomorrow night, after the mortar dries. Go ahead. Tell me I put Daniel to shame.”
The reality of what his friend had done began to sink in, and he reeled. For the past two and a half years, he’d mourned and grieved and, though he’d loved his friends, he’d been gruff and grumpy with them. Yet they’d adored him, anyway. Helped him, anyway.
Jude hopped forward to wrap his arms around Brock, holding the guy captive in a bear hug. “Thank you.”
“No big deal,” Brock said, even as he hugged Jude back as if he were holding on to a lifeline. When they parted, Jude would swear a tear glinted in the corner of his friend’s eye. “Just doing what superheroes do. I’ve even got an army of men surrounding the place, ensuring Dushku can’t do shit without serious consequences.”
From the lowest of lows to the highest of highs.
A good friend was worth more than a thousand acquaintances. “I freaking adore you, man, but if Ryanne decides to date you instead of me because of this, you had better run for your life.”
Brock wiggled his eyebrows, all creepy landlord here to demand rent be paid between the sheets. “I’m surprised she didn’t choose me from the beginning. You’ve seen this face, right?” He patted his cheeks. “Every woman’s wildest dream.”
“I have seen it. Which is why I’m surprised I didn’t choose you from the beginning.”
“I know, right.”
“Does Ryanne know about the repairs?” Jude asked.
“Not yet.”
Good. He wanted to be with her, wanted to witness her expression. “I have a few errands to run before we take her.”
“Uh, buddy. I don’t mean to tell you how to romance your girl, but are you sure you want me tagging along? She’s going to cream her jeans when she sees—”
“I’m not afraid to hug you and junk-punch you in the same day. But yes, you’re going with us.” If he showed up on his own, she might not go with him. They might have called a truce during last night’s festivities, but he had a long way to go before his woman—his girlfriend—would take him back.
* * *
RYANNE FLOUNDERED.
Twenty-five minutes ago, Jude and Brock had shown up at the Strawberry Inn. They’d put a blindfold over her eyes and driven her to the Scratching Post. She’d sat in the back of Brock’s SUV, Jude pressed against her, his body heat enveloping her, his arousing scent heady in her nose. Keeping her hands to herself had been difficult.
She’d wondered what was going on. When she’d opened her door, he’d been grinning. Grinning! Jude Laurent, with the corners of his lips lifted, his straight white teeth on dazzling display. He’d never looked sexier. And, as if the grin hadn’t been confusing enough, he’d radiated excitement.
Now Ryanne stood in the middle of a delicious beefcake sandwich—Jude on one side, Brock on the other—gaping at the beauty before her. The Scratching Post had been transformed. Outside, the parking lot boasted red brick with a yellow brick path leading to the front door. Inside, handcrafted steel latticework covered each of the windows. The floorboards had been replaced, and so had the walls. Strips of sinuous mahogany now extended to create hand-carved nooks along the bar, where patrons could sit.
In back, someone had resurrected Earl’s mechanical bull.
Since her postcards had burned to ash, someone—Jude, most likely—had framed pictures taken from all over the globe. The pyramids in Egypt. A temple in India. What looked to be a mountain in Hawaii. Huts built above the bluest water she’d ever seen. Victoria Falls in Zambia. The Amazon River. The Rainbow Mountains in China.
The doors to the bathrooms were no longer plain and utilitarian but decorated with elaborate iron bars. The stairs leading to her apartment were no longer rickety wood but pink-veined marble.
So much work had gone into the changes. So much time and money.
Tears burned the backs of her eyes. She’d cried so often lately, over so many things, she’d begun to feel foolish, but this...this was...she had no words.
Jude walked over to the pictures behind the bar and tapped the glass of one. She gasped. Inside the frame was a picture of Jude carrying her over his shoulder, headed for a pool of oil. Someone must have snapped a photo with their phone. Halogen lights revealed every nuance of his satisfied smile.
He’d grinned while he’d carried her?
“This is my favorite,” he said. “You can take it down if you don’t like it. I’ll understand. I’ll put up a new one, but I’ll understand.”
“I...” Still had no words.
“Don’t even think about bringing up money,” Brock told her, his voice low enough that Jude wouldn’t hear him. “You made my boy laugh. No gift in the world could top that one.”
One of the tears escaped, cascading down her cheek. She hadn’t slept last night. She’d tossed and turned, remembering the soft, gentle kiss Jude had given her before he’d left her in the pool of oil.
“You love him,” she said, finally finding her voice.
“I do. Do you?”
She...didn’t know, but she’d never been more obsessed with a man. Had never been twisted into so many knots or been so confused by one person. Did he love her? Did she want him to?
She’d always thought he had two settings: ice cold and passion-fever hot. She’d rarely seen this third side, tender and romantic. But...what side would she see when he found out...
Just say it. Say. It.
When he found out...she was pregnant. Maybe. Probably.
Only an hour before, she’d gotten sick again. After she’d eaten a few saltines, the nausea had gone away. Suspicions had begun to twirl in her head. About six weeks had passed since they’d had sex the first time, and the odds of pregnancy were astronomical, but not impossible. The condom had ripped, and her birth control could have failed. His vasectomy hadn’t yet ended the march of his little soldiers.
As a child, she’d wanted a large family. Now? Not so much. She liked her life. But she did kinda sorta melt over the idea of their children.
Tonight she would take a test. If it was negative, great. She would breathe a huge sigh of relief. Right? Of course. Definitely. She wouldn’t have to reevaluate her future, or tell Jude the life he’d wanted had gotten popped like her cherry.
If it was positive...
Different emotions coagulated inside her. At the forefront? A mix of excitement and dread. Mostly dread. Jude absolutely, positively did not want children. His vasectomy was proof of that.
Tremors racked her as he returned to her side. “By the way,” he said. “I saw the grab bars in your bathroom. Had to do a few repairs in there, but I made sure they remained.”
A roundabout way of saying he wanted to shower with her again?
Her heart raced with new purpose, and she wasn’t sure how she’d resisted him these past few weeks. Especially yesterday, when he’d declared he wanted a long-term relationship with her.
“Get out of here,” she said to Brock, not bothering to glance in his direction.
> Brock laughed and patted her shoulder, then strode from the building like a good boy. The moment the door closed behind him, Jude clasped her hands in his, held on as if she were a balloon destined to fly away.
He peered deep into her eyes, rooting her in place, a magnet to her metal. “I want to be with you, now and always. A month or two isn’t long enough. I don’t think a lifetime will be long enough. I know I’ve messed up again and again. I know you think we can’t go the distance. And if I were the man I was yesterday, I’d agree. But I’m new. You’ve made me new. For you, with you, I can do anything.”
Her eyes widened, and her breath caught. And he wasn’t even done!
“If you have a question about my past, ask. Ask anything,” he added. “I’ll answer. If you want to travel the world, go for it. I’ll be here when you get back. While you’re gone, I’ll take care of your bar. I won’t let any harm come to it.”
As if his words weren’t enough, he gave her a look...
She’d never seen this one before. Not from him, not from anyone. A wealth of tenderness mixed with unabashed adoration. This man yearned for her.
The tremors settled in her knees, and remaining upright required a concentrated effort. Maybe...maybe a baby wouldn’t be such a bad thing? Maybe he wouldn’t freak out. Maybe he’d even be happy? After all, the guy had practically proposed to her just now.
Unless a baby would ruin absolutely everything?
No, of course not. He’d said now and always. He wanted forever with her, come what may.
“What are you saying, exactly?” she asked softly. “You want to get married?”
He flinched, just a little, but enough to notice. “I’m not sure I’ll ever want to get married again, but I’m not closed to the idea. I do know I want you in my life and home, and I want to have a place in yours.”
“We’ll live together?”
A nod. “I would like to, yes. And I know you once said you weren’t interested in anything long-term, but I’m hoping you’ve changed your mind.”
Can't Let Go--A Bad Boy Romance Page 24
