Because in the end, no amount of fight would prove my love.
And no amount of fight would make him love me back.
19
Cannon
Couples filled the floor, dancing to the live band that played hits from the forties. If this was just the rehearsal, I couldn’t imagine what the decadence of the actual reception would look like.
Persephone left the dais and walked along the side of the ballroom, staying clear of the crowds before disappearing through a door that was constructed to blend into the wall. I quickly followed but wasn’t as lucky dodging the well-wishers.
“What’s going on?” Lillian asked, grabbing me gently by the elbow as I tried to sneak past her table.
“Well, Andromeda is a spiteful—”
“Not what I mean.” She shook her head and handed Owen another French fry that we’d had the cooks whip up especially for him. “Your wife looks ready to puke, and that was long before her snotty ass sister said anything.”
I rubbed the back of my neck, instead of the burning sensation in my chest. “It’s been a hellishly long day.”
Her gaze narrowed on me, reading through the bullshit just like she always did. “Fix it, Cannon. Whatever is going on between you two, fix it.”
I glanced around the ballroom, my gaze hopping from Mr. VanDoren to Michael and his black eye, to Axel and Langley on the dance floor. “What if I’m not supposed to fix it?”
“What?” she whispered.
“What if the best thing I can do for her is let her go?” I kept my voice low so no one else would hear.
“That’s bullshit. That girl is the best thing that’s ever happened to you.” Her eyes spat fire at me.
“She is. But I’m not the best thing that’s ever happened to her.” My voice turned to gravel, and my jaw ticked as I struggled for control.
“Well, I call bullshit on that, too.” She arched a dark brow at me. “You’re one of the highest-paid players in the NHL, have a heart of gold, and though it’s creepy to say this as your sister, but you’re not that bad looking, either.”
I scoffed. “I’m not sure I have a heart.”
She tugged my sleeve, and I sat obediently in the vacant seat next to her. No doubt they were out on the dance floor. “You have the biggest heart of anyone I know, Cannon. You love me. You love Owen. The way you look out for us both speaks volumes about who you are.”
I glanced at the ring on my left hand. “That’s different. You and I kept each other alive. Persephone’s idea of love is this fairytale romcom bullshit that’s based on hormones and good times. She has no idea the kind of love it takes to—” I shook my head. “She deserves someone who thinks the same way, not someone who’s always waiting for the other shoe to drop. She deserves someone who fits into this crowd.” I nodded at the dancers.
Her hand covered mine, and her smile turned sad—so much like our mother’s that my heart stuttered. “Then let her love you the way she already does, Cannon. What we survived…that’s not how it’s supposed to be. She shouldn’t have to know the kind of love it takes to step in and take it when Dad’s been drinking. She shouldn’t have to go through something like that to prove her love to you.”
I flinched. “I would never want her to experience that. I would never allow her to put herself in harm’s way for me. Ever. God, just the thought of it turns my fucking stomach.”
“She’ll never have to experience it because you’ll protect her.” She shrugged. “Let her be naïve when it comes to that kind of pain. Let her be innocent to abuse and neglect. She doesn’t have to live through the darkness we did in order to pull you out of it. If anything, let her be the light you follow. You deserve that, Cannon. More than anyone I know, you deserve to be happy and loved.”
I swallowed. “And what happens when my temper snaps like it did this morning?” I nodded toward Michael.
“Well, if she’s half the woman I think she is, she’ll forgive you.”
“I promised her it wouldn’t happen, and it did.” I twisted my wedding…make that non-wedding ring.
“You’re human. You make mistakes.”
“I can’t make a mistake when it comes to her. Do you realize how small she is? How fragile?” My voice dropped to a whisper.
Lillian’s entire posture softened, and she squeezed my hand. “Big brother, you are not our father.”
“I have the same rage in me. He was right about that.” And I hated the fucker for it.
“Have you ever put your hand on a woman in anger?” she questioned, tilting her head.
“Fuck! Of course not.”
Some guy—I think it was the VanDoren’s attorney, turned my way, and I gave him a polite smile and nod, before lowering my voice again.