The gesture doesn’t come to me until one of my late-night laps in the pool. Laynee was on the phone all day with her agent and went to bed early. Distracted and restless, I work out my energy in the crystal blue water, thinking about the moment I initiated the conversation about our future.
Where do you see us at the end of this agreement?
We said a lot of things that day, but my biggest take away was the question she asked herself.
What will you give up for this man?
She’s more than proven her love for me. What grand gesture have I made? What have I sacrificed?
I swim to the stairs and sit on the top step, catching my breath beneath the ethereal glow of the moon. I live in her beautiful home, eat her food, and wear the clothes purchased with her money. And I’m in the progress of launching the most important business venture of my life with the financial support and affluence of her friend.
I haven’t made a single sacrifice. Contrarily, every aspect of my world has spectacularly improved. Because of her.
What will I give up for her? The answer is everything. All of it. Yet she’s asked for nothing.
Only that’s not true. There’s one thing. She asked for one impossible, stomach-curling thing, and I outright refused.
I lie back on the concrete, every muscle in my body tensing at the thought. And that’s when I finally understand the crushing depths of sacrifice.
I know what I need to do.
CHAPTER 24
LAYNEE
I brace my hands against the tiles of the shower wall as warm water rains over my head. In the month following the charity dinner, I’ve gone through a parade of emotions. Regret, self-pity, rage, love, and deep despair. But most of all, I’ve felt like a failure. A failure to myself, to all the victims of abuse, and to Decker.
He had such high hopes for how my reveal would turn out, and his fury over the ugly reactions was devastating to witness. I know he was angry for me, not at me. He’s been nothing but protective and kind. But I can’t help feeling like an epic disappointment.
When I’m alone, I let myself wallow and doubt. Am I enough for him? Does he truly love me? Will he stay when he’s no longer paid to do so? I hate the doubt. It’s unproductive and self-destructive, but I’m only human, as much as the rest of the world likes to forget that.
Decker doesn’t forget. He’s always in my face, pressing me to talk, to share, to not pull away. I fucking love him for that. I love him so much it hurts.
I turn off the water and stare at my pruney fingers. Jesus, I must’ve been in here for an hour. I need to stop this. Stop hiding from him. Stop protecting myself from the possibility of heartache. Because it’s too late for that. If he leaves me, there will be no escape from the pain.
He isn’t Trey or Blake or even Reese. Decker is it for me, and I’ll fight for him until the last breath in my body.
I step out of the shower and wrap a towel around me. Steam hovers in the room as I run a brush through my hair and moisturize my face, opting to skip my whole nightly facial routine. All I want to do right now is go snuggle up to the sexy man who occupies my every thought.
When I enter the bedroom, the first thing I notice is the armchair sitting near the foot of the bed. Decker must’ve moved it from the corner of the room. Why?
He steps through the doorway, but he’s not alone. Reese trails behind him, and they both look guilty of something.
“What are you two up to?” I tighten the towel around me, surprised Decker isn’t losing his shit because I’m wearing next to nothing in front of Reese.
Decker strides toward the foot of the bed and pats the mattress. “Sit.”
“Okay.” I obey with a belly full of nerves. I don’t know what to make of his gruff tone and severe expression. “What’s this about?”
He moves to stand in front of the armchair, which is five feet away and facing the bed. Looks like he set up a confrontational sit down, like an intervention or something. Is that why Reese is here? But an intervention for what? I’m really confused.
Clasping his hands behind him, Decker widens his stance, filling my view with his strong muscular physique. The Eminem t-shirt molds to his ripped pecs and washboard abs. Biceps curve away from wide shoulders. Denim stretches around long defined legs, and the low dip of the waistband reveals indentations of V-cut that I love to trace with my tongue.
When I lift my gaze, the smoldering look in his eyes chases away my apprehension and arouses the feminine parts of me that will forever be obsessively and completely in love with this man.