I can’t stop thinking about him.
Can’t stop the hollow feeling in my stomach that says I’ve blown something good…hell…something insanely wonderful and unique.
It takes one long week for the media to lose interest in the Fletcher scandal.
By then I’m going out of my mind with the need to escape my bedroom and the memories of Brock fucking me and cuddling me afterward, calling me honey, his little girl, turning my whole world beautifully upside down.
Dad and I are finally talking, albeit in monosyllables. He asks if I wanted to leave town for a bit, rent a cabin near Maple Lake for a couple of weeks.
I decline.
I haven’t forgiven him and I worry I never will. I encourage him to go, though. Frankly, I would love some time alone.
And so what if I secretly hope Brock will turn up and barge into my life again? But he doesn’t.
Not that day. Not the next.
By the next weekend, I’m going out of my mind. After another stilted breakfast with Dad, I pull on a T-shirt over my jeans shorts and stomp my feet into sneakers.
“I’m going for a walk,” I shout to my Dad.
The late spring weather is cool enough to make me wrap my arms around myself. Or maybe it’s the shattered glass feeling inside that I can’t seem to get rid of.
Whatever.
Head bent, I shut the world out. But just as I reach the end of the block, I hear heavy feet stomping behind me.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going, little girl?”
I gasp and spin around to face the large figure prowling toward me, wearing a baseball cap low over his brow.
“Brock! What are you…why are you here?”
“I told you, you can tell me to leave, but I won’t make it to the end of the block. Especially now.”
“So you’ve been here for over a week?”
His gaze sizzles over me, the agony in his eyes from the news conference not dissipating one tiny bit. “I have. And I’m not leaving, honey. Not even if you call the fucking cops.”
“I…don’t plan to. But what do you mean, especially now?”
“I mean especially now I’m head over fucking heels in love with you. Are you scared of me, Goldie?”
I gasp, at both earth-shattering statements. “What? No…never.” And it’s true. He’s my tender giant. The guy who cradled me in his arms like I was the most precious thing in his life.
And did he just say he was in love with me?
He lunges toward me, as if he can’t stop himself. “Show me your hands, little girl.”
My hands tremble when I hold them palm up.
He grasps them and places them over his heart. “You hold this beating heart in your hands, Goldie. I’m going out of my mind knowing I hurt you, that you don’t trust me. Fuck, if I could turn back time, I’d do things differently, but I can’t. All I can ask is for you to give me another chance. Give me a life sentence, baby. One where I live and breathe for you and you alone. Where you’re the center of my universe. When I step out of line, you pout and withhold your glorious pussy, and make me pay and I worship you every second of every day. All I ask is that you don’t tell me to leave. I can’t…I won’t survive. Not without you.”
I want to leap into his arms, but…God…this is all so insane. “Brock, we don’t even know each other that well—”
“Fuck that. I know everything I need to know, which is that I need you to exist. And there’s nothing about you that will make me love you any less than I already do.”
“God, you mean it, don’t you? You really love me?” I say, my voice hoarse with wonder. And hope.