Page 71 of Relinquish

“I don’t have the financial or political background you need.”

I slap my hands on my hips and glare. “And you think I care about that? This is ridiculous. You’re running away, and it isn’t about your background. You’re intimidated by my father. I honestly didn’t believe you’d be scared off this easily. One conversation with him, and you’re running with your tail between your legs.”

For the first time in my life, I thought I’d found a man who was strong enough to stand up to Edward Sutherland. A man who cared about me enough to ignore all the baggage that comes from being the daughter of a United States Congressman.

My father admitted after I refused to look in the file that he’d been bluffing. He wanted to see how serious I was about Cade–whether I would doubt his character if someone questioned his integrity. By not opening the documents, he knows I trust Cade’s judgment and will allow him to explain anything in his past. Not that I believed for a second that he could have committed a crime.

“I’m not running away.”

I snort. “It sure looks like it.” I flick my hand in the air. “Go. I don’t want someone in my life that won’t fight to be with me.”

“Your father will never approve of me. Of us. And I’m not going to have you repeat the same mistake my mother made. She chose my father over her family, and they refused to have anything to do with her. Or with me. I’m not going to be responsible for ruining your relationship with your family.”

My father steps out of his office doorway, and I point at him. “You stay out of this. It appears you’ve done enough damage already.”

Not that I’m done being upset with him. I’m not allowing him to tell me what I can and can’t do. After I threatened to end my relationship with my father, he admitted he respected Cade and had no objection to him being my husband. Just my luck. My dad comes to his senses, and Cade is being a dick. Now, I get to eat my words. Fucking peachy.

Cade stares for several seconds. Then, he slowly turns, picks up his luggage, and grabs the door handle. “I’m not intimidated by your father. However, I need to be with someone who believes in me and wants to be with me.”

My jaw tightens. “And you think that’s not me?”

He opens the door. “It can’t be.” The door clicks shut, and I stand in silence. What in the fuck just happened?

Chapter Thirty-Four

Lola

I stomp up the stairs carting a spoon and a pint of vanilla ice cream, which I’d infused with copious amounts of marshmallow fluff, ribbons of caramel, and chunks of chocolate fudge. Son of a bitch. He’s the biggest asshole I’ve ever met.

It feels like someone has yanked my heart out of my chest and given it to a pack of wild wolves to toss around, or a steamroller drove over it and backed up and drove over it again. When this carton is demolished, I’m going back for the strawberry shortcake tub.

Why did I get emotionally involved with him? No man will ever find me worth all the baggage that comes with my family. Why would Cade be any different?

“Honey, I’m sorry.” My father’s voice floats up the staircase.

I spin around at the landing and point the spoon at him. “Don’t call me honey. I’m not in the mood. It’s because of you that I met him in the first place. If you were minding your own business, I wouldn’t have moved to Kansas City. And I wouldn’t be facing an eternity of pain and heartache. I wouldn’t even know what it feels like to be in love. Or how much it hurts to know how little he cared about me.”

“Are you sure you’re giving him enough credit? You need to have a come to Jesus meeting with him. Like you did me. He didn’t give me the impression he doesn’t care about you or that he’s easy to scare off. Something else must be going on.”

“I’m not begging him for anything. He’s the one who walked out. I can’t change who my family is, and I can’t make him love me.” I slam the door shut. Fuck. I’m acting like a fourteen-year-old. I haven’t acted like this big of a brat since my dad refused to let me straighten my hair.

Shit. I need to apologize. I fall into my bed and close my eyes. The worst thing of all is that Cade lied to my father and said he cared about me and that it was my decision if we were in a relationship.

What in the hell changed in twenty minutes? Did something happen in his phone call? I sling my arm over my eyes and hold the ice cream in my other hand. It tips, and I straighten the container. Not that I care if it spills.

It would be easier if Cade were a criminal. But no. He was a hero once again. He’d saved Stella from being robbed at gunpoint. Someone in the neighborhood had called the police, and by the time they’d arrived, Cade had managed to run off the perpetrator. Stella had been in the ambulance due to her injuries and was unaware that he’d been taken into custody. As soon as she was able, she cleared everything up, and once again, he was a hero.

I shove a spoonful of the gooey concoction into my mouth and kick off my shoes. When I inhale, I catch a whiff of his cologne. I rub my fingers against the fabric, and tears slip down my cheeks. I can almost feel his heat on the silk. How could things have gone so wrong?

Nothing makes sense. When he’d left the shower, I’d sworn he was in love with me. No, he hadn’t said the words, but his actions shouted it. He’d rescued me from being kidnapped, for fucks sake. He worshipped every inch of my body. We’ve talked for hours. How could he pretend all those things?

I put the spoon down and run my hand across the comforter. When I reach the end table, I grab a tissue and blow my nose. I’ve got to burn the sheets. I shove the lid on the carton, throw it in the trash, and rip off the bedding. The fitted sheets end up at the foot of the bed, and the pillowcases land on my dresser. I’ll sleep on a bare mattress.

Son of a bitch. He played me. He’s the cold, uncaring man I first believed him to be. All those times he helped me had to have been a game. He never cared whether I got hurt in the street or when I was saving Sam. He probably made up the story about Stella’s neighbor’s dog just to pull on my heartstrings. I’m so gullible.

Then, there’s his military career. Somehow, he’s manipulated me into believing he was a wounded hero. Well, that’s stupid. He was a wounded hero. He couldn’t make up earning a Medal of Honor, and there’s no way his feelings of failure regarding his team were fake.

“Damn it.” I wipe my eyes one last time and shove my hand on my hips. He isn’t that good of a pretender–something else is going on. What is it?

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