Page 96 of Lace 'em Up

“I was engaged,” I say again.

She stills.

“No one knew,” I admit. “Not my siblings. Or friends. Not even my mom. I…” I shake my head. “Rose didn’t want me to tell anyone because she didn’t think it was going to last.”

That stillness becomes somehow even more still.

And fuck, I want to retreat, to get the hell out of this room and away from her eyes that are seeing far too much.

“She said I wasn’t enough to make up for being gone all the time, that I’m not my dad, able to keep a family together even though he wasn’t always physically there.” I sigh. “She wouldn’t wear the ring. Wouldn’t come to my games. Wouldn’t?—”

My throat closes up.

Because I can’t do this.

I fucking can’t.

It’s too fucking pathetic.

“King, honey,” Rory begins and that sits like barbed wire on my bare skin, digging in, hurting me despite the fact that I should have been over this bullshit years ago.

I shrug, even though it feels like very non-shruggable series of events. “It doesn’t matter,” I whisper. “It was all a mindfuck. She was cheating on me the whole time and when she found a teammate with more money, more fame, she was gone.” I shrug again. “Like I said, it doesn’t matter. I’m over it.”

Which is a lie.

Something I can see she knows even though she’s too nice to call me on it.

“Right,” she murmurs, running her fingers over my cheek, her nails through the strands of my beard. “Right,” she says again, starting to shift out of my hold. Giving me space. Not pushing. “I mean that seems like a lot.” Her throat works. “But you know yourself?—”

Do I?

Because this shit between us is supposed to be fake.

And it feels like anything but that.

“I just…” Her throat works again. “I’m here.”

I touch her cheek. “Thank you.”

Emerald eyes drifting back to mine, disappointment swimming in their depths.

And…that feels like shit.

But I can’t give her the rest.

Not right now.

“What happened to my Prickle Princess?” I tease, capturing her hand, keeping her in my arms, desperate to see her eyes fill with anything but that disappointment.

“Excuse me?” she whispers, brows pulling together in an adorable furrow.

“The Cactus Queen wouldn’t let my bullshit excuses slide,” I say lightly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, brushing my thumb over that tiny v between her brows, wanting to smooth out the confusion, the hurt, the sadness.

Hell, who am I kidding?

I just want to touch her and keep her close and safe and…mine.

Before that thought sends panic snaking up my throat, stealing my ability to breathe, one half of her mouth quirks up, and she says, “The Cactus Queen will let that bullshit slide when it’s late and we’ve both had a long couple of weeks.” Her hand comes back to my jaw, fingers pressing lightly into my skin, and she sighs softly. “And because you don’t owe me an explanation, King. God knows you’ve done more than enough for me already.”

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