Page 113 of Forgive You

“As if that’s a question.” Hunter huffs, and Jensen says something, but I’m fixated on the red square in his hand.

I wantthat. I want Julie in a white dress, ambling my way with a bouquet of blue daisies in her hand. I want to call her my wife when I introduce her to people because the term girlfriend just doesn’t fit.

Logan screeches, and I glance at the little boy playing with his humongous dog. The pure joy written on his face tugs on my heart and curls my lips.

And I want that too.I want Julie to be the mother of my children. I want our kids to play with my friends' kids. And in fifty years, I wanna sit on a porch with her and stare into her eyes, knowing I’m the luckiest bastard in the world.

Because I love her more than anything.

And she needs to know.

I slap Jensen on his leg and our gazes click. “I’m happy for you, man.” I get up, ready to give in to the urge not to waste another second. “I’m gonna go find my girl.”

“Oh,hisgirl,” Hunter teases as I pass by, and more hoots and hollers bellow behind me.

I slam my fist into his shoulder, and he ducks with anouchand a groan. Not enough to get rid of his contagious laughter, though.

“Shut up,” I bark.

But as I stroll back up to the house, my smile is as wide as theirs.

Because that’s exactly what she is,my girl.

31

My heart pounds as if it’s drilling a foundation, my ears having a pulse of their own. But my anger is outnumbered by my fear.

“What do you want?” I stare at the devil in front of me.

He’s looking established, with his perfect cut and pearly-white teeth flashing my way. Jacob has always had a knack for fancy clothes, and today is no exception. I size him up, my eyes slowly moving over his dark blue slacks until I reach his sly grin on top of his beige polo.

He looks like a douche.An established douche, but still a douche.

I can’t believe he hurt me and bragged about it. The girl is right. I am pathetic. But I’m nowhere near as pathetic as the man in front of me. He’s nothing but a sad little boy.A rapist.

I quirk an eyebrow, a clear question in my brown eyes, even though I know exactly what he wants. My father probably isn’t even here, so Jacob must be here on a mission.

Son of a bitch.

“Hi, nice to see you,Julie.” The little psychopath has the balls to sound chipper, as if we’re friends, and there’s nothing wrong with this entire situation.

“You stole my dad’s phone to lure me out here?” I’m smart enough to recognize a setup when I see one.

“Stop being so hostile, babe. Come on. Have a drink with me.” He strolls toward the colonial office on the right hand of the foyer like he owns the place, and I take in the great detail of the room while I reluctantly follow.

I know my dad has been wanting to sell this house for years, and I’m happy he finally got the listing. The Victorian style is shown in the perches of the construction, same as the original woodwork that adds to the finishing touch. It’s a four-bed, four-bath, 5000-square foot home that’s listed for at least 1.5 million dollars.

I don’t have to check the listing to know it; that’s how many times my dad has talked about it, begging the owners to contact him if they ever wanted to sell.

My stomach churns.

If I still lived here, I’d be selling this house. I’d be helping him find the right buyers. Organize a broker’s open. Hustling my ass off in the way I enjoy the most.

But I’m not.

Because of the man with the wicked gleam in my perimeter, holding up a glass of whiskey. “Want one?”

“Can you just say what you wanna say, Jacob?” I’m so sick of his damn games.

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