Page 70 of It's Always Us

It’s sharing the news with my mom and the guys at the shop that will be . . . interesting. Then there’s the little thing of talking to Grandpa about Slade buying him out, which reawakens a deep ache every time I think about it. That’s the conversation I’m not sure I’m ready to have.

I glance at Mark, and my breath catches in my throat at the reality of him being here, next to me. No longer the boy I fell in love with, but a man who I’m beginning to see is so much the same inside, but with a confident, sexy swagger that comes from growing completely comfortable with himself.

These past few days, waking up next to him makes this feel real again, and I don’t want it to end.

Three nights ago, when we lay in his backyard sharing painful truths, it was as if we were finally coming home to one another. Like the old us was meeting the new us, and I don’t want to lose that progress or get lost in the separation we’ll face again when he has to leave.

Mark told me the carousel of women wasn’t as it appeared, and I believe him. He said he wanted to forget, and I understand that, too. Hadn’t that been what I’d tried to do with Seth? And no matter how hard I tried, Mark was always there, blocking my heart from ever being given to another.

I can’t blame him for any of it, even if it had been what it seemed. It hurt like hell seeing him with other women, but I was the one who didn’t show up. I was the one who stayed away and made him believe something that wasn’t true.

I did it to give him a chance. To save him from being dragged down and never having the life he deserved. But as I lay there with him, learning the pain I caused, which I could see extended beyond what he admitted, I wondered if I did the right thing.

I tried that night to tell him. All of it, but Slade’s stupid, growly voice kept reminding me that the past belongs right where it is. I weighed the truth, unable to force it out, and despite how much Slade hurt me, maybe he’s right. What good would it do?

Telling Mark the truth means hurting him all over again, and I’m not sure I’m willing to do further damage. It’s over now, and he and I are trying to move forward.

I squeeze his hand, needing to remind myself that the present is what matters. He squeezes mine back, that slick smile causing a warm sensation in my core that sends pulses to the rest of my body.

Fifteen minutes later, I pull into the driveway of the simple, white-sided, two-story home. My home. The small front porch, bare shrubs, and dead grass are all the same, just as I left them, but everything else in my life is totally different.

Parking my truck right next to Grandpa’s, I turn to Mark. “You ok?”

He surveys the house. “I feel like I’m sixteen again heading in to tell your Grandpa I got you pregnant.” I smile, and he catches me. “What?”

“You’re cute when you’re nervous.” I unbuckle and scoot closer to him.

“Baby, I’m not nervous. It’s the best news of my entire life.” He slips his hand behind my neck, pulling me close and resting his forehead against mine. “Buckle up, sweetheart. After this, we’re telling the whole world.”

My stomach jumps into a rolling somersault. “You’re making this ‘taking things slow’ stuff really difficult.”

That small, sly grin returns and this man knows exactly what he’s doing. “That was your idea, not mine. Slow isn’t really in my vocabulary.” His lips are an inch from mine, his breath whooshing across them as his eyes dare me.

My entire body hums with need. “Huh, I never noticed.” It comes out as a pathetic whisper, and I might see the beginning of a smug smirk, but it’s gone too fast as he pulls away and opens the door.

He doesn’t have any idea what is going on inside me with all these hormones, and right now, I might kill him. I sit for a second, letting those bad boys slither back into place while he casually climbs out. I help him grab our suitcases, but if his shoulder wasn’t still a bit fragile, I’d punch him.

It’s possible I stomp to the back door, and he follows but stops, taking a deep breath as I unlock it.He’s not nervous, my ass.I might not feel so bad if Grandpa wants to rough him up a little.

Inside, I hear the rumble of the TV, and I have no doubt Grandpa’s eating fast-food and watching the news. Mark pulls our bags inside, and the old man hollers.

“Either you’re finally home, or whoever is robbing me is a real dumbass thinking there’s something of value in here.”

I smile and head for the living room, ready to face the man I’ve missed these past few days, even though the massive bruise on my heart remains.

I round the corner to the small room with a couch and Grandpa’s recliner shoved into the corner. The brick fireplace sits unlit, but the TV flickers as Grandpa takes a bite of a double burger.

“You shouldn’t be eating that,” I say as he wipes his mouth.

“I’m too old to care. It tastes good, and my chef left without notice. If this pushes my arteries into overdrive, that’s your damn fault.”

I let my head fall to the side, happy to see we’re falling right back into our rhythm even though I haven’t handled things in the best manner. “I’m sorry I just left. I was hurt, and . . . there was something I had to do.”

“So, you said in your message. Anyone ever told you your verbal skills are lacking?” I bite my lip, knowing my quiet nature irritates the hell out of Mark, but I also know these two men, my favorite ones, love it.

He sets down what I have no doubt is a milkshake and rests back in his chair. Anyone who thinks only women eat their feelings are fools. Rather than cake and ice cream, these jokers mop up their tears with beer and grease.

He raises a gray, bushy eyebrow that needs a lawn mower taken to it as he casually shuffles his fries around in the carton. “Want to talk about it?”

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