Page 74 of Enticing

It’s been two weeks since we spoke to Mason. So that asshole has two weeks left to get it done, and then I swear I’ll never pay another bill late in my life.

I also haven’t heard from Jerry.

Small miracles. I’ll take it.

I push that thought aside and stare at my computer, trying to decide how the hell I want to wrap my story up and bring this book home. I only have two or three chapters left, but damn, if they aren’t always the hardest.

Okay . . . Just start typing. I got this.

Never a good thing when I start talking to myself.

What’s it going to take . . . ?

I picture the look on Leo’s face when he pinned me to the wall after his home game the other day. The hunger in his eyes as his lips brushed mine, and the way he lifted Izzy onto his shoulders and had Nixon take a picture of all of us.

This man . . . My husband . . . He’s great book boyfriend inspiration.

The words start to flow, and after a few minutes, I’m in the zone when the goddamned phone starts up again. I debate throwing it across the room. I mean, that would silence it, but then I’d have to replace it, and there definitely isn’t extra money for that right now.

“Hello,” I bark, expecting an automated voice to tell me to please hold, but that’s not what I hear.

“Guess you always were a hockey slut, weren’t you, Addie?”

Icy cold fear trickles into my veins, and I look around frantically, as if Gavin is inside my house instead of on the phone.

He’s not here, Adelaide.

He isn’t here, and he can’t hurt you.

“I really wasn’t, but you never bothered to believe that, did you, Gavin?” I try to make my voice sound as strong as possible and pray he doesn’t hear the shake. This man preys on weakness, and he knows all of mine. “What the hell do you want?”

“I want to know why you’re opening your legs and letting some asshole around my kids, Adelaide.”

“Yourkids?” I shriek, not even trying to contain it. Fuck. I look around, then walk outside. I don’t need to wake the girls up. “You’ve never even met Lennox, you asshole. And you were such a bang-up dad that Izzy hasn’t asked about you in months. They’remykids. You were the sperm donor. You did your part. Now you’re irrelevant,” I fucking hiss as my blood pounds in my ears.

“So, what? You found a piss-poor version of me to take my place?” he bellows, and I cower involuntarily, still haunted by the last time we fought and hating myself for it.

“Leo Sinclair is a better man and a better father than you ever were,” I tell him so quietly, I almost can’t hear my own words, but they’re there, and the truth behind them is so powerful it should scare me. But Leo has spent weeks making sure I know I never have to fear him. “What do you want, Gavin?”

“You’ll marry him but not me? What... are you desperate enough now that anyone will do? Four years we were together, and you wouldn’t marry me. Two kids, and you still wouldn’t. What the hell is wrong with you, you stupid fucking whore.”

“You only ever loved my money, Gavin. I should have left you long before you broke my ribs and could have killed me and Lennox. We both know it. But I did leave, and the girls and I are better off now than we ever were with you. Now hurry and slither back under whatever rock you crawled out from and leave us alone.” Something cracks in the distance, and I suddenly wish I’d have stopped to turn the lights on out here before I came out. I breathe out a sigh of relief when a squirrel scurries across the yard. “I don’t have anything you want.”

“You have my girls.”

Four words that stop my heart.

“You don’t want them,” I whisper, then curse myself for the sign of weakness. Fuck. “You never did. What do you want, Gavin? You want money? I don’t have it yet. I’m sure your fucking father has told Mason to take his sweet time getting it to me. Because why would Jerry give a shit if I can afford to give his granddaughters the things they need, like food and heat.”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Adelaide. You were always such a fucking whiney bitch. You bagged yourself a Sinclair. You don’t need Dad’s money.”

“It’s not Jerry’s fucking money, Gavin. They were my parents,” I scream and spin when the metal screen door slams against its frame.

My shoulders shake when Coraline flies toward me with fear in her eyes that only gets worse when she sees my face. She reaches for the phone, but I pull it away.

“Yeah well, it doesn’t matter. They’re my kids, and I want to see them.” His voice is slimy sweet. So fucking fake, I laugh—actually double over laughing.

“No, you don’t.”

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