Page 87 of Promiscuous Lies

He’s cautious as he walks up behind me, wrapping his arms around me and just holding me. I sigh against him. I can’t even fight him anymore.

I don’twantto fight him anymore.

We remain there for a while, and I simply absorb his strength as he stands behind me like a pillar.

“Do you want me to stay?” he asks. And I know he’s asking whether I’ll let him stay in my home or if he’ll simply sleep in his car outside.

A part of me wants to tell him no, that I can do this myself. But when I turn to face him, I nod my head.

I don’t have anyone else, and Bobbi knows that. So he’ll use that against me now just as he did our whole relationship. Fucking asshole.

“I’m sorry for throwing a bat at your head,” I whisper as I wrap my arms around his neck. “Thank you for coming. I know this isn’t a situation you would have picked.”

“Picked?” he asks. “What does that even mean?”

“Well, you’re a man of power; you can literally have any woman or anything in the world, and instead, you’re caught up in the mess that I’ve been lugging around for years.”

“I don’t want to be anywhere else but here, Posie. I would never hurt you. You know that, right?” I nod, and his gaze narrows on the mark across my cheek. He cups it, a wild storm brewing in his eyes, but he handles me gently. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here.”

“This was never your fight, Dutton,” I remind him because he’s taking it on like the world’s on his shoulders, and he’s failed.

“Your fight is my fight.” He licks his lips. “I didn’t explain myself well enough tonight at dinner.”

“You don’t have to, Dutton.”

“Stop trying to push me away.” He inhales deeply, then continues, “If you don’t want me after what I have to say, then…” His throat bobs. “Then we’ll work on it again tomorrow.”

“You don’t handle rejection well, do you?” I jest, trying to lighten the mood.

“You’re the one woman I can’t have reject me, Posie,” he says. “This isn’t just sex, and you and I both know that.”

The coffee machine stops brewing, but we ignore it, not breaking eye contact. The truth sits between us.

“I want to be here to protect you and Bentley,” he tells me.

“And what past that, Dutton? I should be focusing on whatever is happening with Bobbi right now instead of this.” I point between us.

“Stop deflecting. Because you know the two go hand in hand. I can make Bobbi disappear.”

I push away from him, not because I don’t want to be touching him but because I need space. My mind is a clusterfuck of emotions right now. “I don’t want to take away Bentley’s choice.”

“I might not be a parent, Posie, but I know your son wouldn’t want a relationship with a man who would hurt his mother. Sometimes, we have to make hard decisions.”

I look at him. “That’s not fair.” But I know he’s speaking the truth. I’ve been thinking about it for some time now. But Dutton makes me accountable for my actions. It makes the option of running away impossible. He deals with everything head-on. And although I usually do the same thing, when it comes to matters of the heart, I always flee instead.

“And then after this? What happens in six months? A year? When you get sick of us? When the novelty of our happy little family is too much?” I question, throwing my hands in the air.

“I can’t promise I’ll be a good husband or father, but I’m willing to do everything I can to be that for the both of you.”

“How does your mind jump to marriage and parenting?”

His eyebrows dip. “Because shouldn’t it? It’s not just you I’m saying yes to. I’ve thought about what our future will look like. I travel a lot. I focus on my work and know I have undesirable methods of getting things done, but I can’t apologize for who I am or how deeply I feel for you.”

“I won’t marry a man who isn’t open-minded to change. In seven years, we might have to. Nothing is set in stone, Dutton. You can’t just say we’re this way and will never change. I won’t be a perfect little housewife, submitting to your every whim. In the bedroom, yes. In our relationship, no.”

“I know,” he insists. “Fuck, Posie, I know that more than anything over these last few months trying to get my way with you.” He encroaches on my space. “You’ve fought me at every point, and I don’t want to fight you anymore. I just want to be here, as best as I can, and in any capacity you’ll accept me.”

Tears spring in my eyes as I let myself follow his thought process, envisioning a future with him, because for so long, I toldmyself it couldn’t even be a possibility. “And where would we live, Dutton?”

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