Page 21 of Things Left Unsaid

What Iwantis to shove it in his face how different I am. I want him to know that he was wrong not to believe in me.

All I can do is bark, “That’s the only name I’ll answer to.”

I’m not the girl you used to know.

His nostrils flare as he sluices water from his face. “I forgot how annoying you are.”

“I didn’t forget how annoyingyouare.”

My bottom lip trembles in misery, and when he spies that faint motion, he heaves a sigh.

Before I know it, I’m being drawn into his arms. His body against mine. Rough against soft. Hard lines against gentle curves. But it has nothing to do with ‘saving’ me and everything to do withhuggingme.

My mind blanks.

“You don’t have to be scared of me…” He hesitates. “Zee.”

I blink at him and the only thing I can think to say is: “I want a divorce.”

Colton

Burn - David Kushner

“Iwant a divorce.”

Those aren’t words a normal prospective groom would like to hear from his intended, but this isn’t normal.

Nothing about this bride or groom isnormal.

Treading water, the small yet surprisingly lithe bundle that is Susanne ‘Zee’ McAllister in my arms, I rasp, “Only after we have a baby.”

The words are foreign to me.

A baby—I’m going to be a father at some point in the near future.

A wife—who’ll divorce me the second she becomes a mother.

All with a woman I cut from my life ten years ago.

Fate has funny ideas for a good time.

“You’re okay with this?” She tips her head to study me, making her hair ripple away from her features, sinking into the water and turning into amber silk, exposing the stark lines of her cheekbones.

I always knew she was pretty—she had the bone structure for it. But I never realized she was beautiful when she wasn’t finding shelter behind those dirty blonde curls that shield her from the world.

There’s no hiding from the fact that the last ten years look good on her.

Better than good.

She's too skinny, but I know she has to monitor her weight with her condition so I'm not worried. Her hair is about six inches longer than it was. And her moss-green eyes still skewer me like an ice pick to the skull.

When my answer isn’t immediate, she prods the beast: “Why would you want to marry a killer?”

The accusation has my mouth firming.

“I’ve had some time to consider the prospect,” I reason, my voice gruff with a thousand emotions I didn’t expect to be feeling when I first reconnected with my soon-to-be wife.

I’m bothherebut also transported to the past.

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