Page 90 of Daring the Defender

“And I said what I said,” I finish.

We’re both quiet for a beat, until I say, “Any idea how to unfuck this?”

“Yeah,” he grins, the first one I’ve seen on him all night, “I think I do.”

26

Shelby

The grandfather clockticks quietly across the room, the sound punctuated by the swish of the pendulum in the dark mahogany case. I’m at a small square table that my father often uses to read his devotion or write his sermons. When we were younger, Axel and I would sometimes do homework here, our books and schoolwork spread across the shiny top. Today the table is clear, save for four cups of tea and a leather bound binder sitting in front of my father. The other chairs are occupied by David’s father and then David. It’s the first time I’ve seen David since I returned home, and his first reaction is to dutifully pull out the last seat for me with nothing else but a placid smile on his face. Smoothing my skirt out under my legs, I sit, and brace myself.

It’s time for the meeting.

When I’d showed up unexpectedly two days ago, dropped off by a ride-share at the front door, my mother’s surprise at both my early arrival and the state of my clothing was evident. She’d looked distastefully at the sweater hanging off my shoulder andthe snug jeans. But she just hugged me, told me she knew I’d come back, and sent me to my room to change.

I’d done very little since, other than avoiding my mother by sleeping and scrolling my phone for highlights from the Wittmore game. They’d won, but even I could tell it wasn’t pretty. Everyone seemed frustrated when they came off the ice. Reid had taken a major hit during the game and a penalty after. It took everything in me not to text him to see how he was doing, but I’d left for a reason. I’d been way too entangled in Reid Wilder, way too fast.

I needed room to think. A couple thousand miles of room.

I could only hide for so long, and last night before bed I was informed that there would be a meeting with David’s family in the morning. Attendance and appropriate clothing was expected. Which is why I’m in one of the below the knee dresses from my closet, pale blue with small flowers, and both of our mothers are in the kitchen preparing lunch for the families. More than anything that says how they expect this meeting to go. That fact does nothing to lighten the tension in the room. Or maybe that’s just me.

“Thank you for coming,” my father starts, his comments directed toward Reverend Jones and David. “I know this has been a trying time for both families. Your patience is appreciated.”

“Of course,” Reverend Jones’s tone is gracious, “there is nothing we want more than to see this union between our families take place.”

“Shelby, I believe the first appropriate thing to do would be to apologize to David and his father.”

Apologize? I should’ve seen this coming.

I take a deep breath. “Running off was immature and disrespectful,” I admit, even though I’m not sorry about it onebit. “I was feeling overwhelmed by the engagement plans. It was all moving so fast.”

That were being made without any of my input,I don’t add, ignoring the way my heart rate quickens.

My father is fully aware that there was no apology in that sentence, but next to me David gives me a small grin.

“That’s understandable.” Reverend Jones also looks at me kindly. “You wouldn’t be the first young bride to get cold-feet, but it’s important for you to remember you can rely on David. He’ll be the head of your household. It’s his duty to support you.”

Those little details don’t sit well with me, but Reverend Jones seems willing to accept any and all of this if we can just move on.

“I, for one,” my father chimes in, “would like to move from the past and prepare for the future.” He opens the leather binder, revealing a few sheets of paper. “I suggest we formally sign the paperwork and move on with this.”

I stare across the table at the papers but can’t read it. “What is that?”

“Just the marriage agreement.” His tone is dismissive.

“Whose marriage agreement?”

“The one between you, David, and our families.”

That feeling of anxiety creeps up my throat. It’s been weeks since I felt it. I take a deep breath. “I haven’t seen this before.”

“Well, it’s not for you to worry about, sweetheart. It’s between the Jones’ and myself.”

The blood pumping in my body reaches my ears, a steady thump, growing louder with each beat. “So you two, set up a marriage agreement for me and David, without speaking to us?”

“There’s no need for dramatics. It’s similar to a prenuptial but with the values and virtues of our families.”

In a feat of sheer willpower, because it takes everything in me not to go off, I turn away from my father and look at David. “Did you know about this?”

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