Page 70 of Mountain Daddy

"Can't what, Lilly? Can't tell me the truth? Can't admit you've been keeping a secret from me for five years?"

"You don't understand?—"

"Then make me understand."

I keep moving.

Closer.

Close enough to feel her body heat.

Close enough to smell her skin.

Close enough to feel my mouth water.

"He's... his father is..." She swallows hard. Tries again. "His father isn't in the picture."

"Because his father doesn't know he exists."

It's not a question.

Her silence is answer enough.

"Jesus, Lilly." My voice comes out rougher than intended. “You gonna lie to my face again?”

She squares her jaw, but her voice cracks.

“Chleo’s not yours.”

There’s that look—flushed cheeks, glassy eyes, fists clenched at her sides. Everything in herscreamsthe truth, even as her mouth fights to bury it.

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

But her voice is a whisper.

And mine isa growl when I say, “Then why can’t you look at me when you say it?”

She doesn’t move.

Doesn’t blink.

Doesn’t breathe.

Just stands there. Silent. Fragile. On the edge.

So I close the gap.

Not because I believe her. But because I don’t. Because if she won’t give me the truth, I’ll take something else. Something real. Something Icanfeel.

“I don’t believe you,” I murmur.

Her breath hitches and she meets my gaze at last. The world around us disappears. All I see is her heaving chest, her flushed cheeks, her parting lips and when she inhales a long, whimpering little breath, I know she feels it too.

This tension.

This pressure.

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