Page 86 of Own the Eights Gets Married
Jordan stilled his hand. “I told you. I’m here because I don’t want to hurt her.”
And I’m not sure if she still wants to be my wife.
But he couldn’t say those words.
Denny leaned in and lowered his voice. “Why would you hurt her?”
Jordan closed his eyes and pictured Georgie’s expression when he’d left the house.
Gutted. Utterly and completely gutted.
After the boot camp, the sleepless nights, and going at each other nearly nonstop, all he could see in her eyes was disappointment and heartbreak.
He’d wanted to take her into his arms and go back in time. But there was no going back—no undoing what had been done.
He pulled his gaze from the table. “Because when we were at the wilderness boot camp, I was a colossal jerk to her. I turned into…”
“Into Deacon,” came a gentle voice from the far side of the kitchen.
“Maureen?” Jordan gasped. “Is there an accounting issue?” he asked, not sure why she’d be here at this early hour.
He turned to his father, whose cheeks had gone pink, then glanced back at Maureen, wrapped in his father’s over-sized robe.
“No, your books are perfect,” the woman answered.
“Good morning,” his father purred—actually purred.
“Good morning to you,” she replied with a girlish grin.
“You slept here?” Jordan asked as his mind turned to oatmeal, unable to make sense of what was right in front of him.
She nodded.
“Did you fall asleep helping Dad with his books?” he asked, grasping at straws.
Maureen shared a furtive glance with his father, then joined them at the kitchen table.
“No,” she answered with the curl of a smile.
“What about the girls? Where are Mia and Mya?” he continued.
Maureen shared another coy look with his father. “They had a sleepover with my folks.”
“So, you had a sleepover with my dad?” he concluded, not about to be named super sleuth of the year.
“Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” his father teased, then lifted Maureen’s hand to his lips and pressed a tender kiss to her knuckles.
Jordan’s gaze bounced between the pair. “Am I awake?”
Maureen chuckled. “Yes, honey. Of course, you’re awake.”
“But it looks like…” he stammered.
“Like your dad got some?” his father asked with a wide grin.
“Denny!” Maureen said with a playful swat to his arm.
“When? Why? How?” Jordan uttered, still oatmeal-brained, and finding it difficult to form a coherent sentence.
