Page 103 of The Merger
His tongue pushes on the inside of his cheek, his forehead wrinkling. “She probably wasn’t completely wrong about all of that.”
“No,” I say, unbuckling myself. “She doesn’t get to say that to you.”
“She knew me better than anyone,” he says, watching me warily. “I still think about what she said. It’s hard to forget shit like that.” He looks away for a moment, but I still catch his murmured words.“Because there’s still Reid Brewer’s blood in my veins.”
My heart breaks.
“That’s good because I don’t have a heart to give you.”
That’s so wildly untrue.
This woman hurt him so badly that he really believes he’s damaged. Between her and his father, has anyone who was supposed to love him actually done that? Or has everyone in his life hurt him at some point or another? Has no one fought to protect his heart like he fights for everyone else’s?
Oh, sweet Gannon.
I gather my dress and climb into his lap, giving him no choice but to wrap his arms around me.How can I not?He’s gone through hell because of Tatum’s words. Her poison has held him hostage for far too long. I’ll be damned if I let him believe any of those things she said are true.
Her words will be erased by mine.
I nestle against his chest, listening to his heartbeat against my cheek. He holds me close, pressing his lips against the top of my head and holding them there. There’s so much I want to say, but I don’t know where to start … or how to do it tastefully without threatening to commit murder.
“I haven’t known you for very long, really,” I say against the backdrop of Mozart. “But I know everything she said to you was a lie.”
He sways side to side, holding me tight.
“I don’t know your dad, but I’ve heard about him from Tate. And it’s hard to believe that you’re his son. How could someone so terrible and rotten have a child as remarkable as you?”
He chuckles softly against my hair.
“Yeah, you can be an asshole,” I say just to make him laugh. “But it’s all an act because the Gannon Brewer I know is sweet and thoughtful. Kind.Very goodat giving oral.”
His laughter grows louder.
I peer up at him and smile. “Want me to go back and fight her?”
His smile is to die for. “No, I don’t want you to go fight her.”
“Gosh, I want to. I want to give her a knuckle sandwich.”
“A knuckle sandwich?” He snorts. “No one says that anymore.”
“I just did.” I sigh. “And I mean it. I hate her.”
“Don’t hate her. She’s not a bad person.”
I huff in disbelief, struggling against him to sit up. “I beg your finest pardon.”
He pulls me against him again, rolling his eyes at me. Although I am irritated he would defend her, I am glad to see a little levity back in him.
“Listen, buddy, she’s a bad person,” I say. “I’ll go along with you and assume she really was pregnant or thought she was. I’m not comfortable judging that situation. But I am comfortable—really, really comfortable—saying she’s a complete cunt for intentionally trying to hurt you in such a personal, terrible way. Fuck her, Gannon.”
I can’t see his face, so I’m not sure if he’s fighting a smile or if he’s annoyed. And, really, I don’t care.
“This is what it looks like when someone fights for you,” I say. “I know that might be new to you but get used to it. I’m feisty.”
This time, he laughs. “I’m tired of talking about her.”
“I’m not. I haven’t even plotted her demise yet.”
