Page 101 of End Game
“Maybe this is a warning shot for you to not fuck up your life with me,” he says quietly. “My life is a weapon half-cocked. It’s a game of Russian Roulette with me.”
“Do you really think that?”
“It was you that thought it. Now I see it. I can’t control anything in my life and you want to control it all. You want a plan, to know what’s happening when, and I have a life that changes by the minute sometimes. And I can’t really keep you separate from that because . . . eighty percent.”
His face is blurred through the tears filling my eyes. My hand goes to the little cross at the end of his necklace that’s tucked under my shirt. Even if I could find the words to argue with him, there’s no point. You can’t argue the truth.
“I can’t do this to you,” he says, brushing his thumb along my jaw. I lean against his hand, feeling the warmth touch my cheek. “Especially when this is the one thing you don’t want and the one thing that should never happen to a girl like you.”
“So, what are you going to do?” I ask meekly through the tears, shocked that I’m holding it together this well. That works just fine until I see the blues of his eyes cloud too. That does it. The dam breaks and my cheeks are soaked.
In one swift move, he pulls me into his chest. Smelling like soap and cedar, he presses my face so hard into him that I couldn’t pull away if I wanted to. I wrap my arms around his waist, feeling him against me.
“I will always be here for you. And,” he gulps, his voice wobbling slightly, “I’m proud to have a baby with you. But I can’t do this to you, force you to live this life I chose. You and our child deserve way better than this fucked up life.”
Despite the tenor of our conversation, even with the splintering of my heart, I’ve never felt more safe in my life. I’ve never felt more considered. Moreloved.
Callum would’ve never walked away from me for my own good. Everything in his world centers around him, even if it means trying to ruin my life for fun.
“I’m sorry they’re making you out to look like an idiot,” I whisper, feeling the warmth of his skin under my palms.
“I don’t give a fuck.”
“But they’re saying?—”
“I don’t care.” He pulls away and looks me in the eye. “I know you. I know this baby is mine. I just can’t do this to you, Sunshine.”
“You aren’t.Heis,” I assert.
“This time. Next time, God knows what it will be. But I guarantee you there will be a next time in the tabloids, of nasty things said because I’mBranch Best.”
He says it like it’s a bad thing, almost spitting the words out like they’re poison.
Brushing a strand of hair out of my face, he places a kiss to the center of my lips. “I’m a call away. Always.”
His hand drops to my stomach and it sits there for a long moment. As his eyes blur again, he looks down and walks out.
“Where the hell are youuu . . .” Poppy’s voice falls as she finds me on my bed. “Layla! What’s wrong?”
Bags drop to the floor, the plastic rustling as it lands just before my mattress sinks as she lands near me. She shoves me over and hovers over my face. “Are you okay?”
The light is too bright. Her voice too loud. The smell of the garlic she had for lunch too strong.
“I’m gonna puke,” I groan, trying to sit up.
Everything hurts, from my heart to my head, as I work my way against the pillows. The sky is almost dark outside the windows and I wonder how long I’ve been lying here.
As I try to do the math, all I can see is Branch’s sweet face and the tears come again. This round, they feel like little knives in the side of my temple, stabbing me over and over again.
“Layla. Talk to me.” Poppy takes my hands and holds them on my lap. “What happened? You wouldn’t answer the phone so I came by to check . . .”
“Have you seenExposé?” I croak, my throat so damn dry due to all the moisture in my body leaving via tears.
She flashes me a look. Swiping my phone off the nightstand, she types in the passcode and brings up the website. I give her a few seconds to make it all the way through. I know when she’s done because the phone drops to the bed.
“Oh my God,” she says, her mouth wide. “Layla.”
“I know.” Grabbing a pillow, I smudge it around my face in hopes that some of the wetness will stop. “It’s a mess.”
