Page 113 of Roughing the Player
“Yeah. The vet thinks he’s going to make it.”
The vet arches a brow. He never said such a thing. But I don’t care. I know. Butch’s going to be okay.
“We’ll be right over,” Ellie says.
By the time she and Kaylee arrive, Butch’s semi-awake. So naturally, Kaylee bursts into tears. And he, of course, wags his tail for her. Especially, when she strokes his beautiful head. “I’ll never leave you again, Butch.”
“Now, honey,” Ellie says, “he’s going to have to spend some time in the hospital to recuperate.”
“How long, Doc?” I ask the vet who’s stopped by to check on Butch again.
“Three days. Give or take.”
I can live with that as long as he does come home.
Somehow, we pry ourselves from Butch’s side. He needs his rest and, frankly after having gone without shuteye for a day and a half, so do I.
I crash as soon as I get home. But when the scent of apple pie drifts into the bedroom, I’m up like a shot.
Ellie’s in the kitchen, apron over the small bump in her belly.
How did I not know she was pregnant? I ask myself for the umpteenth time, scrubbing the sleep from my eyes. “Where’s Kaylee?”
“Meghan’s house. I think she wanted to give us some privacy.”
Smart girl. “And Butch?”
“I called the vet. He’s eating.”
“A good sign.”
“Yeah.”
She takes the pie from the oven and drops it on a cooling rack. As long as I live, the scent of cinnamon and apples will always remind me of her. She hangs her apron on a peg before glancing around the kitchen. “I’m going to miss this place. So many memories.”
I hadn’t imagined her words. She intends for us to live together as a family. “We’ll make better ones in Charleston.” But first, there’s something I need to hear. “The thing is”—I clear my throat—“The thing is . . .”
She leans back against the kitchen counter and folds her arms across her front. “What is the thing?”
“I love you.”
She grins. “I know.”
She freaking knows? How could she? I hadn’t said it to her.
“Okay. But the thing is . . .”
She arches a brow.
“You haven’t said it to me.” I rush it out at warp speed.
“No. I haven’t.” She laces her hands in front of her.
No, I haven’t? What the fuck? “As much as I love you. And I do.”
Her serene smile resembles a Madonna’s. I really should have her painted that way.
“I need to hear you say you love me back.”
