Page 143 of Tied to You
Travis’ face turns down a fraction, a flash of insecurity hitting him. “You would make a damn good lawyer. I can see why your dad wants you to get back to it.”
I shrug my shoulders. “That may be true. But it’s not what I want.” Just how I know Travis would make an amazing dad, but it isn’t something he wants either. So I accept that. No questions asked.
“You wantme, baby?” He kisses me chastely.
“Always,” I smile.
“Then put those pretty arms around me.”
I do, swinging them over his shoulders with a smile.
He winks, dipping and picking me up into his arms before carrying me to his bike.
Three weeks later, I’ve finally plucked up the courage to call my dad. It’s ridiculous, but things at the farm have been so busy, I blinked and suddenlywe were rolling into next month. My hand shakes. I hit dial. Hang up. Hit dial again and hang up.
Fuck. This shouldn’t be so hard. “Dad, I’m not coming back. I don’t want to be a lawyer. I’m getting married.” Urgh. I shake my head, looking at my reflection in the mirror. “Dad. Hi. I’m getting married…” No, can’t start with that. “Dad—”
“Problem?”
I spin around seeing Janette standing at my bedroom door. My shoulders deflated.
“Door was open,” she says sweetly, nodding her head back. I don’t mind her coming by unannounced. After all, she and Mick did gift us this place.
I look back at the mirror. “I don’t know what to say to him.”
She smiles, pushing off the door frame, coming closer to me. “Say what’s in here.” She points to her heart, looking at me.
I turn around, my eyes misting slightly. “I don’t think that will matter to him.”
She gives me a sad look. “No matter what hesays, he’s your father. He’ll be happy for you.” Her eyebrows lift. “He may be shocked that you’re going to marry a biker, but it won’t mean he isn’t pleased for you.”
I laugh a little bit. She has no idea. “Thank you.”
“How are you feeling now?”
“Better,” I say, not entirely telling the truth. I walk to the kitchen, and Janette follows me. “Brew?”
I smile. “Please.” Watching her struggle to open the cupboard door is agonising. She won’t let me help, so I don’t bother to offer.
“You’re staring.”
“You’re struggling.”
The cupboard door eventually opens, and she reaches for a mug. Using her knuckles, she picks one up, only it crashes to the worktop, smashing into pieces. “Oh, blasted, shitting thing.”
I’m by her side in a flash. “Let me.”
“I don’t need your help,” she argues, flustering, her face flushed.
“Yes, you do.” I point to the chair at the breakfast bar. “Go. Sit.”
Janette reluctantly moves herself away and takes a seat.
Opening the cupboard under the sink, I grab the dustpan and brush and make light work of cleaning up. Once it’s done, I grab two mugs and fill thekettle. “There.”
She huffs, which sounds more like a sob.
“Shit, I didn’t mean to be so rude.”
