Page 33 of Forecasting the Forward

Shit. I completely forgot about Rodney. I try to duck my head, but Jacob is faster, carefully taking both of my cheeks in his hands.

“Who. Did. This. To. You?” he growls, but his touch is unexpectedly gentle. “Are you okay?”

I’m surprised at the tenderness in his voice. How his thumb gently swipes over my skin. “Tell me the truth, Spitfire. You don’t have to put on a brave face around me. Just be you, and let me take care of you. Please.”

A whirlwind of emotion overtakes me, and the dam breaks as I crumble. Jacob’s arms encircle me, picking me up as I cry in earnest. He turns us, sitting on the bed before scooting toward the headboard. He leans back against the pillows, and I allow myself to rest my head on his chest. As I continue to cry, he patiently strokes up and down my spine. He doesn’t rush me or push for me to stop crying. He just waits. And as the feel of his steady heartbeat against my cheek calms me, I finally speak.

“My brother hit me,” I admit, my voice quivering. “Twice.”

I feel Jacob tense under my head, but he doesn’t respond, so I continue. “He’s never hit me before. He’s talked down to me. My therapist says he’s the epitome of a narcissist who uses emotional abuse to belittle and break down women. With our father gone, he’s now the head of the family company, and maybe that’s made him feel a little too powerful. I really don’t care that he hit me, you know? I don’t want anything to do with him. I get to go back to Denver and continue living my life, and hopefully I’ll never see him again. But my mom … she was rightthere. And she didn’t say a word. Not even when he hit me the second time.”

“I’m so sorry, baby. So fucking sorry,” Jacob whispers as he places a gentle kiss on my forehead.

“I shouldn’t have come,” I whisper sorrowfully.

“Why did you? If you don’t mind me asking.”

I sigh. “Closure, I guess. I wasn’t close with my dad by any means, but he wasn’t as mean as my mom or brother. Slightly more apathetic, but he wasn’t vicious as them. His insults didn’t seem to hurt as much. I guess I wanted to say goodbye. But my brother … I wish I knew why he hated me. Why they all hate me.”

“If you knew, do you think it would help?” Jacob asks.

I think about the question for a few moments. “Maybe it would give me some peace. I’ve wracked my brain for years trying to come up with their reasoning. I’d like to think I was a well-behaved kid. I didn’t bring any big scandals to the family. I got good grades. I didn’t party, stay out all night, or do anything that would explain their coldness and callousness.”

“It wasn’t you,” Jacob says sternly, his hand pushing my chin up until our eyes meet. “I barely know you, Spitfire, and I can guarantee it has nothing to do with you. You’re fucking perfect, and it’s their loss. You hear me, darlin’? It is their loss. Say the words.”

“It’s their loss,” I whisper, captivated by how his bright blue eyes glitter with a steadfast resolve I don’t think I’ve ever seen before. He believes in me. It’s been so long since I’ve had a man support me this way, and this man isn’t evenmyman.

“Louder. I need to know you believe it yourself.”

“I — it’s their loss,” I state, my voice clearly showing I’m not there yet, and Jacob chuckles.

“Nice try. Do it again.”

I huff a breath, aggravated. I clear my throat and belt out, “It’s their loss!”

A beautiful grin breaks across Jacob’s face. “You’re damn right it is. You’re brilliant, talented, and beautiful. You’re the light, not them.”

“I’m the light?” I ask softly, and he gives me a one-shoulder shrug.

“Yeah. I guarantee they don’t light up a room like you do, Spitfire. You’re a beacon, they’re the storm. Of course they want you to snuff out your light.”

No one has ever talked about me this way. Ever. Even Kevin, my boyfriend of one year while I lived in Cincinnati, and we’d actually talked about marriage. All my life, I’ve gotten so used to the constant repeating record of disappointment from the men in my life that hearing a man speak so positively about me is throwing me for a loop. Does he really mean all of this? Is Jacob Mitchell actually a good guy, and not the playboy hockey player that I assumed he’d be?

Looking deep into his eyes, I can’t find one iota of falseness. Nothing hidden. He’s looking at me so intently, so resolutely, that I’m taken aback.

Which is probably why I lose my head for a moment.

I push up and kiss him.

Holy fuck,Becca is kissing me.

Becca is kissing me.

It takes me a second to wrap my head around it, and I realize I’m not kissing her back. I fix that immediately, sliding my fingers gently into her hair and holding her head against mine, but being careful not to hurt her bruised face. Her lips are as soft as I’d imagined them to be, and when I feel her sigh softly against me, I groan. All of the blood in my body is quickly running to my dick, and I’m two seconds away from rolling on top of her and taking control of the situation. But I can’t do that. I made the decision weeks ago that if anything were to happen with Becca, she’d be in control.

So, even though I’m fairly certain I can hear my cock cussing me out as he attempts to break through my boxer briefs and pants, I continue to let Becca run the show, moving my lips softly against hers.

But when her tongue tentatively slides out to skirt against mine, I clench her hair tightly in my fist and break off the kiss.I rest my head against the side of hers, taking a deep breath and attempting to calm my rapid heartbeat.

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