Page 54 of Curveball
I’m frantic, grasping at straws. She’s been dealing with this prick for years and I’m only hearing all this now. What the hell do I know?
“There’s more.”
Oh fuck. “What else can?—”
“He’s been contacting Dylan directly.”
My heart stops.
“He’s doingwhat?”
She squeezes her eyes shut, as though that will make the words and the image evaporate from her mind. I drop down beside her and wrap an arm around her shoulders. By now, I need the comfort as much as she does.
“That text Dylan got last night while we were in the parking lot?”
“That was him?”
“Yes, it was him, because he’s too self-absorbed to even consider a difference in time zones.”
I can’t sit still. I pull my arm away and I’m up again. Pacing again. Marching from one end of the deck to the other. I want to personally rip every one of his limbs from his body.
“What’ll it take for him to let up?”
I want to make sure his worthless son never sees parole. To rake him over the coals; to bankrupt every one of his business dealings. I want to take away the thing that means the most to him, but I don’t even know what that is. Is it his son? His grandson? His money? No telling with men like him.
From her seat on the cushioned lounge chair, she gives a derisive snort. “Nothing. There isn’t a damn thing, or don’t you think I’d have done it years ago? He never had an interest in Dylan until Alex went away, and now, it’s like he’s trying to replace his son with a surrogate.”
I resume my seat beside her on the cushion and lean forward. “There has to be something you can do to make him give up this fight.”
“Whatever it is, he’d have toknowhe could never win. There could be no doubt at all. Otherwise, he has hope.”
She lifts both hands in the air. In uncertainty, or supplication, or hopelessness—but those she can recover from. I take her hands and hold them in mine, a bundle clenched on my thigh. I don’t want her to ever again feel defeated. She looks sideways at me, her dark eyes clear in the dim light of the dusk.
“I should have remarried long ago. He’d be pissed, but what could he do about it, after the fact? Not that there ever was anyone I was serious about, let alone want to be a wife to, but if I’d known his actions would lead to this . . .”
And right there, in her very own words, I find her a knot. I tip my head to hold her gaze and tighten my grip, and when she pinches her brow and yanks to tug her hands away, I hold on tight.
“Marry me.”
Chapter 18
Palmer
“Excuse me? What did you just say?”
I can only gape at Max because I swear he just asked me to be his wife, andwhat the hell?
I’m still physically attached to him, my hands captured snugly within his palms. I give them a tug, but he only tightens his hold.
“Don’t give me yourexcuse me,all prissy like that,” he teases, because apparently, I’m the only one taking this seriously.
Sexy-as-sin creases appear at the edges of his eyes, along with his panty-melting grin and that dimple that makes me stupid, andthe hell are you thinking, Palmer Sloan, now is not the time!
I give my head aback to realityshake, and when I jerk my hands from his hold this time, he releases them. He does not let go of his amused smirk.
I’m still waiting for the joke.
“You want me to marry you? Max, I barely know you. You don’t love me. Hell, until a week ago, you could barely tolerate me.”
