Page 88 of The Final Faceoff
Wrecked.
Mine.
I clean her up with a towel, then grab one of my shirts from my bag, slipping it over her head, dressing her like she belongs to me. Because she does. Once she’s tucked in, I lean down, brushing my lips against her forehead.
“Rest, baby. I’ll be back.”
“You’re not staying with me?” she almost whimpers at the loss.
“No, sweetheart. If I do, I won’t let you rest.” I kiss her temple. “Be a good girl and rest. I’ll bring you lunch a little later.”
ChapterTwenty-Eight
Leif
The Goal that Matters
When I make it downstairs, Papa is in the kitchen, stirring something on the stove. It smells like cinnamon and nostalgia—like childhood mornings when I’d wake up to the sound of his voice and the quiet hum of my dads talking over coffee.
He turns around when he hears me, his grin easy, familiar. “I thought I heard someone coming in, but I was on a call. Are you alone?”
I shake my head, stretching my neck as I lean against the counter. “Hailey’s upstairs, taking a nap.”
His brows lift slightly, and I swear I see the calculation behind his eyes before he asks, “How’s she feeling?”
“She’s almost fourteen weeks along and—” I knock on the wooden counter before finishing. “She stopped puking a couple of days ago. That’s good, right?”
Papa nods like that makes sense, but I’m not convinced we’re in the clear. Maybe it’s just a break and tomorrow she’ll begin to throw up everywhere like the exorcist. Then again, this is Hailey. The woman who doesn’t always read the instructions but still somehow follows them like her life depends on it. If the book says morning sickness stops at twelve weeks, she clocks out around the same time. If the book says she’ll develop a high libido . . . well.
Thank fuck she does. Because I’m having way too much fun providing her with all she wants and needs.
Even with that control and dominance she wants from a man. She can say she likes a man who takes charge. Though that’s just an illusion. At the end of the day, I’m just a man doing exactly what she tells me—learning her body like a playbook, following every little sigh, every arch of her back, every filthy, perfect moan.
Her rules, my execution. And we both win.
Papa raises a brow. “So, why are you here? Not that I’m complaining.”
I exhale, rubbing a hand over my jaw. He already knows about the baby. Knows it’s not mine. That was never a question. But this—bringing her home—that’s something else.
I roll my shoulders, trying to loosen the tension that’s been there since I packed her things and told her we were coming here. “I needed to get her away from everything for a bit. Show her that she’s a Crawford.”
His eyes soften, but there’s no hesitation. “She’s always been a part of us. More now that you two . . . are you together?”
I shake my head before he can finish. “I don’t know, alright? We’re kind of dating, and I think I’m in, but I don’t know if she loves me the way I love her. If she’ll ever love me like that.”
Papa watches me for a beat, then takes a sip of coffee. “In my opinion, she’s just like you—deeply in love. Just has been denying it.”
I nod, rubbing my thumb over my watch, unsure on what to answer. “She’s letting me in.” Slowly. Carefully. Like she’s still waiting for the moment I walk away.
I press my lips together. “And I don’t want to fuck it up.”
His mouth twitches. “Well, that’s a first.”
I glare, but he just chuckles, setting his mug down before meeting my gaze. “Look, Leif. You’ve never been one to do things halfway. When you decide something—” He shrugs. “That’s it. No second-guessing. No half-measures. This is the final faceoff.”
I breathe out, gripping the edge of the counter. “Not sure when I’m going to bring up the whole we-need-couples-counseling thing.”
“Is she in therapy?”
