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I stare at him, dumbfounded.
I stare at Dane.
I stare at Isaiah.
“All three of you think that?” They all nod in various degrees. “That’s fucking ludicrous, you trad-family-at-any-cost morons!”
Jonah’s brow furrows. “Huh?”
Shaking my head, I level a glare at them. “I’m not going to marry him just because I’m pregnant. That’s some patriarchal bullshit fueled by religion.”
“Why not? Mom did and they were happy,” Dane argues.
“No, she didn’t! She wrote in my baby journal that they planned on getting married anyway. And that they were very much in love.”
“Oh,” Isaiah says in flat understanding.
“I’m not going to enter into a marriage with someone who doesn’t love me.” Dane tries to add something, but I cut him off. “In that way. I deserve someone who wants to be married to me simply because they love me—not out of obligation.”
“Ang,” Isaiah sighs.
“No,” I say, lowering my voice to a level and a tone I haven’t used with them in a long time. “I’ve said all that you need to hear. You’re not going to pester me or Parent Trap me into marrying him. End of discussion.”
When their silence drags on too long and their heads lower, I know I’ve won, but the victory feels hollow.
“I just don’t want to see you alone,” Isaiah mutters, his words pinching at my heart in a surprising way.
“You don’t have to worry about that,” I say gently. “And Raf’s always going to be around, you guys.”
“He better be,” Dane says under his breath.
My gaze travels to a handful of other players who have arrived and are starting to gear up. “Thank you for your misplaced brotherly love, but it looks like you should get ready with your team. Oh hey, Isaiah—is that Robyn and her dad walking over here.”
His head whips around to see where I’m indicating. “What?” he asks, suddenly on high alert. “Crap. Why is she—I gotta go warm up,” he stammers then wraps me in a quick bear hug. “Love you, Ang.”
Isaiah books it for his teammates, and then Jonah and Dane each give me a hug and when they’ve sat down to start booting up, Raf comes toward me in a jog from lining the field. “What did they want?”
I shake my head. “You’re not going to believe this. They asked me why we weren't getting married.”
“What?” he asks with his eyebrows sky-high.
“Yeah,” I sigh.
“Wait… Do you want to?”
It’s my turn to be surprised. “What? No,” I say immediately, but not before my heart leaps at the saddest excuse for a proposal I’ve ever heard.
Is that really his response? Is the thought just now popping into his thick skull? I try to shake off the idiotic response my brain is firing at me. Didn’t I just ream my brothers out for thinking the same thing?
“Yeah, I was going to say…” He smiles and for the first time those dimples of his piss me off. “I didn’t realize they felt that way. Alright, well I’m gonna get ready with the team. I’ll see you after,” he smiles again and jogs away.
He smiled.
He smiled because it’s so fucking ridiculous for him to imagine being married to me, to commit to me. I feel the babies kick and I take that as solidarity.
This is my own fault. I opened this door. I repeatedly ignored my feelings, ignored my heart and its stupid attachment to him—the attachment that has only grown stronger since we’ve started fucking.
Even that word doesn’t feel right.
