Page 77 of Torrid

Tex nodded and leaned forward with his elbows on the table. “I’m not saying it was wrong. I’m saying a woman is what brought out the beast. So, just say it, you want to keep her? You want that sweet, little, young baby momma in your bed permanently. The sooner you admit it, the better you’ll feel. I’m trying to help you here.”

I threw back the rest of my whiskey. Hearing him talk about Liberty in my bed permanently caused shit inside me that I was working on controlling to flare up. It was hard to tamp down.

Hell, I liked Country. He was a good man. But in that moment, I could have killed him. Simply because he fit her better than I did. He wouldn’t be an old man too soon. They were at the same stage in life. And I hated him for that. For being what I wasn’t.

“Yes,” I ground out. “She’s different. I feel …” I paused, not sure I could say the words out loud. I felt guilty, thinking them.

For most of my adult life, I’d believed that I’d only love one girl. No one would touch my heart the way Etta had. And until now, no one had come close to even causing a ripple.

Liberty hadn’t touched my heart. She’d placed a hook in it and taken it. When she was tucked in my arms, I didn’t wish it were Etta. I completely forgot Etta. Liberty’s smile, those honey-brown eyes, the way her stomach looked, rounded with our child—it owned me. But saying that meant facing the other side of it. I was sixteen years older than her. Sure, right now, I was fit, had my health, I could fuck her until she passed out. But how long did I have before those things started to fade? What happened when she was still youthful and full of life while I was getting back pains or struggling with an erection—or worse, I’m diagnosed with some fatal illness and she had to give up her best years so that she could nurse me until I died?

I’d thought of it all. I lay awake at night, going over every-fucking-thing that could happen.

“What do you feel?” Tex asked when I didn’t finish.

“Like I need her to breathe.”

Tex’s eyes widened, and then a slow smile crept over his face. “Goddamn,” he muttered.

My sentiments exactly.

If there was a God, he sure as fuck wasn’t a fan of mine. I had believed that the love of my life was my first love, and I’d lost her, so I’d live the rest of my life, not knowing how it felt to have… this. To go to bed at night, holding someone I didn’t want to live without; to feel joy from the sound of her laughter; to have a family and watch our kids grow. I had made my peace with it.

Until Liberty.

Now, that life was all I thought about. I was mourning something I knew I couldn’t keep. It would be selfish to do so, and I couldn’t be selfish with her.

“Then, you’re gonna put a ring on it,” he said.

My chest burned, and I wished he’d brought the bottle of whiskey over here if we were gonna have this conversation.

I shook my head. “No, I’m not.”

Tex dropped his glass onto the table. “Why the fuck not?”

“I don’t think I can have her and lose her. I wouldn’t be able to survive that.”

Tex sat back, staring at me like he didn’t understand it. What was so hard for him to get? Did he not see it?

“You’re already planning a future breakup that might not happen? I don’t want you slamming your fist in my face, too, but, Prez, that’s weak. There’s a country song about this, probably several, but the point is, you don’t want to miss the best thing that ever happened to you because you’re afraid. Yeah, it might fucking end.” He paused, then let out a sigh. “And she could die. You survived that before. Don’t let it be what holds you back.”

It took me a minute to figure out what he was saying, and then it dawned on me that he thought that I was afraid I’d lose her like I had Etta. This had nothing to do with Etta. Yes, I had loved her, but I’d been a kid. I wasn’t that kid anymore. I’d lived life.

I knew that every day was a gift and we weren’t promised tomorrow. But this wasn’t about death taking her from me. This was about the inevitable—time. I would grow old, and she would be years behind me. Men her age would come along, and the old man she was shackled to would be a weight.

“One day, she’ll turn around, and I’ll be seventy years old, and she … won’t be.”

35

Liberty

All the things that needed to be said had been swept under the rug, and it was my fault too. I might as well have held up the damn rug while he did the sweeping. Why? Because the idea of rocking the boat and losing what we had right now had me doing whatever I had to in order to hold on. Every day that we spent together, it felt more secure. It was no longer just me, and I knew that. He didn’t say it, but he felt something. It was more than a jealous, maniacal outburst.

Liam Walsh might not love me—yet—but he was falling. I could see it in the way he looked at me. Not just when our gazes connected during sex either. I would catch him watching me doing something as simple as cooking or watching television, and I’d look up, and his eyes would tell me what he couldn’t say.

So, yes, I was letting go of the entire horror that had happened with Country.

Liam had moved my OB-GYN to one here in Ocala that his daughter also used. He didn’t want me going back to Miami anytime soon. It was obvious, even if he didn’t say it.

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