Page 93 of Out Of A Fix

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I was in the Army for a long time and normally deployed in the worst places, seeing horrible things. Then I was a homicide detective in the worst part of the city, seeing horrible things. It’s hard to be a rock for someone else when you’re barely holding your own shit together. And now I’m a fixer, and when I’m at home, I just want things to be easy, and that means my friends, and that’s as deep as I go.”

He crossed his arms and stared at me.

“You need a partner, Luke, and that’s not me.”

“And yet,” he said, grinning.

“And yet what?”

“I dunno, Nash, you’re awfully good at being a partner, taking care of me and the kids.”

I gestured at the living room, where the girls were. “That’s because you have great kids. Anybody could do well with them.”

“But interestingly enough, there was no one between their mother and you.”

“That’s because you haven’t dated.”

His eyes narrowed. “So I should date, is what you’re saying?”

“Yes,” I muttered, even as my stomach rolled suggesting that to him.

“Did you feel it, in your gut, when you said that?”

I would not answer him if my life depended on it.

“I don’t know how it feels to you, Nash, but even thinking about you going anywhere with that lawyer… I thought I was gonna throw up.”

My gaze returned to his face.

“I mean, what the hell? When Caitlyn cheated on me, I was sad, not jealous. When the lawyer was putting the moves on you at my fuckin’ dining table, I saw red. I wanted him the fuck outta my house and away from you.”

He was being honest. It was only fair that I was as well. “If you could wait and not date until after I leave, I would appreciate that.”

“Because?”

“Because I feel very… Okay, so there’s another reason why I’ve never had a long-term thing with anyone.”

He hopped up on the counter, getting comfortable. We had to stay there—anywhere else and Tatum and her friends would hear us from the living room. “Tell me. I’m ready.”

“You’re being funny. Don’t be funny.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll never be funny again. G’head.”

I took a breath. “See, I get very… I…”

“Possessive,” he stated like he knew, not at all like he was guessing. He said it like he could see right into my heart. “You get very possessive. The belonging and the mine, that’s what happens, doesn’t it?”

I searched his face.

“I know. I see it. The kids feel it, and they need it so badly, to be wanted and needed and loved, so they cluster around you and soak it up.”

It was a lot of honesty, and I had to breathe and not look at him.

“You hug them and squeeze them, and even Griff, who’s sixteen, hugs you every night before he goes to bed. I got a kiss on the cheek the other night and nearly died of happiness right there.”