Page 92 of Wade’s Wrath

“We have a guest room,” Princess said. Butcher opened his mouth, and Princess looked over her shoulder at him, giving him a death stare. “We have a guest room,” she said again.

Butcher nodded. “We have a guest room.” Wade almost laughed, but he couldn't, because suddenly the idea of Harlow leaving became real. It wasn’t hypothetical anymore, and not some bullshit conversation about space. She would get into Butcher's truck, go to their house, sleep somewhere Wade wasn't, and wake up somewhere Wade wasn't. His stomach twisted.

Harlow looked at Princess. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Princess said.

“You don't have to—” Harlow started.

“I know,” Princess said.

“Are you good with this, Butcher?” she asked.

He shrugged. “My woman already decided.”

Princess smiled. “Smart man.” Harlow laughed softly. Wade felt like somebody was twisting a knife between his ribs. Good. He deserved it.

Princess looked at Harlow's bag. “That's everything?”

“For now,” Harlow said.

“I can come back for anything I’ve missed,” she said.

Wade looked at her. She said she’d come back, like this wasn't her place anymore. Fuck. “Your stuff can stay.”

Harlow looked at him. “Wade.”

“You don't have to take everything,” he insisted.

“I know,” she breathed. “I think it would be for the best, though, if I did.”

“Leave it,” he growled. Why did he sound angry? Maybe it was because he was mad at himself, and at her, and at the whole fucking situation.

Harlow studied him. “Okay.” That should've made him feel better, but it didn't.

Princess quietly took the bag from her. “I'll give you two a minute.”

“No need,” Wade said. Harlow flinched again, and Butcher's expression changed. Princess stared at Wade like she wanted to punch him. Maybe she should.

“Harlow already knows what I think.”

“Apparently, I do,” Harlow whispered. Wade immediately wanted to fix it. Instead, he shoved his hands into his pockets. Because if he touched her, he'd lose every ounce of resolve he'd managed to scrape together. Harlow walked toward him and stopped a few feet away. “So this is what you want?”

No. Absolutely fucking not. “It's what you need.”

Her lips tightened. “I didn't ask what I need.”

There it was—the entire fucking problem. Wade looked at her. “No, you didn’t.” Her face changed, and he forced himself to finish. “And for the record, it isn't what I want.”

Harlow stared at him. “Then why are you doing this?” Because I fucking love you. The thought hit so hard that Wade nearly said it, but he stopped himself. Jesus Christ. Could he really be in love with her already? That was impossible. Hell, it was insane, but it didn't matter. The word was there, and he couldn't unthink it.

Wade looked away. “Because I need to know that if you choose me, it's because I'm what you want. Not because I was there when your life fell apart.” Harlow's expression softened, and he almost reached for her.

Then she whispered, “And what if taking space makes me decide I don't want this?” Wade's chest felt like it cracked open, but he forced his shoulders up and forced the asshole mask he usually wore back into place.

“Then I guess I'll have my answer at least,” he said.

Harlow stared at him long enough that he almost broke, and then she nodded. “Okay.” She stepped back, and Princess came toward her. Wade watched Harlow walk to the door, and every instinct in him screamed to stop her. He wanted to tell her he'd changed his mind. He wanted to tell her he'd been full of shit, and that she wasn't walking out of his house, but that was how Richard treated her. It was how Frank treated her, along with every man who had ever decided Harlow's life for her. Wade wouldn't be one of them, even if doing the right thing felt a hell of a lot like cutting out his own heart.