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But I’m not the only guilty party for my mother’s emotional pain and suffering in this house tonight. I may have been a willing accomplice, but Jax and Mark are the reason I’m not holding my mother’s hand right now.

“Hey, Anna. Hey. It’s okay. You’re okay.” Jax is approaching me, hands raised, palms out like I’m a wounded animal. There’s a wariness in his expression and his voice that wasn’t audible in any of the stories about Penny he shared over dinner. “Everything is going to be okay.”

“Stop,” I scream at him through broken sobs when he reaches out for me. “Don’t touch me.”

More sobs and whimpering noises. I hate how pathetic and weak I sound. I wish I was stronger. I need to be stronger than this. For her.

“Take me back.”

“What? Take you back?” Jax and Mark’s questions hit me at the same time. They sound as shocked as I feel hearing the words come out of my mouth, but I mean them.

“I’m going to marry Patrick. Take me back.” My entire body is shaking, but I ball my hands into fists at my side and use the pain of my nails digging into my palms to force my eyes open and meet their shell-shocked gaze. I poured every ounce of conviction into those words, but I know if I can’t look them in the eyes when I say it, they won’t believe me. “If you don’t take me back now, I’ll just go on my own. You were going to let me go anyway, right? That was the plan? To set me up with a new life? Well, this is the life I’m choosing. I’m marrying him. I’m marrying Patrick, and there isn’t anything you can do to stop it.”

“The fuck you are marrying him,” Mark shouts.

“The fuck we can’t do anything about it.” Jax’s voice ratchets up another decibel. “We already did something about it. That whole speak now, or forever hold your peace part? We spoke the fuck up, Anna, and what did your savior Patrick-fucking-Calhoun do to stop us? Nothing. Oh, wait. He did do something. Used you as a human shield. Real prince fucking charming, that fiancé of yours. You’re not going back, and you sure as fuck aren’t saying I do. Not to him. Not fucking ever, Anna.”

“I don’t need your blessing, Jax. I’m going home with or without your help. You can’t watch me twenty-four hours a day.”

“What about what you want? You said you wanted a family someday. Do you want Patrick to be the father of those kids? He won’t love them any more than he loves you—which is not at all. You’ll all be his property. Then he’ll mold them so they end up just like him. Cruel, ruthless, and heartless.” Mark’s words are like a sucker punch to the solar plexus.

My stomach churns, threatening to upend its contents at the mere thought of having children with Patrick. Something I know he’ll want, despite not loving me. Mark is right about that. I have no illusions about my fiancé’s feelings for me. I’m nothing more than a prize-winning broodmare in his eyes. No, when I marry Patrick, there will be no children. I’ll take precautions to make sure that never happens. When he doesn’t get what he wants from me, he’ll find someone else, and if I’m lucky, he’ll want a divorce. No bastard children for Patrick Calhoun. He’ll have to take one of his girlfriends on the side as his wife. Or he could kill me.

I can’t cause him any trouble if I’m dead, right?

That should give me pause, and it would, if not for my mother. Saving her is my priority. Patrick has the ways and means to make that happen.

“Anna, please,” Jax pleads. “Even without this thing between the three of us, and don’t you dare deny we have something because I know you feel it too. There’s no way Mark and I would let you marry Patrick. He’ll hurt you, and I’m not talking about your feelings, Anna. He’ll break you. That’s what men like him do.”

“I know what kind of man I’m marrying.” Obstinance replaces heartbreak. My mind is made up, and I’m not about to change it. Not for them. No matter how much they want me to. No matter how much I want to.

“Stop saying you’re marrying him,” Mark says through clenched teeth. There’s a twitch in his jaw muscle.

“You don’t want me to marry him?” I ask. It’s a baited question, and they’re about to take it hook, line, and sinker.

“No,” comes their unified response.

“Even if it means killing my mother?” I thought I hated myself before, but the next words out of my mouth bring me to a new low. “Like Penny?”

The recoil and disgust are instantaneous—not just from them, but from me. I feel sick. This isn’t who I am. I’m not a cruel or malicious person. God, what am I doing? I can’t believe I just said that, threw their foster mother up in their face like that. What’s wrong with me? My stomach revolts. I’m going to lose my dinner.

“Oh, god.” Another heave, and my hand is over my mouth. Abandoning our argument, I bolt for the bathroom and slam the door behind me.

Mark and Jax don’t follow me. They’re in the middle of a heated conversation. I can hear their raised voices, but it’s hard to make out the words over my retching as I heave the contents of my stomach into the toilet.

I’m still dry-heaving when I hear footsteps in the hall, followed by a hard rap on the door. “Go away,” I grind out between stomach convulsions.

“Anna.” Mark’s voice rumbles through the solid wood. Three more raps on the door. “Anna, open up.”

“Leave me alone.” Another stomach cramp and more heaving.

“Baby, please.” Jax this time. The doorknob rattles. “Anna, please. If you won’t let us in there, at least come back out here and talk to us. Please.”

Why do they sound so sweet, so concerned? Why aren’t they mad? If someone used my mother to influence me, hurt me, and manipulate me, I would be pissed. Except someone already has. And it’s not the two men standing on the other side of the bathroom door. Patrick’s the one taking advantage of my mother’s condition, of my father’s failures. Of me.

And I’m going to marry him.

Mark and Jax have given up their attempt to get me to open the door. It’s quiet out in the hall. Silent. I can’t even hear them breathing anymore. My heart sinks. They’ve given up. They’re going to let me go. It’s what I want, so why does it make me feel worse? Why do I want them to keep arguing with me, fighting for me to stay? They won’t. I wouldn’t if I were in their shoes. It’s not like I’ve given them a reason to. After all, this was never supposed to be a permanent arrangement for them, and we hardly know each other. They don’t need the kind of trouble keeping me will bring; the trouble crossing Patrick Calhoun will bring.