Our Love Unhinged (Reluctant Hearts Book 4) (6 page)

“We took bets on how long it’d take you to come over here.” Tessa leans back into Jase’s chest as he wraps an arm around her shoulders from behind. “I won, by the way. I think Jase was optimistic.”

“I knew you’d be over here this soon, too, but my ‘loss’ isn’t exactly a hardship, if you know what I mean,” Jase says, wiggling his fucking eyebrows.

I take a deep breath, rubbing my finger and thumb against my eyes, not even bothering to snap at him for that comment. “I just need to know what’s bothering Winter. Was she upset all night?”

Tessa blows out a deep breath. “Well, no, not exactly, but she wasn’t herself. She didn’t want to talk much until she got a few drinks in her, then she kept telling us she just wanted to keep us a while longer. I have no idea what she meant, but thought you might?”

Keep them a while longer? I shake my head. “No idea. She also said you broke her thunder. No clue what she’s talking about there either.”

Tessa stiffens, her fingers white-knuckling Jase’s forearm, and he presses a kiss to her temple. “Just tell him, baby,” Jase says. “It’s okay.”

I divide my attention between the two of them, narrowing my eyes. “Tell me what?”

“I didn’t break her thunder,” Tessa says. “I was worried about
stealing
her thunder. We wanted to wait until after the wedding to tell everyone.”

Stealing her thunder . . . waiting until after the wedding . . . ? I shoot my eyes to Tessa’s left hand, which is still clutching Jase’s arm. No ring, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. And even though Jase didn’t ask me to go ring shopping, I wouldn’t put it past the bastard not to ask me as payback for finding Winter’s ring on my own. “Did Jase propose?”

“Not yet,” Jase says, and there’s the tiniest bit of challenge in his voice, like he’s expecting me to fight him on it.

“Then what . . . ?”

But then I notice his hand spread out almost protectively across Tessa’s abdomen at the same time she says, “You’re gonna be an uncle again.”

“Holy shit,” I say. Then louder, “Holy
shit
.” For the briefest moments, my concern over Winter recedes as I bring Tessa into a hug before doing the same for Jase. While I’d rather not think about my best friend knocking up my sister, I can’t deny that he treats both her and Haley like princesses. He’d do anything for them, and I know it’ll be the same with the baby. I can’t ask for anything more for my baby sister and niece, despite all the grief I gave Jase and Tess when they first got together.

“When’s the baby due?” I ask.

“February twentieth,” Tessa says, leaning once again into Jase, her eyes studying mine. “You’re not mad?”

“Why the hell would I be mad about getting another niece or a nephew?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know . . . We’re not married. I’ve been here before.”

“You have
not
been here before, Tess. Totally different circumstances.”

“Well, yeah,
I
know that, but . . .”

“You thought I wouldn’t see it like that?” I shake my head and tell her honestly, “If I had to pick someone for you to have more babies with, it’d be Jase. Married or not. I’m happy for you guys.”

“Thank you,” Tessa says, her shoulders visibly relaxing.

“Happy for you, but I’m still going crazy over here. I need to know what the hell happened with Winter tonight.”

“Right . . .” Tessa nods, tucking her hair behind her ear. “So she kept talking about not wanting us to be family so she could keep us. I have no idea what it means, and after I told her about the baby, it only got worse. She just kept repeating that she didn’t want to be an aunt because she wanted to keep us a little longer.” She shakes her head. “I thought it might mean something to you.”

Whether or not she wants to be an aunt is irrelevant, because Haley loves her to death. She’s been Aunt Winter for months and months, but today was the first time Haley’s ever said it directly to Winter. I wonder if that’s where it stemmed from? It doesn’t take a genius to figure out she doesn’t have the best outlook when it comes to family. And despite attempting to show her otherwise, that our family means something different, I’ve been leaving her to fend for herself while I focused on the restaurant.

That ends right now. I still have responsibilities there and always will. But I can take some time and show Winter exactly what being part of my family means, reassure her she’s the most important thing in my life. And that won’t change, no matter how much she fears it’s going to.

T
his has been
the longest goddamn week of my life, but I needed to get things in order at work, and make sure my sous chef, Kat, was confident running the restaurant on the busiest day of the week. If I plan to change how much time I’m spending at the restaurant, I need to get used to this. I don’t want to work every weekend for the rest of my life. Before this month, with the bachelor party, wedding, and now the little getaway I planned that Winter and I are currently en route to, I can count on one hand how many weekends I’d had off since I became head chef. That shit’s about to change. I’ll still have to work many—I
want
to, because there’s nothing quite like the rush of a good dinner service, and it’s almost guaranteed on a Saturday night—but I don’t have to work them all.

Winter’s hand is encased in mine over the center console, her lips moving along with the song playing on the radio. She’s been quiet since last weekend, more so than usual, and it’s killed me not to talk to her about it. The morning following the bachelor and bachelorette parties only reaffirmed my need to show her what it means to be part of my family. And let her know that whether or not she includes herself in that group, she’s in it. God, the thought that she didn’t put herself there about killed me. Before we packed up to leave, the six of us were sitting around in the circle created by our chairs when Baby Maxwell-Montgomery was brought up. As the rest of us talked about details—due dates and when they were going to tell Haley and if they were going to find out if it was a boy or a girl—Winter sat in my lap, stiff as a board, and no amount of back rubbing calmed her. No amount of reassurance on my part did anything to help her relax. And, as far as I can tell, those nerves haven’t abated at all in the past week. If anything, they’ve increased, no doubt because of the upcoming wedding.

“We’re sure driving far for dinner,” she says, glancing out the window.

I shrug. “John mentioned this place, and I want to check it out.” All true, fortunately.
This place
just refers to a bed and breakfast instead of a restaurant like she assumes.

Unsure what she’d need for the weekend, I filled a bag with everything of hers from the bathroom, then threw in a few different pieces of clothing. If I have it my way, we’ll spend most of the time naked and in bed, anyway, so she won’t need clothes at all.

“I can’t believe you got another Saturday off.” She looks over at me. “Are you sure that’s okay? That’ll be three in a row with the wedding next weekend . . .”

“John understands and trusts my decisions for the restaurant.” I squeeze her hand and glance at her before returning my attention to the road. “Like you said, I hired a sous chef for a reason.”

I feel her eyes on me, but she just hums in response, and she doesn’t say anything the rest of the drive. When we finally get to the small town a little less than an hour from home, her brow is furrowed as she looks out the window, no doubt trying to figure out where we are. When I pull into the parking lot of the bed and breakfast, she turns to me with narrowed eyes.

“Do they have a restaurant in here?”

“Not exactly.” I shut off the car, then get out before going over to her side and opening her door. Reaching for her hand, I help her out, then go to the trunk and grab our bags while she stands off to the side, mouth agape.

“Cade Brendon Maxwell, what did you do?”

“C’mon and you’ll find out.” I smile and tug her along behind me.

After checking in at the front desk, we’re shown to our room, complete with outside entrance, private bath, and fireplace. John outdid himself with this recommendation. Once inside our room, I drop our bags on the bed and turn to find Winter staring at me, arms crossed against her chest.

“What is all this, Cade?”

I walk over to her and tug her to me, pressing a kiss on her neck. “It’s me showing you how much I love you.”

Where she was stiff just a moment ago, she relaxes at my words, her arms going around my waist as she sighs. “You don’t need to bring me to a bed and breakfast an hour away to show me that. I already know it.”

“Do you?”

“Of course,” she says, stepping back, the irritation written plainly on her face. “What the hell kind of question is that?”

“The guys were talking—”

She groans. “For the record, I hate when you start stories like that, because they generally don’t end well. And your best friends . . . They’re great, but they can be idiots.”

“I’m definitely not arguing that, but what they said this time got me thinking. And worrying . . .”

If I wasn’t paying close attention, I would’ve missed how her shoulders stiffen again as soon as the words are out of my mouth. Even with her tense body language, her voice is casual as she asks, “About what?”

I sit at the foot of the bed, then reach for her hand and guide her to stand between my knees. With my hands resting on her hips, I look up at her. “I need you to be honest with me, baby. Okay?”

Her throat bobs as she swallows, her eyes darting between mine. With a nod, she says, “Okay.”

I run my thumbs on the soft skin of her stomach, just above her waistband. “Do you feel like you’re second place?”

She’s frozen for about five seconds before confusion sweeps over her face. Her brow furrows, the corners of her mouth curving down in a frown. “Second place to what?”

“The restaurant.”

“What?” She jerks back, already shaking her head. “No, Cade. I’ve never felt like that.”

“Because it would be understandable, especially since I’ve been so focused on it.”

“Of course you have. You’ve been getting it up and running. We knew that going in.”

I nod, recalling the discussion we had back in Chicago, talking about what kind of sacrifices we’d have to make if we made the move, if I accepted the job. We both agreed to them, but . . . “Things change.”

“They do, but not with this. I don’t mind that you’re working so much. I
love
that you’re able to do what you love for a living.”

Hearing her say that lifts a huge weight from my shoulders, and I sag with relief, dropping my forehead to her stomach. She brings her hands to my hair and rubs in soothing strokes. It’s almost enough to make me fall back on the bed and pull her with me, then focus on getting her naked and under me, but I can’t get her words from last weekend out of my head. I’ve tried to puzzle them out over the past week, and I just can’t get them to make sense.

Pulling back, I look up at her. Her hair falls around her shoulders, the fresh scent of her shampoo surrounding me. She’s got a soft smile on her lips as she stares at me, and she’s so fucking beautiful it hurts. And in a week, she’s going to be my wife.

“Last weekend, you kept saying you wanted to keep us a while longer.” Squeezing her hips, I ask, “What did you mean?”

Her caressing hands freeze against the back of my neck, her body stiff under my hands. She parts her lips, then closes them again, shaking her head. “I . . . I don’t know.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You said you’d be honest with me. After two years, I can tell when you’re lying.”

She exhales a deep breath, her shoulders slumping as she does so. “It’s not a big deal.”

“If it’s been upsetting you, it
is
a big deal. And you should’ve talked to me about it. You promised me you wouldn’t push me away anymore, and keeping this to yourself is the same thing. I want to know what’s been bothering you.” I pull her a little closer. “Time’s up, baby.”

She pulls her lip between her teeth and bites down hard enough that I cringe. I grip the backs of her thighs and tug her up into my lap, her knees resting on either side of my hips. Her hands still have a death grip on the back of my neck, and while normally her body would melt into mine in this position, it’s rigid, the line of her back straight and her thighs bunched tight under my roaming hands.

When she doesn’t say anything after a several long moments, I ask, “Winter, do you still want to marry me?” It kills me to ask it, mostly because I’m scared shitless about what the answer might be, but if we’re going to work through whatever issues we’ve got, one of us has to ask the tough questions, and it’s sure as hell not going to be bury-her-head-in-the-sand Winter.

She stares at me, darting her gaze between my eyes, and gives a nod. “Yes.”

I don’t even realize how much tension I was holding in my shoulders until her answer causes me to blow out a relieved breath, my entire body relaxing as I do so. “Glad we’re on the same page there.” I smile, giving her a soft kiss. “So you want to marry me, and you’ve spent the past several months trying to figure out how to be a better partner . . . a better wife, right?” The words are ridiculous—were ridiculous when she told me the first time, and feel even more ridiculous coming out of my mouth. If I wasn’t completely happy with Winter as she is, why the hell would I have proposed in the first place? I still don’t understand why she hasn’t gotten that yet.

She gives me another slow nod, but this time, her forehead’s creased, like she’s trying to figure out where I’m going with this.

“Well, here’s the thing. There’s some crazy talk going around that open, honest communication is the key to a successful marriage.” I hook my fingers in her back belt loops and rub my thumbs along the small of her back. “So you can bring me all the extra candy you want—don’t think I haven’t noticed that, by the way—and I can take you to surprise weekend getaways, but if we don’t have the basics down . . . Baby, we’re doomed. I need you to talk to me. Can you do that?”

I can see the minute she realizes I’m right. That she has to do this if she wants our relationship to survive the next fifty years. And she does see it—that much is clear as I watch her expression change. How she goes from scared to resigned to determined.

Finally, she nods. “You’re right. I know you are. And I want to talk to you, I do. But”—she glances down, watching the movement of her hand as she trails it down my chest to rest over my heart—“can you give me a little time alone? Just to get my thoughts in order?”

If a while by herself is what she needs to work up the courage to talk to me about whatever has been bothering her, I’ll give it to her. Honestly, I’d give her a lifetime if it made it easier for her. “Sure, baby, whatever you need. How about I go find something for dinner?”

She blows out a breath, her body finally relaxing as she wraps her arms around me in a hug. “Thank you.” Her voice is quiet next to my ear, just the barest of whispers, but I hear it all the same.

If I thought the past week was long, I’m willing to bet it’s going to have nothing on how long the next couple hours will feel.

* * *

C
ade’s been gone
for over an hour, but this panic bubbling into my throat hasn’t lessened at all. With two words, he succinctly summed up exactly what I’ve been feeling for the past several weeks.
Time’s up
. But how do I tell him that? How do I share with him fears that don’t even make sense to me? Fears I know are unfounded, but are there all the same, weighing me down, tainting everything. It’s like all the stress of a wedding multiplied by a thousand, because one thought plays over and over in my mind, like a broken record.

What if I’m not enough to keep him?

I have no family, all but one of the friends I’m lucky enough to have in my life have come from him, and I have no fucking idea how to give him the kind of life he deserves—the kind of
family
he deserves.

If I can’t keep him, not only would I lose him—the only person who’s ever loved me for me—but I’d lose the people I’ve come to consider family, despite how badly I’ve tried to avoid it.

There’s only so much heartbreak a person should be expected to suffer in a lifetime. I’m just not sure I could survive the aftermath of being left again.

Even having this all worked out in my head, I have no idea how to go about actually sharing it with Cade, despite the fact that I know he’s right. If I want our marriage to survive, I need to be able to be honest with him about this—about
everything
. The kicker, though, is that I don’t even know what he could possibly do to actually help. It’s not as if he doesn’t show me he loves me. His fear that I would feel like I was second place to his career couldn’t be further from the truth. It’s actually a bit of a relief to know he has certain doubts, too, but that he’d doubt for a minute that I see his love every day in the little—and big—things he does for me is crazy.