“What?” I whisper. “But all—”
She shakes her head. “After my first time with you, there was no one else.”
“No one?”
“No one.”
Oh God, I could kick myself. I can’t say the same, and Lainey knows it. Yet she’s not ridiculed me for it. “Then why did you see them all, Lainey?”
“To tell them that I couldn’t see them.” Her glassy eyes bore holes into me, begging me to understand her. “Please don’t give up on me, Ty. I’ll face any fear for you. Water. My past. Anything.”
My lids drop, my eyes squeezing shut. Despite my turmoil and everything that’s happened, I can’t let go of her. Or, most significantly, my heart won’t let me. But I can’t stand any more secrets. If we’re doing this, we’re wiping the slate clean. A fresh start. “What did you lose, Lainey?” Her explanation that she lost her mind is rubbish, even if she did. She must have for us to be here in this mess. But there’s something else, something significant that she stopped herself from sharing. “No more secrets,” I say, seeing sadness settle in her eyes.
“A baby.”
“What?” I whisper.
Her legs loosen from around my waist, telling me she’d rather face the scary water alone than face me and talk about it. She lost a baby? I blow out a shocked breath, but pull her back up to me, not willing to let her go, but also not willing to force her into telling me more.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, feeling the hurt radiating from her body and seeping into mine as I put her back where she should be, against my chest. “We don’t have to talk about it.” My mind is filled with sorrow and a million questions, but I don’t ask them. I won’t force her into feeding my need to know about this.
“I knew he was cheating. And I know it’s stupid of me, but I thought the baby might change things. I was twenty weeks pregnant.” I feel her swallow against me, clinging tighter. “I went for my routine scan and they couldn’t find a heartbeat. She’d died in my womb.” Her pulse is quickening, and I squeeze my eyes closed. “I had to deliver her soon after because the doctors were worried about an infection setting in. And then I hemorrhaged and they had to operate to remove some retained products. My womb didn’t take too kindly to the invasion. They told me I wouldn’t be able to conceive again.” Her voice breaks, and my heart splits for her. “He left me shortly after that.”
“Oh, Lainey,” I sigh, wondering what kind of monster her ex-husband was.
“So, you see. I really am broken.”
“No.” Her comment, filled with belief, makes me so mad. I pull her from my chest. “You are not broken. It’s that bastard who’s the broken one in this.” Who would do that?
“Knowing I could never have everything with a man made me convince myself that I wanted nothing. That I hated men. It was easier that way. And now . . . now there’s you.” She swallows. “And I can’t give you everything.”
“I don’t want everything. Just you.”
“I can’t give you children, Tyler.”
I grate my teeth, the news having no effect on my fortitude. “I want you more than I want children.”
She smiles sadly. “You say that now. You don’t know how you’ll feel in a year. Or two. I don’t want you to resent me.”
“There are other ways,” I say without thought, never dreaming I’d be having a conversation about having kids. Or, as it seems, not having them. “We could adopt. There are thousands of children out there who need good homes.”
That sad smile widens, a piece of true happiness appearing. “You’d do that?”
“Hell, yeah.” I cannot believe the words coming out of my mouth, and more significantly, that I truly mean them. “I mean, if you wanted to.”
“I want everything with you,” she declares, throwing her arms over my shoulders and squeezing me fiercely, a short, brief hug before she’s back out and looking at me, as if something important has just come to her. “Except one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Marriage. Don’t ever ask me to marry you. Okay?”
I smirk. “Okay.”
“Promise?”
“No.” I seal our lips and let my feet fall from beneath me, rolling us over in the water. The fact that she’s submerged doesn’t touch her.
Because I have her. Always will.
And my perfect chaos just turned into perfect love.
THE END
Need another JEM alpha fix? Artful Lies releases April 30, 2020, and it is an absolute stunner of a love story. Think This Man meets The Thomas Crown Affair.
Action, adventure, secrets, lies, and scorching hot sex, Becker Hunt in Artful Lies will keep you flipping the pages like a mad person.
Turn the page to meet him in Chapter One of Artful Lies.
ARTFUL LIES
Chapter 1
I NEVER IMAGINED I’D REALLY do this. I never dared to consider leaving my mum behind in our small village of Helston, but after years of battling guilt and grief, I’ve finally made it here, to London, where I’ve always wanted to be. Maybe a few years too late and definitely under shitty circumstances, but I’ve made it.
Mum will be fine. It’s what I’ve told myself repeatedly since I boarded the train. Her bright smile felt forced, her wave seemed hesitant, and her voice was shaking with emotion when she held me tightly and told me to show London what I’m made of. But I’m not sure what I’m made of. I’m yet to find out.
Mum will be fine. Mum will be fine. Mum will be fine.
I’d probably be more certain if Dad was there with her.
My father was a very traditional man. He owned a small antiques store, most of the stock worth peanuts. He used to say that the monetary value was of little importance – that more opulent art and antiques were more trouble than they were worth. I didn’t agree with him, though I learned over the years not to get into a debate over that. Many called my father eccentric. They were right. He was a character for sure, spent all his time lost in the mountains of junk he called his treasure, his spectacles resting on the end of his nose as he inspected, polished, or restored whatever piece he’d recently acquired. Mum used to call his shop Steptoe’s Yard. I used to call it the office.
I certainly inherited my father’s fascination of all things old, although I have always been drawn to the richer and more historical end of the art and antiquing spectrum. The more rarefied and desirable pieces. The real treasures of this world, not the dilapidated junk my father seemed to find. I’d aced my A levels, was sailing through a history degree at university, and was all set to chase my dream . . . and then Dad passed away. A brain tumour was diagnosed one week, the next he was gone. There was nothing to be done. There was also no time to come to terms with it before he was confined to his bed where he rapidly deteriorated to nothing. He was skin and bones. Half the man we knew. Mum was devastated. I was in shock. Dad was gone.
And so it was. My future was sealed. I sacrificed my dreams of venturing off into the big, wide world to keep Dad’s memory alive and his precious store open. The natural progression, I guess you could call it. It didn’t feel very natural to me. While Dad’s treasure held a certain fondness in my heart, it wasn’t the level of history I dreamed of exploring. But Mum needed me.