Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 128307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
“So you shifted your focus to these victims?” With a hook of his thumb, he highlights the women who had their biological children stolen from their wombs.
Dark locks brush my back when I disagree with his assessment. “I took the morning-after pill and continued my assignment as planned with my team. It was during a second appointment with Dr. Valdemar that I learned Plan B isn’t one hundred percent accurate.” Guilt hardens my tone. It is the same shamed tone I used when I tried to brush off Grayson’s worry that one of our fellow agents had sexually assaulted me years ago. “I thought I could have it taken care of, but…”
I barely choke on a sob I’m struggling to contain when Grayson moves to where I am quicker than a bolt of lightning brightening a moonless sky. His brisk strides whip up a smell that shouldn’t register as familiar after such a prolonged stint of absence, but does.
His support opens the floodgates—as it always does. “I’m not getting any younger, and since I have put so many years into finding Kendall, I thought maybe I could have something solely for me. It is selfish, and I feel horrible, but I couldn’t bring myself to walk into the clinic. It was a lot harder than swallowing a pill in front of my male colleagues.”
I can’t stand the tears welling up in my eyes—I despise them—but they nearly spill when Grayson’s calming voice cuts through the sob I’m struggling to contain. “That’s okay, Mace. It’s okay to want something for yourself.”
“Is it?” My voice is as raw as my heart feels. “Because it certainly doesn’t seem okay. I have no idea where my sister is, and even though I should be doing everything possible to bring her home, I got emotionally invested in something that doesn’t even belong to me.”
Grayson balks as if I slapped him. He’s mistaken my confession to mean that I used surrogate sperm and eggs. That wasn’t what I was referencing. I meant the joy my unborn child should give me but that I am reluctant to accept.
When you suffer a loss, you don’t just grieve what you lost. You grieve the life you will never live. I’ve not been in a relationship since Kendall’s disappearance. I have never given a man the chance to steal my focus away from her case for even a second. That’s how three years slipped by between our last visit and our reunion. But I’ve also never considered how fast the clock above my head was ticking until I stared at the jellybean-shaped blob on the ultrasound monitor in Dr. Valdemar’s office.
I hate my selfishness that day months ago, though I doubt I’d change anything if I could go back. This pregnancy, although unexpected, is my only chance at happiness.
Though unprofessional, and I’ll wallow in its pity for hours later, a childish tear topples down my cheek when the honesty of my statement smacks into me. I brush it away, but I’m not fast enough for a skilled marksman like Grayson to miss. He snatches up my wrist before I can assure him I am fine and pulls me into his chest like he did three years ago when I took the murder charge for a man snowed under with the grief I caused.
Maddox would have never killed Agent Moses if I hadn’t made out that the vehicle he was driving caused his only love’s death. He had loved Demi for years, and I should have known better than anyone how painful it would be to set aside that type of obsession as if it meant nothing. I’d done it for years before my ruse, and I am still doing it now.
I wanted to tell Grayson for months that I’m pregnant, but I chickened out every single time. Over two-dozen unsent emails sit in my drafts folder.
There’s one difference between Maddox and Demi and Grayson and me, though. Demi reciprocated Maddox’s feelings. Grayson never has mine. I shouldn’t be shocked. He’s the beloved golden boy of the FBI and drop-dead gorgeous. He could have anyone he wants. On a scale of one to ten, Grayson is an eleven, and I’m… me.
After giving me time to settle the wetness in my eyes I’m praying like hell Grayson will allow me to blame on hormones, he asks, “How long have we got?”
He says “we” with so much possessiveness that excitement burns away the last of my tears that his shirt didn’t catch. Don’t mistake what I’m saying. My response isn’t personal. I’m still wearing my agent hat. I worked my ass off on this case, and I was terrified the agent brought in to force me into maternity leave would steal it out from under me.
When I inch back and peer up at Grayson with glistening but leak-free eyes, he clarifies, “How long do we have until you can be selfish without feeling guilty?”