No Turning Back (Breaking the Rules #4) - A.M. Madden Page 0,63

the very real possibility I could unintentionally mess up their lives.

One could argue I was the person I was today because of my messed-up childhood, and they’d be right. What they wouldn’t know was that I’d perfected suppressing every single one of my negative emotions. Sure, I got that life happened. When my parents married, they hadn’t considered my dad’s career could ruin their marriage, that it could affect me as it had. Why would they? They were in love.

Millions of people made the same decisions every day, bringing children into this world with little else to build their lives on but love. Most fared just fine despite their lives forever changing because of divorce. And then there were those like me, where it left an indelible scar on my heart and a tremendous amount of guilt.

Because of me, my mother had spent the rest of her years alone, loving my father from afar. If I hadn’t been born, I knew she would’ve been with him until the day she died. So as that child who’d caused her life-altering sacrifice, I now had to carry that accountability with me for the rest of my life.

At that moment, Ryder’s eyes caught mine, and he frowned. I quickly adjusted the contemplative expression that had unconsciously slipped over my face, but when he began walking toward me, I knew he didn’t buy it. Predictably, a soaking-wet Kayla followed right behind him.

Thoughts of my parents dissipated with each step he took as my eyes drank him in. Ryder was a beautiful man. Tanned, toned, and temptingly sexy in black swim trunks and nothing else. By the time he reached me, the only expression on my face was one of longing.

“Hey,” he said before leaning over me to plant a wet kiss on my lips. The moisture dripping off his body felt good in the heat. “You okay?”

“I’m great.” My admission prompted him to go in for another kiss, one that progressed inappropriately, considering where we were.

When logic tapped on my conscience, I pushed him away. A flash of annoyance slowly morphed into understanding as he also remembered our hostess. “Sorry,” he mumbled with a not-very-convincing shrug before plopping in the chair beside me.

“Oh, no worries. I get it.” While my cheeks flamed red, Rebecca continued to grin on her side of the table. “Ricky can attest to the fact Marco and I were hard to be around when we started dating. I could only imagine how much worse it would’ve been if we had the history you two do.”

“Speaking of. Do you remember what tomorrow is?” Ryder asked, and then deliberately paused.

I searched my brain, and the significance of the date slammed into my memory. “It’s the day we met six years ago,” I responded with a smile. He nodded and pecked my lips with a chaste kiss.

Wondering if he knew that all along, Rebecca clapped excitedly. “Congratulations. How did you two meet?”

Ryder took my hand in his and seized the opportunity to recount the way our first initial and common last name had brought us together on that fateful day.

At the two-month mark of pregnancy, the dreaded morning sickness kicked in. Nothing appealed to me. The smell of garlic would cause bile to rise, and I learned the hard way that salads were no longer my friend.

Being a pescatarian limited my choices, and Ryder made it his mission to find something that I could tolerate, with little luck. So far, shellfish, tuna, most vegetables, and eggs were all a no go. The small list I existed on was saltines, applesauce, bread, plain pasta, and decaffeinated tea. So far, nothing seemed to break through the constant nauseousness plaguing me.

I worried the babies weren’t getting proper nutrients, but Dr. White assured me the fetal vitamins I’d been prescribed were playing that role. Meanwhile, Ryder made no apology that it was my well-being with which he was concerned. I could say the same about him. At the rate I was going, we’d both be losing weight. As I nibbled on crackers, to spare me discomfort, he would eat a bowl of cereal.

When a few days went by with him eating little more than that, I insisted he eat something more substantial. That prompted him to take over cooking while cautiously trying to keep aromas at a minimum.

Most of the time, like tonight, he brought in a bland meal for himself, along with my pasta, and another experimental dish in hopes I could eat it without wanting