Shame the Devil (Portland Devils #3) - Rosalind James Page 0,163

waving now. She willed it back down. “Of course I am. Do you know how … how …” She wasn’t doing too good a job at this. She took a breath and kept going. “Right. I’m being honest. I need you to be honest, too. Just do it, Harlan. Just say it.” She did tie her robe now. “You’re right that I’m a strong woman, and I know how to be a single mom, too. I know you’re worried about hurting me. I’m telling you, stop worrying. I’m tougher than I look. Sure, I’m in love with you. Of course I am. How could I not be, with the way you are? I’m sure lots of women have been in love with you. That doesn’t make you obligated. Love doesn’t have to go both ways, and I know it. You need to do what you want, because I’m fine. I’m giving you permission.”

After that, she fled.

51

Physical Education

She didn’t cry. She did not cry. She’d needed to say this all week, she’d realized as soon as the words had started coming out of her mouth, and now she’d done it.

It was too bad she’d told him she loved him, of course, but even that … It wasn’t like he didn’t know it already, she’d bet. Harlan was no fool.

And another thing. The main thing. Her honesty was her strength. Honesty was the strongest thing there was, because once you were brave enough to be honest, there wasn’t much anybody could say that could cut through what you’d already put out there. Your truth was your sword and your shield.

That was why, instead of sitting on the bed and weeping again, she took her shower.

She wasn’t going over for dinner in her comfy maternity leggings and a long T-shirt. Not tonight. She’d wear her green dress, because she’d bought it herself and it made her feel pretty. She was going to have dinner with Harlan like an adult, and have an adult conversation. She was going to work out a new deal with him. Mark thought she couldn’t negotiate? She was going to be calm and cool, and you bet she was going to negotiate. She wasn’t a scared fifteen-year-old anymore, crushed by what other people whispered about her or sprayed onto her locker for everybody to see, or by the fact that an NFL star with too many problems and heartaches of his own, a man who was just doing his best to get through the world with some integrity and kindness, the same way she was, hadn’t fallen in love with her.

She was a full-grown woman carrying a baby boy who was going to be born to two parents who wanted him, and that boy would have a father who cared about doing it right. It was time to focus on that. Time to help Harlan realize how important that was, too. That he was enough, and he was going to be enough. That he would always be himself, and his self was good. Right down to the bone.

She knew that about herself. She wasn’t sure he did.

What did he do now?

He knew what he wanted to do. Take off after her, throw her over his shoulder—wait, no. Pregnant. Damn—Well, grab her, anyway, carry her to bed, and show her exactly what he thought of her plan.

Not right after you ran ten miles, bud. When you planned to knock a woman out with your power, it probably shouldn’t be the power of your stench.

He took a shower, got dressed in one big hurry, and headed over there.

He paused all the same before he knocked at her door. What are you doing here? What are you trying to say? Since he had no idea, he just went ahead and knocked.

And nothing happened.

He knocked again. Then a third time.

Silence.

A frozen moment, and he was downstairs again, checking the garage. Her car was still there, and the relief filled him. She hadn’t driven off to who-knows-where, determined to save her pride, to go it alone in some moldy apartment in a terrible neighborhood, because she was trying to save money for the baby, for Dyma, for her grandfather, for everybody except herself.

It wasn’t that he wouldn’t have gone after her, because you bet he’d have gone after her. But he couldn’t stand to think of her driving, wiping the tears from her eyes, knowing he’d let her down again.

But wait. If the car wasn’t gone …

That surge of near-panic again, and he was