The Rivals - Dylan Allen Page 0,49

I tell her. “Come live with me.”

Her breath hitches, and she drops her face into my neck.

“I haven’t found a job yet, Hayes,” she responds mournfully, and there’s an instinctive tightening in my chest.

I knew this is what she’d say. I force myself to relax. But, I can’t do anything about the urgent beat of my heart. It wants this too much. Needs it too much.

“I can help you with your job search,” I remind her.

“I shouldn’t need help. I have an excellent resume. I’m the fucking expert in a whole practice area,” she says, and her voice is full of frustration that cuts at me. “There’s not a single environmental law practice worth anything that’ll hire me. I think I’ve been blackballed,” she fumes.

“If you would let me make a call—”

“No, Hayes. I don’t want that,” she fusses at me.

“Is your pride more important than being with me?” I ask her quietly.

“That’s not fair. And I shouldn’t have to choose,” she shoots back, pulling herself back from me.

“Life isn’t fair. And I don’t see why it’s a choice. Why does your pride take a hit from letting the man who loves you help you? Wouldn’t you help me if I needed it?”

“As if you’d ever need my—” Her eyes widen and her hands cover her mouth.

“You lo-love me?” she stutters through the finger she pressed to her lips.

Her wide, blue eyes are full of surprise. They glitter in the gloaming light and the ire that was in them from our argument is gone. Joy—unfiltered, unadulterated, replaces it. She’s fucking beautiful right now, and I wish I had my phone so I could capture her like this.

“Of course I do. I’m sorry you’re surprised by that,” I say and lean in to kiss her soft, pliant mouth. She doesn’t kiss me back, so I pull back.

“You don’t need to say anything,” I tell her quickly. And I mean it. I know Confidence loves me, too. Of that, I have zero doubt. So, I go back to the subject that I’ve prepared to stand my ground on. “Just tell me you’ll think about moving,” I add.

She smiles, but there’s still hesitation there.

“I will think about it, but first I want to visit. Meet your family. Is that okay? Just feel like things are more certain. Do you understand?” she asks.

“Are you not sure ... still?” I ask, unable to quell the irritation.

“About us, of course, I’m sure,” she says, and her hands cover mine. She tries to reassure me with her smile, but I don’t return it.

“You’ll never understand, Hayes, how badly I need to get there on my own. I know you’re not him. I know you’d never humiliate me like that, but I also need to be able to feel at peace when I lay my head down at night. That will come from knowing that I got a job because I deserved it and not because anyone helped me,” she pleads with me to understand.

And, I do understand. I just don’t like it.

“You lying next to me without me having to think about what time we’re leaving for the airport the next day would go a long fucking way to doing that for me,” I snap.

She snags her floating dark green bikini top and smiles up at me. “Come here,” she says and steps out of the tub.

“So, I’ll visit?” she asks and I look up at her. Her eyes are pools of blue destiny, and I can see my future in them.

“Yes, but please let me send my plane,” I say.

“How about you just buy an economy class ticket?” she asks, and I stop and place my hands on her shoulders and turn her to face me.

“You’re going to have to be comfortable with the fact that I have money. I’m not ashamed of it. I’m going to spend it. And sometimes it will be in frivolous ways that are simply about making my life simpler. We grew up differently. My world is different. And there are parts of being in it that aren’t always comfortable, but they’re necessary.”

“Necessary for what?” she asks.

“To preserve order. To preserve the legacy my ancestors built. To repair the damage that’s been done by the vacuum of leadership my father’s death created.”

“What will your legacy be, Hayes?” she asks and crosses her arms over her chest.

“I don’t know. It’s larger than me. My family, what I do with my time as head of it will be here long after I’m gone.