Page 106 of The Wrong Brother

Despite everything, despite the panic clawing at my insides and the uncertainty threatening to drown me, I almost laugh.

“Get in line.”

His gaze snaps to mine. I’m not smiling. Neither is he.

Rus sets the test carefully on the coffee table as if it’s fragile. Maybe it is. Maybe everything is. Then he turns back toward me.

“Listen to me, Emma.” His voice remains calm, but there is a force beneath it that commands my full attention. “He had no right. He had no right to make that decision for you. No right to pressure you. No right to tell you what your future should look like.”

Something inside my chest twists painfully. All these months later, hearing someone say it is everything I didn’t expect and everything I’ve needed. I’ve spent so long convincing myself it wasn’t that bad that I forgot how angry I used to be.

Rus takes a step closer, not enough to crowd me, but just enough to be close.

“If you had wanted that, it would have been your choice. And if you didn’t? Still your choice.”

He exhales slowly and drags a hand through his hair. Then his gaze drops briefly toward my stomach.

When his eyes return to mine, something has changed.

The rage is still there, and so is the possessiveness, but beneath both is something softer.

“If you want to keep this baby,” he says quietly, “I will do anything for you.”

My heart stutters.

“Rus—”

“Anything. I don’t care what it costs. I don’t care what changes. I don’t care what plans have to be altered.”

My throat tightens, and he steps closer again, tentatively closing the distance between us. But not touching me. Everything in me wants to reach out to him.

“If this is what you want, then I will take care of both of you.”

“Why?” The question escapes before I can stop it. His eyes narrow, as if the answer should be obvious. Then he looks away, hiding…something.

“I don’t know.” His laugh is humorless. “Perhaps because I’m selfish.”

“Rus.”

“Perhaps because the thought of someone forcing you into anything makes me want to tear Denver apart.”

My chest aches because I believe him—every word. Which makes this both harder and easier. I sink onto the edge of the sofa, head crowded with thoughts that I can’t get organized.

A baby. A future. One I hadn’t planned, but then, for the past two years I’ve been operating on autopilot—ready to run, unsure of what’s next.

“I need time.” The admission tumbles out of me, meant as much for myself as for him. Rus takes a slow breath, but doesn’t react. At least not right away.

Then, there’s a shuttering; his eyelids droop, just slightly, and he takes a subtle step back. The fact that hurts surprises me.

“Okay.” That’s it; nothing more.

Feeling like I can’t breathe, I explain haphazardly, “I need time to think.”

“You have it.”

“I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

He nods. “Then think.”