Page 119 of Reckless Love

Stephen

Imeet her plane on the tarmac.

After Ava called me, sobbing, barely able to catch her breath, I took Landon to Gage’s house to spend tonight with his cousins. Ava wasn’t able to get anything coherent out. Through tears, she kept repeating she was trapped, and everything was her fault.

We might be in a tight spot, but I refuse to believe we’ve got no way out. There are options, however unsavory or dangerous they might be.

As soon as the plane’s stairs are lowered, I go up them two at a time instead of waiting for her to come down. We meet at the top, and the relief and longing that mingle in her expression makes me want to wage every war in her honor. Everything in me expands as though I’m one more blow away from becoming the Hulk. Fuck anyone who makes her feel like this. Especially Raul, who definitely caused her tears. I wipe away the ones that fall down her cheeks, and then I kiss her temple and her forehead.

“We’ll figure it out,” I murmur.

Then I scoop her into my arms, her dress fluttering in the breeze as I carry her down to the waiting car.

I could have gotten us a driver, but she’s still skittish about being driven by anyone but herself or me. She’s in no state to drive, and I don’t know what kind of shape I’ll be in once she’s able to tell me what happened.

A murderous one, I suspect.

If he’d died, everything would have worked out perfectly. Of course, if the accident had been worse, I might have a strong connection to the Hulk for a different reason. As it was, Ava and Landon were almost killed.

I set her in the back seat of the car, and instead of getting into the front, I slide into the back with her. While I hold her, she cries and cries, clinging to my shirt. Unsure of what to say, how to ease her pain, I just hold her.

Inside, I brace myself to hear that the price Raul intends to exact is too high, that she can’t leave him, that what we have together can’t counter what she’ll lose. Men like Raul don’t like to be defeated, and they have no problem breaking or bending anything in their way.

Her tears begin to subside, and in a shaky voice, she tells me what Raul said—her company, her son.

“If it was just the company,” she says, “I’d give that up for you.” Her chin trembles, and when she tries to suck in a breath, another sob cracks. “But Landon…? Raul isn’t even a good father. If Landon is actually yours, they can’t take him, can they?”

I sit back in the seat, and I draw her close to me again, running my hand down her back as more sobs wrack her frame. Somehow, I need to wrangle my rage and fear. Getting sucked into her emotions isn’t going to solve the problem before us. There are moves I can make, but they’ll be the riskiest I’ve ever made. So I have to know whether I’m a fool to even consider it.

“Tell me,” I say, my voice rough with emotion, “tell me exactly what you’d want if you could have it all tomorrow.”

She pulls away from me, sweeping her tears off her cheeks, and she searches my face. “I’d divorce Raul. I’d be with you. You and I and Landon would be a family. Like we have been. Like we could be.” Her voice hitches. “But any time I think about that—you know what I really wish?”

I shake my head.

“I wish I could rewind time. I’d get my own DNA test, and I’d never trust my mother. Then I’d blackmail Owen into telling me where he sent you. And I’d find you. I’d kick down your door, and I’d never let you leave me again.” She collapses against me. “Or when I really, really think about it,” her voice wobbles again with her temple pressed to my chest, “I’d go back to your old apartment, and I’d tell you that of course I’d marry you—today, tomorrow, any day you want—because I’ll never love another man the way I love you.”

She sniffs, clearly holding back more tears, but god, are her words ever filling up all the empty spaces that have lived inside me like potholes since that night.

“And then when I found out I was pregnant, Landon would have been a joy, a life to celebrate, a gift.”

“I would have loved either of those versions,” I say, pressing my lips against the top of her head.

“But I was too afraid to claim that life the first time. Or maybe I couldn’t see it, didn’t know how to picture anything other than what we already had. We were so dysfunctional, but we’re not anymore. We’re ready for each other, and I…” Her voice grows thick again. “I want the future I could have with you.”

“What does that look like?” A life with her is something I’ve wanted for so long, but I’m not sure I could ever clearly picture it either. We led such separate lives.

“We’d buy a house together, but not some giant, hollow mansion. A real home. Not too big because I want to see and know the people who live with me.”

“By the ocean.”

“On a cliff, like Gage and Ember or Nathaniel and Hollyn. With a pool, and you can teach the kids to swim while I read my books. And a big kitchen—big enough for you to teach Landon how to cook whatever he wants to try making.”

“And a games room,” I chime in. “Maybe with a pool table, air hockey or ping pong or foosball.” I shouldn’t feed into the fantasy, as much as I want it. Getting her out of her marriage might prove easy, but keeping myself out of jail might be too high a bar. The thought of being the cause of her pain makes me briefly nauseous, but I don’t know if I can give her both—a release from her marriage and a life with me. At least if she’s out of her marriage, she doesn’t have to bow to whatever he intends to force on her. That matters more than anything else. It has to.

“All of it,” she agrees, straddling me and pushing her hair back behind her ears. “Landon will get to live in a house with love, real love.”

I thread my hands through her dark hair, and I bring her forehead to mine, overcome with how much I want that future too, how clearly I can see what she’s just described. Other than the location, isn’t that what we have been living the last few weeks? Everything I never knew to want, never dreamed possible.