Dirty Secret (The Burke Brothers #1)(38)
Author: Emma Hart

“Respect and forgiveness don’t always go hand in hand. I understand.” I cover his hand with mine. “I wouldn’t forgive me or respect me, you know?”

“But I do.” He tightens his grip on me slightly. “I do respect you. Shit, how many times have you done a night like that since she was born? How many times have you held her while she cried or taught her a new word? How many times has she screamed your name because she needed you, huh?”

I shrug a shoulder and avert my eyes.

“Mila is amazing—strong-willed, yes, but amazing—and that’s because of you.” He tugs my face so I have to look at him again. “You. It doesn’t matter what you did, because what you’ve done since makes me respect you.”

“Then at least hate me. C’mon, you gotta give me somethin’ I want.”

“Never.” He lowers his face to mine and brushes his nose along mine. “I can’t hate you, Sof. I tried. I tried so fucking hard, but I love you too damn much.”

“It would be easier if you didn’t.”

“Oh, yeah.” He pulls back, running his fingers down my neck. “So much easier, but it doesn’t work that way. I can’t just stop lovin’ you because it would be better. Just like you can’t stop lovin’ me. It’s not a switch we can flick off.”

I look at the floor. He’s right. No matter how much we wish there wasn’t anything between us, we can’t deny that there is. And it’s the kind of thing that will always be there, because if two and a half years apart doesn’t change our feelings, then being together now won’t either.

I take his hands in mine. “I need to tell you something,” I whisper.

Taking a deep breath, I pull him into the front room to the sofa. But my eyes are drawn away from his face and to the window, and then they narrow. I drop Conner’s hands and walk slowly to the window.

“Sof?”

“Shit,” I breathe, seeing the horde of people gathering outside the house. “Shit, Conner. Shit!”

“What?” He joins me at the window with a hand on my back.

“They know who I am.” I wrap my arms around my waist. “They know she’s here.”

It’s like déjà-fucking-vu.

I grab my phone from my pocket and dial Tate’s number. Sofie wraps her arms around herself, and I reach for the curtains. I pull them shut just as my brother answers.

“They’re on their way,” he says. “Leila just showed us.”

“Good. How do we get Mila out safely?”

There’s a shuffle, then Jenna comes on the line. “Hide her one last time. Come through the woods to the house. We’ll call Marc, put out an official statement, then go from there. Okay?”

Sofie’s still staring at the curtains¸ unmoving.

“Okay,” I answer, hanging up.

I drop my phone and hug Sofie from behind. I press my face into her neck, kissing the place where her shoulder meets her collarbone, but she still doesn’t move.

“I’m sorry,” I say again.

“What for? Being you?” She pushes my arms off and turns toward me. “Don’t be. I knew what I was doing dating a future rock star in the first place. I knew what I was doing when I came back here. This isn’t your fault. This is theirs.”

She circles my waist with her arms and rests her cheek against my bare chest. I heave a sigh and wrap my arms around her shoulders, letting my chin rest atop her head.

“What do we do now?” she asks quietly. “We can’t hide anymore.”

“We put out an official statement telling them what they need to know. Nothing more and nothing less.”

“Then what?” she whispers again. It’s almost as if her voice has given up, like it’s too much for her to speak. “Then what do we do, Con?”

I smile and hook a finger beneath her chin. I lift her face to mine. “Then we fuck with them.”

She tilts her face to the side. “I’m not sure if I should be excited or worried.”

My smile morphs to a grin. “Both.”

Mila yells upstairs, this time a big “Hello? Hello?” and Sofie’s smile mirrors mine.

“Come on.” I let her go reluctantly. Shit, she felt so good in my arms.

I follow her upstairs and realize she never told me what she was going to say. “Hey, what were you going to tell me?”

She shakes her head. “It can wait. It’s not important.”

We walk into Mila’s room, and I pick her up. Sofie gets her some clothes and, at my insistence, lets me take her downstairs to change her. Mila talks to Bunna the whole time, cooperating in such a way that I’m sure someone switched her for another baby in the last few hours.

Sofie comes downstairs and gets Mila’s bag ready. She loops it over the back of the stroller after a few minutes and straps her in.

“Are you ready?” She looks at me, standing straight, determination written all over her face.

The way her lips are pouted in defiance makes me want to step forward and kiss her again, let my tongue roam through her mouth and melt away any uncertainty she might feel.

“My shirt?” I raise my eyebrows.

“You never wear one. Why bother now?” She pushes Mila through the kitchen and into the yard.

I laugh and jog after her, then take the stroller. I’m surprised at how willingly she lets me. Maybe she’s too busy being mad at the media and whoever sold out her identity to be bothered with me.

A part of me wants to take advantage of this. An eight-inch part of me.

I lift Mila’s stroller up the porch steps at my house and Sofie unstraps her. I park it outside and grab the bag. Mila knocks at the door with her tiny, chubby fists and squeals.

“Nana! Poh! Tay!” she chimes, banging incessantly. “Nana! Poh! Tay!”

Sofie looks at me with a raised eyebrow. “Looks like Tate has a mini-groupie.”

I laugh and open the door to save our daughter the pain of shouting any longer without a response. “Something like that.”

Mila looks around the kitchen and then trots into the front room. “Tay!” she exclaims.

I drop her bag on the kitchen floor and follow her in.

She’s storming to Tate, pouting and frowning, and he holds his arms out. “I’m sorry, Mila. I didn’t hear you over Auntie Leila!”

“I’m gonna kill her!” Lei turns and shoots daggers at me and Sofie.