Waiting For Us (Beautiful Surrender #3)(2)
Author: Ava Claire

He left the bathroom with a heavy sigh. “It’s nothing, Melissa.”

I peered to my left, my reflection split into a million pieces. Fractured. But there was one thing that was clear. Something that forced me to follow him and demand the truth. “I’m not going to do this again.”

He stopped, two steps away from leaving the bedroom.

“There were so many things that I should have said to Jason. That he should have said to me. We didn’t talk,” I said, willing my voice not to break. It didn’t, even though just saying my ex’s name was enough to bring a barrage of pain and loss crashing into me. Threatening to pull me under. Even though it hurt, I thrust my head above water, air screaming in my lungs. “I don’t want to run from the difficult stuff because it’s easy. I don’t want secrets.” I stood tall before him, knowing that I was about to make an ultimatum of sorts. It had to be said, had to be done before I fell for Logan any harder. “If you want to be with me, then you have to let me in. I let you in—”

“You fought me tooth and nail,” he added, turning back to me slowly.

“True,” I confirmed, giving him an inch. “But I let you in. I admitted something that terrified me.” Emotion clutched my throat. “I was honest with myself, and you. I’m just asking for the same consideration.”

Those eyes of his, eyes that seemed to plow right through my defenses and see the me beneath it all, were so troubled. When he rushed a hand over his dark hair and gave me a crisp nod, I saw just how afraid he was…and it made me want to hear it, and be there for him, even more.

He gave me a look like he was a man staring down the barrel of a .45 and said the last thing I ever would have expected.

“I’m going to be a father.”

CHAPTER TWO

He waited for the blow to land. Waited for me to snap, ‘Fuck this!’ and abandon ship. It was shameful, but that thought had buzzed through my mind. After all, what did I really know about this man? Logan Mason—hot as hell, fingers that felt like heaven, and a c**k that made me wonder how I ever came without it inside me. Worth more money than I could wrap my mind around. And he had a celebrity girlfriend who apparently thought it was no biggie just to show up at his house.

A celebrity girlfriend that was pregnant, and Logan was the father.

That alone should have made me get the eff out of dodge, but my heart never did have much sense. Or maybe I was in shock. My mind seemed to be moving at lightning speed, but my body was stuck on pause.

Father.

Logan’s gonna be a father.

I knew it was selfish, but what did that mean for us? We weren’t even together, were we? I was going to go from lover, to girlfriend, to some sort of stepmom, in less than a week.

A throbbing pain filled my chest. I wanted kids of course. Some day. If Logan’s reaction was any indication, he was not on the procreation bandwagon.

“Are you okay?”

He grimaced as he cut a hand through his dark , wavy hair. “I’ve been better.” His eyes twitched with something that looked a lot like annoyance. He caught on to my attempt at deflecting almost immediately. “Are you okay, Melissa?”

I fidgeted, switching from one foot to the other like that would alleviate the knots in my chest. I refused to look him in the eye, even though I felt his gaze pulling me in. Commanding me even though I was locked onto his chest. “I’m fine.” It was a lie, one that sounded phony to my own ears. From the grunt in the back of his throat, he didn’t believe it either.

“Melissa—”

His fingertips grazed my cheek…and I lurched backward, my body instantly on alert. A cold sweat exploded all over me, my pulse raced, my heart galloped in my chest. I couldn’t help but look up at him as warmth clutched my face.

His expression was dark and pained as he raked over my beet red face. “You’re terrified of me, but you’re fine?”

“I’m not terrified of you,” I rebutted weakly. I knew my actions spoke louder than any words and in this case, every movement screamed that I was afraid of him. Deep down I knew it wasn’t quite so cut and dry. From the hurt that deepened his green eyes to emerald, I knew I needed to explain myself, and do it quick.

“I’m just overwhelmed,” I insisted. To stress the point, I took a step toward him and flashed a uncomfortable smile. “Would I do this if I was afraid of you?” I leaned forward and brushed my lips against his.

He didn’t return the kiss, breaking away. He gave me a look that didn’t hold a single note of joviality or humor. “This is about the mirror.” He flexed his hand. “I’m not—I don’t do that. I’m not someone that lets my emotions get the better of me. And the idea that I did something that frightened you, that made you feel like I would cause you harm…” He didn’t finish the sentence, but the words were seared into his eyes. Anguish. Shame.

Forgetting my brief moment of fear I drew to him, both hands cradling his face. I went on my tiptoes, staring deep into those eyes filled with pain. I said the words that I knew were true, to my very core. Words I hadn’t been sure of a few minutes ago when everything seemed so blurry and confusing. I ignored the shatter of glass and listened instead to the thundering in my chest.

“I know you’d never hurt me, Logan. Well,” I added, injecting humor in my voice, “Not unless I asked to be hurt.”

He didn’t relax or even crack a grin. He still looked troubled, gently bringing my hands from his face and stepping backward. He glanced down at his battered fist, the knuckles still an angry red. He didn’t look at the wound like it brought him pain. His eyes bore into the broken flesh like one would gaze at an old friend that you hadn’t seen in years.

“When I was a kid,” he began, his voice a deep, relaxing river that rippled over my skin. “My knuckles looked like this more often than not.” He clenched his fist. “I wore it like a badge of honor. I was smaller than the other kids. My clothes weren’t name brand. Hell, for all I know they were the throw away clothes that my classmates sent to Goodwill. Recycled hand me downs so they could have the latest, coolest whatever. But these?” He brought his other fist to join the first, practically in a fighting stance. “This set me apart. It made me special. Feared.”

I swallowed, stomach knotting and twisting. I wasn’t sure what emotion I should turn to first. Guilt wasted no time stepping to the front. I wasn’t one of the kids that picked on the smaller kids with the hand me downs and dirty sneakers, but I didn’t stand up for them, or go out of my way to befriend them either. I’d rationalized it somehow, cleared my conscience by elbowing or chastising friends that went too far, or shook my head at their cruel jokes. But face to face with someone whose childhood was filled with hurt, who obviously needed someone to be his friend and an ally in some way other than just in spirit and silence, my conscience didn’t feel so clear. Being silent seemed like as great a sin as the ones committed by the tormentors.