And that was the worst part of this entire unexpected ordeal.
Skye was going to be one more reason Brennan couldn’t trust his own heart. Just like his first girlfriend, and just like Liza or whoever it was that he was talking about. That seemed like one of the worst things you could do to a person.
“Dude,” cut in a new male voice. “What the fuck did you do, Frankie?”
“Me?” Frankie leaped from the couch, stood in front of Skye and Liza, and held her palms out toward them as if presenting them as exhibit A. “I did not do this, Luke. They did this to themselves.”
“Hey, bruh, Frankie made your wifey cry.”
Quick footsteps pounded across the house, and Connor appeared in the back living room. He marched to the couch, dropped himself next to Liza, and gently pulled her into his arms. “What the hell did you do, Frankie?”
“Oh my God.” Frankie scoffed. “I didn’t do anything.”
A guy sporting an outgrown high-and-tight haircut and a well-fitting white t-shirt that highlighted his large, sculpted physique suddenly dropped himself on the coffee table in front of her. He held out his hand. “Luke Martinelli.”
She sniffled and shook his hand. “Skye.”
“Lemme ask you something, Skye,” he said, shaking her hand slowly, pewter eyes trained intensely on her face, and anxiety rushed from her core to her extremities.
Her mind flooded with snippets from before.
A man. Young like Luke was. Late twenties. Pewter eyes. A military man who’d just come home from overseas. His large hand wrapping around her neck while he choke-fucked her and then fell asleep, and then woke up, and then forced her to bend over her so he could fuck her again. The second time, he’d shoved his dick in her ass and didn’t even have the decency to give her a heads-up. He’d injured her in a way that left her unable to sit properly for a week.
Skye couldn’t remember that guy’s name. What were the odds that Luke was him?
That was the other thing. Even if everything else was perfect, here in New Orleans, there was always a possibility of Skye bumping into men who’d fucked her. If—in some perfect, alternative, fairytale world—she and Brennan were actually together, there would always be the potential for them to bump into men she’d been with.
If Luke was about to call her out for that, it would just be over. She would just excuse herself and disappear, and that would have to be that. There’s no way Brennan would be okay with the fact that she’d—
“Did Frankie over here proposition you and your man?” Luke asked after a dramatic pause, pointing his thumb over his shoulder.
Relief surged through Skye with such intensity that she became lightheaded and nearly collapsed against the couch. She shook her head. Luke stood up and parked his hands on his narrow hips, giving Frankie a shit-eating grin.
“Oh my God, that was only the one time!” Frankie hollered.
Brennan marched into the room and dropped a bag of food on the coffee table, and then he sat on the couch next to Skye. He picked up her hand and cupped her cheek, and all the while his beautiful face was contorted with worry.
“What’s wrong? What happened?” He stroked the back of his hand against her cheek. “You look pale.”
Skye opened her mouth to say something, but thank God Liza chose that moment to speak up from the other end of the couch.
“Everything’s okay, B.,” she assured him through a more controlled, yet still totally weepy voice.
Brennan turned to her with a knitted brow. “Why are you both crying?” His eyes widened, and the color drained from his face. “Did something happen? Did anybody come by here?”
“No, we’re fine,” Liza said, wiping her nose. “My baby hormones are making me crazy, and Skye just…” She waved the tissue. “…caught my tears.”
“I think we’ve got a couple of ladies here who are either very hungry or very tired or both,” Connor added.
“Or they’re both pregnant.” Frankie reached to ruffle her fingers in Brennan’s tousled hair. “I hope you wrap your shit up every time, Riley. Five weeks is about when—”
“Frankie.” Brennan leaned his head away from her hand. “Are you serious right now?”
“I just think that would be cute.” She shrugged and picked up the bag. “Thanks for the lunch, bruh.”
Brennan turned back to Skye, his gaze briefly lingering on Liza, before he looked at Skye with concern. “Honey…you look sick.”
She felt sick, too. About all of it. “I’m just tired.”
