“You’re talking about a divorce like it’s a trip to the nail salon,” Kane said and there was grit in his voice now.

“I know, bro. I know. But not all marriages were like yours or ended like yours, either.”

She bounced her gaze from him to me in the screen. “It’ll be fine. You two can do this.”

I shook my head. For a moment, it sounded great. Until that divorce word. Until reality crashed down.

Marry a stranger? There was no way I could ask this of him.

I pointed at Heather. “I think you’ve officially spent too much time in front of a steaming oven, Heather. I love you, but—”

“I’ll do it.”

The. Fuck?

“What?” I froze.

Heather’s jaw hit the floor.

Kane faced me. “She’s getting carried away with some of it. But I can see it working. If he really expects you to move home and still be with him, it’s the fastest way to get him off your back.”

A clapping sound echoed, and I turned to the noise to find Heather bouncing in her seat and clapping. “Yay! See Emmersyn!? I told you he’d say yes and now we can be sisters for real! Or for fake… or temporarily—”

Kane spun the phone so I couldn’t see the screen and his finger hovered over the end call button.

“Night, sis,” he said.

“Night brother and future sis!”

He hit a button and tossed the phone on the counter loud enough to rival a gunshot.

Well shit.

Now what?

Eight

Kane

I blamed the damn dress. The way it hugged her body and showed off her curves.

The excitement in her eyes as she thanked me for her things before she got on FaceTime with Heather and me.

I blamed my lack of sleep last night and a long fucking day and then I blamed Emmersyn for showing up at my place, looking beaten, and having curves for days. My hand still felt the warmth of her back from touching her earlier.

Mostly, I blamed my damn dick that hadn’t cared to be used by anything else other than my hand for three long ass years for this catastrophe.

Get fucking married?

Again?

I didn’t even want to date a woman again. Much less love her. Marry her.

That’s not what this was, though. Love had nothing to do with this. This was about keeping Emmersyn safe and giving her a chance to be free from an epic asshole.

“Um. I know I’ve been in the room for this conversation and everything, and I’m not stupid, but well… explain to me what’s happening here? And also, I would like to understand what kind of drugs you’re on as well.”

Good question. Maybe the trainers spiked my after-practice smoothie drink with something.

“I’m not on any drugs.” My hands slammed to my hips, and I inhaled a deep breath.

Calm. I need to be calm. Regain some rationality.

The scent of her perfume or body soap infiltrated my senses, making me dizzy. Jesus. This was not helping one damn bit.