Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 52319 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52319 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
"You should have told me the truth, sweetheart," Mac says, his voice soft when he speaks to her. "I don't like knowing you've been dealing with all of this—both of you—and I didn't have a fucking clue."
"I'm sorry," she whispers. "I just…I didn't want to lose him. You shipped Bella off. I didn't want to be next."
Mac sighs, pulling her forward into his arms. "I didn't ship Bella off for the hell of it, Isla. I sent her because your sister doesn't always know when to stop. She doesn't always recognize danger, even when it's right in front of her. She's too goddamn fierce to realize that she's not infallible. That's not you. You aren't hellbent on conquering the entire fucking world singlehandedly. You know when to back off and when to protect yourself and your heart. She doesn't. She would have gotten herself hurt because she never learned that it doesn't have to be her versus everything."
"She knows, Daddy," Isla says. "Cormac is teaching her."
"Yeah. I know." Mac sighs like he's fucking miserable.
Isla squeezes him tight. "I love you."
"That's good, baby girl. I love you too. But you still haven't told me about that ring on your finger."
Fuck.
Isla squeaks, shoving her hand behind her back like that's going to undo the fact that he's already seen it. I'm betting he clocked it as soon as she got out of the damn truck. He's just been biding his time, waiting for her to tell him.
"Start talking, Isla Marie," he growls.
"Please don't be mad," she pleads, her bottom lip quivering. "We came to tell you, but then got sidetracked. And I came out here to tell you but got sidetracked again!"
"You're supposed to tell me before you get married, not after it's done." He cuts his eyes in my direction. "And you're supposed to ask for permission to marry my daughter."
Fucking hell.
"You always told us that we aren't property," Isla says. "We're our own people, and people don't belong to other people. You said it wasn't up to you to decide our futures for us, it was up to us. So he didn't need your permission, Daddy. He needed mine."
"I knew all those lessons about independence would come back to bite me in the ass one day," Mac mutters.
Isla smiles sweetly at him.
I clear my throat, drawing their attention. "I'd still like to ask for your blessing," I murmur to Mac. "And I know she'd like it too. You're her hero. You have been for her entire life. I can't promise that I'll always get it right. I'll make mistakes. But I can promise you that I'll love her just as fiercely, protect her just as carefully, and treasure her just as fully as you have since the day she was born. If we have a purpose in life, she's mine, sir. Loving her is the one thing I'm not willing to fuck up."
"I'm not willing to mess it up either," Isla whispers. "If I'd have known what to ask for, it would have been him, Dad."
"Fuck," Mac mumbles, pulling her into a hug before his eyes come to me again. "You have my blessing, Brantley."
I swallow hard, my throat burning with emotion. "Thank you."
"Welcome to the family, son."
Isla squeals, flinging herself out of her dad's arms and into mine. I catch her around the waist, pressing my lips to hers in a fierce kiss, pouring my love, my gratitude, my whole goddamn soul into it.
She kisses me back the same way, tears and laughter on her lips.
"I'm so damn proud of you," she whispers. "So damn proud, Brantley."
For once…I'm pretty fucking proud of me, too.
My mother is ecstatic when we stop by to share the news that we're married. She and Isla cling to each other and cry. They both swear they're happy tears, but I'm not entirely convinced.
We stay with her late into the night before I finally take my wife home. We fall into bed, still stripping each other bare. I spend half the night lost in her, making love to her again and again. We fuck until we're too exhausted to move, and then we sleep. Only to wake up and start all over. By the time the storm finally passes, and we're satisfied, I can't feel my goddamn legs.
Isla's sprawled across my chest, a boneless, satisfied mess. Beautiful in every way.
"What happens when your mom's statement hits the papers tomorrow?" she asks quietly. "What are you going to do?"
It's a good question. I've spent my entire life with the world thinking my father was someone he wasn't. I've spent the last four years keeping his secrets regardless of the cost. Tomorrow, people will either believe the truth or they won't. That's not up to me to decide. But for once, what they hear will be the truth. If they want to continue giving his memory power after that, I won't be helping them do it. And neither will my mother. We'll be doing what we should have done a long fucking time ago: Beginning to heal.