Marry Me (63 page)

Brittney's former fiancé was in jail, unable to make bail, and permanently out of the picture. For whatever part he and Ken had played in preventing that farce, Matt was extremely grateful.

Now, she needed to hook up with someone worthy of her, someone who would love her as she deserved to be loved. Surely, there was some rich, obnoxious prick out there who fit the bill.

If it killed him to imagine it, if it killed him to think of her with another man, that was simply the price he had to pay for letting her go. He would
not
spend the rest of his life regretting that he was disabled, broke, and absolutely unsuitable for her.

Except that he thought about her constantly, wondering where she was, what she was doing, if she was okay. She was like a bad rash that kept popping up at the most inopportune moments.

When he was feeling particularly low, he'd wish he had a time machine so he could travel back and change the ending. It would be so sweet to come home and find her in the kitchen. It would be so sweet to hear that none of his terrible words had been spoken, that they'd never argued, that he'd never hurt her.

"Get a grip, Monroe," he muttered.

She was better off without him. She'd always be better off without him, and he had to stop pretending that he could have meant something to her.

He made the last turn that would take him down their street, and when he did, he hit the brakes and lurched over to the curb.

There was a moving truck in front of the house, and several burly laborers were lugging his ratty, worn couch down the sidewalk. They tossed it into the truck, which was partially full of a jumbled pile of other items that had been haphazardly pitched in. He studied the heap, seeing a familiar lamp, an old coffee table, his…bed and dresser?

"What the hell…?"

He slammed the car into park and stomped into the yard. The driveway was covered with ladders, tarps, and other paint supplies as if somebody was painting.

He stared down to the corner, checking the street sign, worried that he'd finally lost it, that he'd arrived at the wrong address by mistake. But no. He was at the right place.

Scowling, he went up the steps and into the living room. He shook his head to clear his vision, but it didn't help.

The house had been totally transformed. He felt as if he'd fallen into the pages of a magazine, as if a TV makeover crew had visited.

The walls were freshly painted, a warm peach shade that completely altered the ambiance. There was new furniture, new rugs, new drapes, lots of pillows, knitted throws, and potted plants. Their dreary bachelors' digs had vanished, and he should have been aghast, but it all looked so comfortable and inviting.

Jeremy bounced down the stairs. "Hey Matt, when did you get back?"

"I just pulled in."

His son gestured around at the appealing decor. "Pretty cool, huh?"

"Way cool."

"Want to see my room? It's the best one of all."

"In a minute, kiddo. Where's Ken?"

"Out in the backyard, talking to the bricklayers."

"Bricklayers?"

"They're putting in a stone patio so we can have parties and stuff. And guess what?"

"What?"

"There'll be a Jacuzzi—so you can soak in it when you're sore. Isn't that great?"

"Yeah, great…" Matt murmured. "Did we win the lottery?"

Jeremy grinned. "You could say that."

Matt stumbled away and headed into the kitchen. As he entered, the door opened, and Brittney waltzed in, Ken directly behind her.

"We weren't expecting you until tomorrow," Brittney said to Matt.

"What's going on?"

Instead of answering, she slipped an arm around his waist and kissed him on the mouth.

"Glad you're home safe and sound."

She was smiling, acting as if they'd never been separated a single day. Matt was so disoriented that he felt dizzy. He shifted away from her so he could balance himself against the counter.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

"What does it look like?" she replied.

"It
looks
like you bought us off and moved in."

"That about covers it." She rose on tiptoe and kissed him again. "I forgive you. Now stop being such a grump."

"She came back." Ken smirked. "I knew she would, and it gives me enormous pleasure to inform you that I was right about her and you were wrong."

"Has she been here all week?" Matt inquired.

"Yup. She arrived the minute you left for Aspen."

"We were hoping," Brittney explained, "to have everything finished before you returned. We almost made it."

"She wanted to take us over to live in that mansion of hers—"

"My brothers said I could have it," she interjected. "Lucas isn't selling it after all."

"—but I told her," Ken kept on, "that I'd just as soon stay here. She swore she'd only stay with me if I let her fix up this dump."

"Isn't that special," Matt sarcastically chided.

"She's rich," Ken retorted. "She won't miss a penny."

"I won't," Brittney agreed.

"I wasn't about to tell her
no
," Ken declared.

Matt glowered at Ken. "You've been planning this for awhile?"

"Yes," Ken blithely admitted.

"Behind my back? Do I live here too or don't I? Doesn't my opinion count?"

"No."

"Considering what a jerk you've been," Brittney added, "it wasn't as if we'd beg your permission."

He frowned, his confusion growing by the second. "I didn't ask for any of this."

"I know, but I'm giving it to you anyway," Brittney said. "So shut up, be gracious, and quit complaining."

He glared at her, at Ken. They were smug, grinning like a couple of kids who'd pulled off the best prank ever.

He wanted to shake them. Why was he the only one able to assess this situation in a realistic way? Why was he the only one who saw disaster looming?

He didn't want anyone to be hurt. Not her. Not Ken. Not Jeremy. And most particularly not himself. He couldn't bear to be hurt by her.

"We need to talk," he told her.

"Okay, but you have to promise not to shout."

"I'm not promising anything."

He grabbed her arm and led her to the backyard, but it was full of masons who were laying the new patio. He spun and dragged her to the living room, where two guys were bolting a big screen TV to the wall.

Wasn't there a quiet spot where a man could have a private conversation?

He started up the stairs, his fist still gripping her arm so she couldn't escape.

"Just so you know," Ken called from the kitchen, "she's staying. For good."

"We'll see about that," Matt grumbled.

"Yes, we will," Ken replied, "and if you don't like it,
you
can leave. 'Cuz I want her here more than you."

"Knock it off," Brittney scolded Ken. "We're not fighting, remember?"

"Tell him, not me," Ken said. "He's the one in the permanent bad mood."

Matt ignored him and continued up the stairs. The only room that didn't have frantic activity occurring was his bedroom. He hated to be sequestered with her in it, but he didn't have a lot of choices.

He yanked her in and closed the door. He'd meant to whip around and berate her for her brazen usurpation of his home and family, but he was momentarily flummoxed by the remodeled condition.

It was so darn…
nice
. A big new bed. Curtains and rugs in varying shades of green—his favorite color. Each little detail seemed to have been precisely selected to make him comfortable.

There were even some weights in the corner, the exact set he needed for the therapy on his arm, to keep it limber and flexible.

"This turned out great, didn't it?" She walked over to the bed and flopped down on it. "Ken told me the colors to order, and Jeremy suggested the weights. Are they the right ones?"

"Yes, they're the right ones."

She grinned a sexy, tempting grin. "Are you surprised?"

"Definitely."

"Then why are you staring at me as if you swallowed a prune? I swear, Monroe, you are the most contrary, disagreeable man I've ever met. I have no idea why I'm bothering with you."

"Would you get off my bed?"

"Make me," she taunted, but he wasn't about to approach her.

Him. Her. A plush mattress that was begging to be broken in. Nothing good could come from it.

He kept his feet firmly planted by the exit, his back pressed to the door.

"Do your brothers know where you are?" he asked. "Because they were over here once, barking at me, and I'd just as soon not have them over here again."

"Yes, they know I'm here. In fact, they insisted on it."

"They did not."

"They did. They travelled all the way to the Caribbean to convince me that I should give you another chance. What are you going to do about it?"

"Probably call them so they can drag your ass out of here."

"They won't. For some reason, they decided I'd be happy with you." She patted the quilt. "Climb in, Monroe. Let's try out this bed. See if it suits us."

"No."

"I didn't fix up that guest bedroom for myself. I'm sharing this one—with you."

At the notion, his heart literally skipped a beat. "You are not."

"I am. Check the closet if you don't believe me. I already hung up my clothes."

"You better not have. I won't have Jeremy thinking you sleep with me."

"Then I guess you'll have to marry me so I'm not a
fallen
woman." She batted her lashes. "Are you proposing?"

"Are you kidding me? No!"

"And for the record, I don't plan on
sleeping
when I'm in here with you."

Her eyes were alight with mischief. To her, this was a diversion, a lark. To him—to Ken and Jeremy—it was life and death. If they bonded with her, if they loved her, it would kill them when she left.

"Why are you doing this to me?" he inquired.

"Doing what?"

The fight went out of him. He reeled over to a chair—a sturdy guy's chair perfectly placed by the window so he could stare out at the Front Range—and toppled down into it.

"I'm just so tired, Brittney," he admitted. "I'm tired, and I always feel like crap."

"I know."

"I need to rest and heal and stagger through my world as best I can. I can't play this game with you. Please don't make me."

"What
game
am I making you play?"

"You butted in and took over our lives—without asking me what I wanted."

"Well, if I'd waited for you to consent, I'd be ninety years old and still at my family's house on St. Martins and picking up the phone every two seconds to see if you'd called. I'm sorry, but I don't have that much patience."

"I don't understand you," he said.

"What's to understand?"

"Why are you here?"

"Why?" she snapped, growing exasperated with him. She sat up, her legs dangling over the edge of the mattress, her feet on the floor.

"It's like we're your new project. I could be an abandoned mutt you adopted at the pound. You've waltzed in and started throwing money at us. But where will we be when you leave? Did you ever think about Jeremy? Or Ken?"

Or me?
he bleakly thought, but didn't say aloud.

"Jeremy is my nephew," she tersely reminded him, "and Ken is my father, which I've learned is true—no thanks to you."

At her mentioning his lie, his cheeks flushed with shame. "Yes, he is."

"What's your problem with me? I keep asking myself that question, but I don't have a good answer. Why would you hurt me like that?"

"I was trying to do what's best for Ken. And for you."

"What's
best
for us? Listen, you pompous know-it-all. If you weren't partially disabled, I'd walk over there and whack you alongside the head for being such an idiot."

They ran out of words, and they glared, the distance between them so vast they might have been perched on opposite shores of an ocean.

He wanted to tell her so many things:  how hard his life had been, how lonely he was, how desperately he wished that dreams came true.

But they didn't, and he wouldn't invest in some fairytale where he wound up rich and pampered and everybody lived happily ever after.

Life didn't turn out that way. Luck didn't flow in his direction.

So…what now?

She intended to stay—at least for the foreseeable future, and Ken liked having her around. Where was Matt's spot in that scenario?

He couldn't imagine moving out, being separated from Jeremy. His connection to Ken and Jeremy gave him purpose, kept him sane.