Page 59 of Fight for You
No, I’m not pissed. I was pissed this morning when he decided to walk out instead of talking to me. Now, I’m whatever comes after pissed. But that’s not why I’m here.
“I came to give you this.” I shove the MC patch against his hard chest. “I found it on the floor after you left.”
His bleary gaze flicks down to my hand on his chest, my fingers clutched around his stupid patch. His big body practically vibrates beneath my palm. They're the only signs of life I get from him. Otherwise, he just stands there. Completely still. It doesn't even look like he's breathing.
Even though I'm mad as hell, worry whispers through me. Something is wrong.
“Cade?”
“It should be yours,” he says, his voice rough. “You should keep it.”
My lips pull down into a frown. “I don't want your patch, Cade.”
Once upon a time, it was all I wanted. When he gave it to me back then, I thought I'd wear it forever.
Then – Age Seventeen
“I have something for you,” Cade says, wrapping his arms around me from behind.
I melt against his hard chest, smiling. “Cade. You already gave me my birthday present.”
“I know.” His lips brush the side of my throat. “This isn’t a present, though. Think of it more like a promise.”
“A promise?” I turn in his arms, craning my head back to look up at him. I swear, the older he gets, the more beautiful he grows. Every day damn, he gets hotter.
At twenty, he’s devasting.
“A promise,” he repeats. “Close your eyes.”
I narrow them at him instead.
“Little monster,” he admonishes with a grin. “Close your eyes.”
“Fine.” I pop one open again. “But this better not be a prank, Cade. I’ll be very unhappy with you.”
“It’s not a prank.” His lips touch mine in a sweet kiss. “I’d never prank you.”
I believe him. He’d never do that.
I close my eyes, practically squirming with impatience. I’ve never had very much of that, especially when it comes to surprises. I guess some things never change no matter how much I grow up.
Seventeen.
One more year and my whole life starts.
“Hold out your hand.”
I thrust it out eagerly.
Cade’s deep laugh washes over me. “Eager little monster,” he says, brushing strands of hair away from my face.
“You made me this way,” I remind him, not in the least bit sorry about it. If I’m spoiled, he did it to himself. I try not to be a brat, though. I think I succeed.
Most people would probably hate being called a little monster, but not me. I know why he does it. It doesn’t have anything to do with me being a brat or being spoiled.
When I was little, he used to read The Monster at the End of This Book to me. I begged him to read it over and over again. He’d laugh and say that he created his own little monster. He’s called me that ever since.
I love it. I love the thought of being his, something he helped create. I just love him.