Page 83 of Desire or Defense

We get on the team’s private jet exhausted and ready for a few days off. I’m not just physically exhausted, but mentally too. Probably because instead of sleeping at night, my mind has raced. West takes a seat next to me again. Rather than glare at him, I nod my head. A silent We’re good.

His words after our fight are still stuck with me. Look around, we’re your family.

This whole time, I chose to be blind to the family right in front of me. Brothers. A whole freaking slough of them. Half of them annoy the shit out of me, but still.

I don’t sleep during our flight. And I don’t go home afterward. No, I race to my vehicle and then drive straight to Jimmy John’s for some sandwiches.

CHAPTER 33

ANDIE

It’s four in the morning when my phone startles me awake. With a quick, bleary glance at the screen, I see it’s Mitch calling me. I answer because I'm too sleepy to make rational decisions.

“Mitch. It’s the middle of the night.”

“I know, Blondie. And I’m sorry. But I’ve wasted enough time. Please come talk to me.”

“What?” I ask, feeling confused. Isn’t he in Canada, or on an airplane… or, something?

Then I hear the doorbell ring. I jump out of bed and rush downstairs before the doorbell wakes Noah up.

When I yank the front door open, Mitch is standing there with a huge tray in his arms. A huge tray of… I squint, trying to make out what exactly he’s holding. It’s a tray full of sub sandwiches. Like the kind you’d get to cater a huge party. No clue where he got those at this time of night…

“I couldn't wait any longer to see you.”

I rub my eyes, thinking I might still be dreaming. When I look again, I still see Mitch Anderson, in all of his sexy, muscular glory, standing on my front porch, holding a tray of sandwiches. I tug him inside, close the door behind us, and lead him into the kitchen.

He places the tray on the counter and looks at me with the most heartbreaking expression. His face is half joy and half misery. I can tell there’s a war going on in his mind, that he’s fighting someone. Probably himself.

Unable to keep myself from touching him, even though I’m still pissed at him, I cup his bearded cheek with my palm. “Where’d you go, Big Man? What’s happening in there?”

He closes his eyes and leans into my hand. I see his throat work as he swallows. “I sort of convinced myself I had ruined yours’ and Noah’s lives… that I added more challenges instead of happiness. Then I avoided talking to you, thinking you’d figure that out, and then… you’d leave me behind.”

A tear streams down my cheek at his honest and brutal confession. And his very real fear of abandonment. And that he’d think something so small—a stupid gossip blogger—could make me leave him. “Mitch, you add nothing but joy to our lives. Monday night, Noah hugged me. I can’t remember the last time he hugged me. You know why? Because you’ve been good for him. You’ve helped him come alive again. You’re a good man, Mitch Anderson. And that’s why I love you… even when you’re an idiot.”

His eyes open and one slow tear drips down his cheek, across the faded scar below his eye. The eye that’s now purple. That’s a story I’m going to want later.

He lifts his hand to his face, covering mine. “Andie, I need you to know that I’m a broken man. I have a lot of work to do. But I am doing the work, I’m trying to be better.” He pauses, looking into my eyes. “And I promise,” he squeezes his eyes closed for a second. “I promise that I’ll never stop working to heal. I’ll never stop working to become the man you deserve, because I love you too. And I’m sorry, so sorry that I hurt you.”

More tears stream down his face, and my own. I wrap my arms around his neck and allow myself to cry against his thick chest. I never want to let go.

This is more than him messing up, more than an apology. This is the admission of a broken and abandoned boy. A boy who’s still inside there somewhere, learning not only to love, but to receive love… unconditionally.

We stand like that for a minute before he lifts me up so I can wrap my legs around his waist. He holds me to him with those big, strong arms that I love.

And I feel safe.

I feel hope.

Because we’re all a little broken… and we’re all healing.

* * *

I wake up on the couch having no clue what time it is. I’m so warm and still wrapped in Mitch’s arms. Waking up in his arms is definitely something I’d like to repeat. I nuzzle into the broad expanse of his chest and enjoy his warmth. Mitch is still sound asleep, poor guy must be exhausted.

I’m just about to close my eyes again when I hear someone clearing their throat. I look up and find Noah hovering above us, his arms crossed like a father who just found a boy bringing his daughter home past curfew.

“Is this going to become a usual thing? Because it’s really gross.”