The voice hissed with distortion. “More like a warning. Walk away from her, and you'll be compensated. Stay with her, and you'll ruin her life.”

Every fiber of my being locked up. “What?”

“You don't have to marry anyone, you'll be free, and with a million dollars in your pocket. Wouldn't it be nice to be your own man, answering to no one—not even your father?”

“Who the hell is this?” I asked, crushing the phone.

“Think about it. You're broken, and deep down, you know you'll destroy her if you stay with her. Why make both of you unhappy? Decide what you want: the money, or to see her heart become black and ruined by your flaws. And if you tell anyone about this phone call, the deal is off. Tread carefully, Mr. Birch.” There was a sharp click, then my phone went silent.

Holding the device at a distance, I just stared. What the fuck was that? They can't be serious. Fury rattled through my bones, the edges of my phone creaking from the pressure.

Who the fuck would DARE threaten to split up me and Nix?

That woman belonged to me. I'd never harm her.

Yet, somehow, those robotic words rung painfully true.

I'd always believed the world was cruel and terrible. Why was I exempt? Fuck, I knew I wasn't special. I was as selfish as anyone.

Was marrying Nix actually going to wreck her heart? Her life?

What's the point in bribing me? Someone had an agenda. They were trying to tempt me into avoiding the marriage, and I had no clue why.

Was it someone I knew?

My skull hurt from all the questions I had. One of them kept fluttering out front like a giant moth: If this marriage made me happy, but shattered her heart in the long run...

Could I really go through with it?

****

I'd chugged every beer I could find in my apartment.

The bottle of brandy that had been under my sink, too.

Distantly, I knew I was being destructive. These were old habits—or sort of old. It had been barely a month since I'd met Nix, could a man really change himself in that amount of time?

I don't need to change.

I never could have, anyway.

My phone sat on my coffee table. I eyeballed it as I paced. It might as well have been a loaded gun.

Who fucking called me?

What the hell do I do?

Since my mother had died, the only person I'd ever relied on was myself. Nix had started to slip inside my ribs, dangerously close to my heart, but... I couldn't talk to her. Not until I came to some sort of conclusion about what to do.

Marrying her could ruin her.

But running could do the same.

Baring my teeth, I jammed my knuckles into the wall. The plaster exploded; I was lucky as hell I didn't hit a stud. Shaking my hand, ignoring the smear of blood from the broken skin, I took a swig from the empty brandy bottle.

“Shit,” I said to the air. “I need more alcohol.” This edge had to be drowned. The stress that boiled in my veins was heating me up, and not in a good way. I have to get out of here, I need to just... just move around.

I needed to escape.

My bare skin was sweating, I'd ripped my shirt off after I'd spilled beer on it. Stumbling into my bedroom, I grabbed the first shirt I could find in the dark. I slid it on, my jacket following as I stumbled out the door.

More booze, I thought, slapping my arms to ward off the cold. Alcohol would warm me, just as it would erase my concerns. There was no better friend than a full bottle.

It was late, the winter clouds bloated and dark. The air that bit me warned of snow. Along the street, shops had decorated their awnings with red and green lights. The cheerful glow guided me into the first bar I could find.

I didn't even read the name.

Distantly, I knew what I was doing. I knew it as the scent of stale margaritas and filthy bathrooms hit me. I probably knew it before then, actually.

It wasn't just a blackout drunkeness that I needed. My cures involved soft tits and muscled thighs around my middle. That'd hurt her.

What, did I have a conscience suddenly?

You always did.

I had to shut my inner thoughts up with more booze. Sitting at the bar with my skull pounding, I waved the bartender closer. “Give me something hard.”

He didn't hesitate, he slid me a thick mug filled with amber liquid. I chugged the glass; it didn't matter what it was, it wasn't about taste—just the numbness.

She'll be ruined by me if I go through with this.

Her...

And the baby.

No, there was a chance I could be a good father. Fuck that chance, how could I rely on that possibility? How could I ever keep going if Nix... and my child... if their lives were tainted because of me?

Growling, I dug my injured hand into my knee. Stop thinking about it.

Stop thinking about them.

Picturing Nix just made everything worse.

“Hey, never expected to see you again.”

Turning, I studied the blonde woman. She had on a sparkly, skin-tight dress, completely inappropriate for the weather. A Try-Hard, I thought distantly. I hadn't had one of those in forever. Wait. Blinking, I recognized the woman speaking to me. “You're Trish, right?” The girl we rescued during the music concert.

Laughing, she took a deep pull from her drink. “Yup. Funny, I didn't think the notorious Abram Birch remembered the names of any women.”

My guts contorted as if razor-wire had been wound through them. She wasn't wrong; the list of women I'd forgotten was a long one.

Twisting my palm through my hair, I forced an empty smile. “That's only girls I sleep with. Not the ones I save.”

Her eyes twinkled, hip cutting a sharp angle as she leaned closer. “Ah. You know, I didn't even recognize who you were that night in the park.”

“Well, you had just been attacked.”

Trish paused, her eyes hooding. “It was a strange night. I was lucky that girl came along.”

That girl. “Nix,” I said. “Her name is Nix.”

She pursed her lips, considering me with fresh eyes. “You know her name? Guess you didn't sleep with her after all. I figured you would.”

It should have been obvious before. Somehow, it took Trish saying it to drive the point home.

I didn't forget Nix's name.

My heart was jolted, electricity running through my tongue.

I didn't forget her!

In all my life, that had never happened. Women came and went through my bedroom. They left their panties, they left hickies, but not until now had any of them left a memory.

Only her.

Only Nix Halloway.

“Nice shirt,” Trish said, fingering the edge of the garment's neck.

That was when I looked down, realizing what I'd put on in my near panic. The shirt she bought for me. In a daze, I ran my palm over the front of it. The red color made the cuts on my knuckles stand out vibrantly. That day rushed back to me; the flower shop, the tulips, the admission to Nix about making her jealous...

The ice cream we'd sat and ate together.

All of it stole my oxygen until I was light headed.

“So,” Trish purred, sliding her fingers over my shoulder. “Do you want to go back to your place, or mine?”

I stood up too fast, the bar stool went toppling. Trish backed up a step, her confusion turning her pale. “Sorry,” I said, slamming money down on the bar. “I can't do that.”

Laughing self-consciously, she tossed her hair. “Why not?”

“Because I'm about to be a married man.”

Trish stammered, but she said nothing else as I marched out that door and back into the dark night. Oddly enough, it wasn't that cold anymore. Or perhaps that was just the energy burning in my blood.

Digging my phone out, I scanned my recent calls as I walked. There, that one. Redialing the number, I listened to the ringing.