Marry Me by Cheryl Holt Page B

hollered, "Balls in!"
    Bryce had just scooped up a grounder, and he flicked the ball sideways to the dugout. The move ignited a memory for Lucas, and suddenly, he felt he was staring into a telescope, seeing an exact copy of himself at age ten.
    He used to make the same sassy move. He'd been a dark-haired, blue-eyed, athletic boy, brimming with talent and attitude. As Bryce was now.
    What was he witnessing? What, what, what?
    The sodas and snacks slid to the dirt. His heart literally skipped several beats; his ears began to ring. He couldn't breathe.
    He glared over at the bleachers, studying Peanut, recognizing how much she resembled his sister Brittney.
    Faith noticed him gaping, and she frowned as he pushed away from the fence and staggered toward her.
    Very quietly, he said, "Come here, Faith."
    "Lucas, what is it?"
    "Come." When she didn't budge, he added, "Now!"
    His sharp tone unsettled her, and she climbed down to him.
    Lucas glanced up at Gracie and told her, "We have to leave for awhile."
    "What?" Faith complained. "No, I want to—"
    Lucas interrupted her. "We won't be back for the rest of the game, Gracie. Can you take care of the kids?"
    "Sure, Lucas, honey," Gracie agreed. "You go on. Don't worry about us."
    He grabbed Faith's arm and led her away. There were dozens of parents in the bleachers, so she didn't raise a fuss. He maneuvered her out to his car, opened the door, and shoved her in. She tried to yank away, tried to escape, but he threatened, "Don't say a word, and don't get out."
    In two leaps, he was in the driver's seat. He started the motor and stepped on the gas. Without speaking, they raced the few blocks to her house. He parked and rushed to assist her, but she was already scrambling out.
    "You are insane," she hissed.
    "Yes, I am, so don't tempt me to do things I might regret later."
    "What is wrong with you?"
    He marched her inside and slammed the door so hard the windows rattled.
    "Tell me who he is," he demanded, "and don't you dare lie to me."
    She hesitated, then claimed, "I have no idea what you mean."
    "Tell me!" he bellowed so loudly that she flinched as if she was afraid he might strike her.
    He'd never hit a woman before, but then, he couldn't remember ever being quite so enraged. Reining himself in, he strode away to put space between them. He pointed to the couch.
    "Sit down."
    She ignored him and went to the kitchen. He followed, watching as she reached to an upper shelf in a cupboard and pulled out a bottle of brandy. She poured them both a shot.
    "Calm down," she insisted, "and we'll talk."
    "I don't need a drink." He banged the glass on the counter. "I want to be very, very sober when I hear what you have to say."
    "Don't shout at me."
    "I wouldn't dream of it."
    "I'm serious. We'll discuss this calmly and rationally, or we won't discuss it at all."
    "Who is Bryce? He's related to me, and don't try to pretend he's not."
    "I'll tell you, but on two conditions."
    "You have the nerve to exact conditions?"
    "Accept them or go away."
    A muscle ticked in his cheek. He could sense that her secret was very, very bad. He wanted to roar in frustration, wanted to throttle her, wanted to retreat to a time prior to his ever having met her.
    He capitulated. "What are they?"
    "You can't repeat the details of this conversation until Bryce is twenty-one."
    "Why?"
    She didn't answer. "You might be able to do it sooner than that, but you'd have to have my permission."
    "Why!" His patience was unraveling.
    "I won't tell you why . You simply have to agree to my terms."
    "Fine," he snapped. "My lips are sealed."
    "Once I start in, if you say you don't believe me or that I'm lying, I'll ask you to leave. If you refuse, I'll dial 9-1-1 and have you escorted out."
    "I'm tired of your games. Get this over with."
    "Bryce is your son."
    He felt as if she'd struck him hard enough to knock him down. He lurched over to the table and plopped into a chair. He stared at the floor, his mind racing.
    "I don't—"
    He