Until It Was Love (Copper Valley Pounders Rugby, #1)

by Pippa Grant

I’ve healed from a lot of things in the past six years. What he said is not one of them.

Fletcher Huxley’s upper lip is where Wyatt Earp’s mustache went to die.

“He’s asking my opinion on what he should do with his mustache,” Goldie says. “And he didn’t like it when I said he can’t grow another dog on his upper lip.”

Every now and again, I get a hint of a foreign accent, and then there are the Britishisms he sprinkles into his speech, but I assumed he picked that up after playing in the UK for the past decade-plus. Otherwise, he sounds as American as I do.

“You didn’t want your cookie.” His voice is husky and raw and I want to close my eyes and live in it. “I always want cookies, but I couldn’t enjoy it when I was hurting.” “Feel better now?” “So much better.” “Can I watch you eat your cookie?”

I should chuckle. Laugh. Smirk. Tell her I know. Reach deep for that obnoxious cocky charm. But one word slips out of my mouth instead. “Stay.”

Fletcher tightens his grip around my ribs and buries his face in my breasts. “Don’t leave me.” No more still heart. Now it’s cramping.

I lean into the door and squeeze my eyes shut. “I’m not leaving you,” I repeat. “Wish you would,” he replies. I wish I could say it’s self-respect that makes me push myself away from the bathroom door and go in search of my clothes, but it’s not. It’s the aching pain of rejection.

“You were his family. He trusted you. He confided in you. He would have done anything for you. Do you have any idea how much damage you’ve done to his sense of self-worth? To his belief in himself? You have forty-eight hours to tell him, or I will. Judith, again, please forgive me. I sincerely need to go now.”