Between a Fox and a Hard Place (Fox Family, #1)

by Mary Frame

cottages vary in shape and size. They’re mostly A-frames,

Don’t I deserve it? A little bit of fun? A little bit of mindless pleasure? All I ever think about is this place and Jacob and my sisters and family and responsibilities. Haven’t I earned this, just for one night? I will not feel guilty about grabbing a little slice of joy when it presents itself.

Jesus, he’s going to say no. I need to up my seduction game. Bluntly asking for a night of shameless pleasure when I have no makeup on, haven’t slept a full night in a decade, and just got puked on might not be the best look for me.

When you’ve hit rock bottom, I guess there’s nothing more to fear.

I pull back, and he gets one million brownie points for immediately releasing me.

Finley was staring at me with those big, luminous eyes, honest and nervous but doing it anyway. I liked her courage in asking for what she wanted without shame or preamble.

Not without telling her the truth. Maybe it won’t matter, a naïve, drunk-on-arousal voice says.

“No. Yes. Sorry. I was . . . distracted.” If distracted can be another word for “filled with raging lust.”

this isn’t just her property and business. People fight to the bitter end for their homes, for their families.

well, I don’t have a home per se, not since mom died.

Most people would rather die on hills of denial before admitting fault.

she can gather data like you wouldn’t believe, but she’s not as good with people. She has a hard time reading subtext or being sensitive to undercurrents. She’s like a blunt force of nature.”

“What does he want with my land, anyway? To turn it into ugly high-rise condos? Puppy farm? Slaughterhouse for adorable bunnies?”

I might have pants feelings.”

My chest squeezes. I didn’t know until this moment that I had been waiting for that genuine happiness, aimed in my direction. I could conquer entire worlds for that smile.

“My mom died when I was nineteen. She was my only family. It doesn’t go away. The pain, the grief. It never goes away; it just changes shape.”

“Yes, those are in fact axes. The thermos has hot cocoa to keep us warm.” “Are you going to murder me?” She sags down in the seat. “I guess that’s one way to solve all my problems. At least you want to get me warm first. You’re a considerate murderer.”

“She lost her Medicaid and started self-medicating. Unfortunately, it’s easier to get high than it is to get help.

“Grief is universal. No one is immune.”

How do you convince someone to change their life? How do you convince them there’s a problem in the first place?

her breasts heaving underneath a pink bra—I’ve never experienced such violent thoughts against fabric.

Swallowing, I make a herculean attempt to pull my thoughts out of neanderthal and up to higher functioning.

Also, I don’t care. If he had nothing, I’d still want to be with him.

Seriously, this is like trying to herd a goldfish.

My job!!

I’m not okay. But I have to be.

I can let go now. He’s here to hold me together even when I’m falling apart. He’s my safe space.

Whatever happens, we clean it up together.”

This should be terrifying. I should run for the hills, but I could no sooner remove my heart from my body. He’s the calm in my storm. Jesus. I love him.

“Pretty sure he always wants something from you. But he doesn’t get a say.” I lift a brow. “Do I get a say?” A slow smile spreads across his face. “You get all the says. You get every say.”

I know you’ve been suffering for a long time, and I can’t pretend I could even fathom the losses you’ve been dealt. But grief is the price we pay for love. Given the choice between grief and nothing, I’d choose grief. Every time.

“I have more lawyers than you have teeth. Try it.”