"Tell me," I scream. "Tell me what is so fucking wrong with me. Right now. You don't, Ian and I are gone." Quickly, I scrub my face with my hands and scream into them. I don't mean it. I can't rip Ian away from Ryan and Jim. This is the exact fucking reason I didn't want to get involved with him to begin with. This isn't just about me. I'm trying to protect Ian by forcing the issue, but I might end up taking his family away if I can't get my mouth to shut up and soon.
"Last year, what's one of the first things you told me?" Now he's the one who's screaming. When I don't answer, Jim steps closer, his chest practically pressing into mine. His face is tilted down, and his nostrils flare in anger. "You told me Ian had to trust me. I spent months fucking up before I got that message. There is no you without that boy. Since the day I woke the fuck up and realized that, I've spent every fucking day making sure that kid knows I'm here and he can rely on me."
"So if Ian matters so much to you, why the fuck won't you marry his mother?" Jim using my kid against me has my heart rate spiking. Adrenaline rushes through me, and I push him away from me, but he comes right back, crowding my personal space.
"One fucking week. You couldn't save this shit for another fucking week?" He grabs me by the back of my neck and pulls my face up to meet his. We're so close, our noses brush and our faces heat from the warmth of our breath.
"No, I can't," I say, grinding my teeth in the process.
"Asked our boy what he thought of you two moving in, he was all for it. Couple weeks later, asked him what he thought of us getting married. Little fucker said no. Not until he gets his purple belt. Which he gets next. Fucking. Week."
"What the hell are you even babbling about?" My anger is receding now. What the hell does Ian's karate classes have to do with Jim not wanting to marry me?
Releasing my neck, Jim steps back and fishes his wallet out of his back pocket. He grips a small, worn piece of paper in his hand and stares at it as he puts his wallet back with the other. With a condescending flip of his wrist, he tosses the piece of paper at me and walks away. Once I manage to stop shooting daggers at his back, I retrieve the paper from the grass and unfold it. In bright red crayon, Ian's written out what looks like a contract. The top line reads, "Dad's promise," and right below it, in Jim's writing in black ink, it lays out the promise he's made to Ian. "I, Dad, won't ask Mom to marry me until Ian has his purple belt." Those fucking tears are back, and they're welling in my eyes. Off to the side, shoved in the corner, is an amendment to the agreement that stipulates that Ryan agrees if he and Ian both get new bikes and that video game system I hate so much that all three of my guys are addicted to. Jim's signature sits next to a bright red X, while Ian and Ryan's are written in red and black crayon, respectively, beneath that. In small writing that's almost too difficult to read, Ryan's written, "Don't tell her. Make her sweat," in black crayon. The note is dated from October. My man's been carrying this little piece of paper around with him, keeping a promise and a secret that he could have easily broken, since October. Holy shit.
"You want to marry me?" I choke the words out, barely able to contain the emotion.
Slowly, with a grim smile on his face, Jim stalks back toward me.
"What do you think?"
"You really want to marry me?"
He's standing in front of me again. This time, his anger is gone, but his expression isn't relieved.
"I just broke the trust of both my sons," he says. "Ryan's just a shit. He wants me to ask you in front of him. Because this is a packaged deal and all. Ian just needs to know I won't run. He needs to know I'm not going to hurt him or you. He has to trust me, and I can't get him to trust me if you force my hand and make me tell you everything."
"But you do want to marry me?"
"Yes. Fuck. Christ, yeah. I've wanted to marry you since the night I made VP. I've wanted to fuck you since the moment I met you. I've known that this thing between us was going to be for-fucking-ever since the moment you handed me my ass because I wasn't being the kind of dad our boys deserve. And I was going to take you on a fucking ride today and give you some grand fucking speech about marrying your bitchy ass one day."
"Okay."
"Say you're sorry," he says.
I shake my head and clear my throat. "I had reason to be pissed," I say. I probably should apologize, but my man wants to marry me. He wants to make us a real family, and I won't lie and say I'm sorry for wanting that as desperately as I do.
"Say you're sorry, and I'll let you suck my dick." With a shit-eating grin, Jim leans down and places a kiss to one temple and then the other. All I can do is laugh, but he's crazy if he thinks I'm giving him an "I'm sorry" blow job.
"How about I let you fuck me in this field, and then we can discuss where we're putting the house," I say and reach up to take his cut off.
He laughs softly before his eyes heat. We undress one another in that field, exploring each other's bodies in ways we do every single time we make love. When we're naked and he's on his back, beneath me in the cold, damp grass, I let a single tear fall.