Sixty-Nine

"Maybe we should all go," Tatum mumbled after a while. This dinner had gone from bad to worse. She had no idea what had come over her sister, but they could talk about it when they were back home. Sean nodded and helped her out of her seat. She rubbed her belly before she turned to the door, quietly telling her baby that things would turn out okay, even if she didn't see how. They'd made it out of the dining room and halfway through the hall when Martha's voice stopped them from going further.

"Sean, wait," she said. Her son turned around, his face turning sour when he saw his father stand next to her. "Your father has something to say," she said, nudging her husband.

Malcolm took a deep breath and looked at his wife with a disgruntled look on his face. She'd found him in his study and given him an earful, he couldn't treat his guest like that, until she'd finally reminded him how much her parents had hated him when they'd just started dating. If she had listened to them, they wouldn't be together now. They still barely saw her parents. Was that the relationship he wanted with his youngest son? "You're old enough to make your own choices," he repeated the words his wife had said to him.

Sean clenched his jaw and nodded. It wasn't an apology, but he supposed it was more than he'd expected from his father in the first place. "I am," he confirmed.

Malcolm's pale blue eyes glanced up at his son and flitted past the pregnant redhead before going back to his son. He gave a solemn nod and made his escape back into the house. His wife chanced a smile at the young couple, who each gave her a conceding nod.

Isabella sat on the steps in front of the house, trying her best not to cry. He'd finally said the words she wanted to hear so desperately, but it had left her empty. He couldn't just say it and expect her to forgive him. If it hadn't been so scorching hot, she might have walked home, but as it was, she was barely coping in the shade. If only Austin hadn't been the one to pick them up. The door behind her creaked slightly as someone pushed it open. She didn't have to turn around to know it was him. She would recognise him anywhere, by the sound of his breathing, by the way he smelled, the mixture of his cologne, leather and an earthy musk that always surrounded him. She didn't look at him when he sat down next to her.

"I'm sorry," she heard him mumble. He stretched his long legs in front of him and leant back on his elbows, squinting into the sun. Isabella wrapped her arms around her bent legs and rested her head on her knees, finally turning to look at him. "I've been actin' like a jerk."

"Yes, you have," she agreed. He gave her a tentative smile and she could feel her lips curve in reply. "If you're just here because Aaron let you… I get that you feel like you owe them, but…"

"I'm not. I don't… I mean, I do, but not that much," he interrupted what was going to be a rant about how small he'd made her feel.

"I need to know you'll always choose me, Austin," she nearly whispered. She didn't know if he'd be able to do that. Sure, they'd never named their relationship, but he had to have known how she felt. She thought she knew how he felt. And still he'd chosen his friendship with Aaron over her.

"I will," he said, but the Colombian needed more than just his words. Her relationship with David had taught her that, at least; actions speak louder than words. Austin seemed to read her mind, only now realising how badly he'd hurt her. "I'll keep tryin' to prove it, until you trust me again."