Cannon (Carolina Reapers Book 5)
Cannon: Chapter 19

Couples filled the floor, dancing to the live band that played hits from the forties. If this was just the rehearsal, I couldn’t imagine what the decadence of the actual reception would look like.

Persephone left the dais and walked along the side of the ballroom, staying clear of the crowds before disappearing through a door that was constructed to blend into the wall. I quickly followed but wasn’t as lucky dodging the well-wishers.

“What’s going on?” Lillian asked, grabbing me gently by the elbow as I tried to sneak past her table.

“Well, Andromeda is a spiteful—”

“Not what I mean.” She shook her head and handed Owen another French fry that we’d had the cooks whip up especially for him. “Your wife looks ready to puke, and that was long before her snotty ass sister said anything.”

I rubbed the back of my neck, instead of the burning sensation in my chest. “It’s been a hellishly long day.”

Her gaze narrowed on me, reading through the bullshit just like she always did. “Fix it, Cannon. Whatever is going on between you two, fix it.”

I glanced around the ballroom, my gaze hopping from Mr. VanDoren to Michael and his black eye, to Axel and Langley on the dance floor. “What if I’m not supposed to fix it?”

“What?” she whispered.

“What if the best thing I can do for her is let her go?” I kept my voice low so no one else would hear.

“That’s bullshit. That girl is the best thing that’s ever happened to you.” Her eyes spat fire at me.

“She is. But I’m not the best thing that’s ever happened to her.” My voice turned to gravel, and my jaw ticked as I struggled for control.

“Well, I call bullshit on that, too.” She arched a dark brow at me. “You’re one of the highest-paid players in the NHL, have a heart of gold, and though it’s creepy to say this as your sister, but you’re not that bad looking, either.”

I scoffed. “I’m not sure I have a heart.”

She tugged my sleeve, and I sat obediently in the vacant seat next to her. No doubt they were out on the dance floor. “You have the biggest heart of anyone I know, Cannon. You love me. You love Owen. The way you look out for us both speaks volumes about who you are.”

I glanced at the ring on my left hand. “That’s different. You and I kept each other alive. Persephone’s idea of love is this fairytale romcom bullshit that’s based on hormones and good times. She has no idea the kind of love it takes to—” I shook my head. “She deserves someone who thinks the same way, not someone who’s always waiting for the other shoe to drop. She deserves someone who fits into this crowd.” I nodded at the dancers.

Her hand covered mine, and her smile turned sad—so much like our mother’s that my heart stuttered. “Then let her love you the way she already does, Cannon. What we survived…that’s not how it’s supposed to be. She shouldn’t have to know the kind of love it takes to step in and take it when Dad’s been drinking. She shouldn’t have to go through something like that to prove her love to you.”

I flinched. “I would never want her to experience that. I would never allow her to put herself in harm’s way for me. Ever. God, just the thought of it turns my fucking stomach.”

“She’ll never have to experience it because you’ll protect her.” She shrugged. “Let her be naïve when it comes to that kind of pain. Let her be innocent to abuse and neglect. She doesn’t have to live through the darkness we did in order to pull you out of it. If anything, let her be the light you follow. You deserve that, Cannon. More than anyone I know, you deserve to be happy and loved.”

I swallowed. “And what happens when my temper snaps like it did this morning?” I nodded toward Michael.

“Well, if she’s half the woman I think she is, she’ll forgive you.”

“I promised her it wouldn’t happen, and it did.” I twisted my wedding…make that non-wedding ring.

“You’re human. You make mistakes.”

“I can’t make a mistake when it comes to her. Do you realize how small she is? How fragile?” My voice dropped to a whisper.

Lillian’s entire posture softened, and she squeezed my hand. “Big brother, you are not our father.”

“I have the same rage in me. He was right about that.” And I hated the fucker for it.

“Have you ever put your hand on a woman in anger?” she questioned, tilting her head.

“Fuck! Of course not.”

Some guy—I think it was the VanDoren’s attorney, turned my way, and I gave him a polite smile and nod, before lowering my voice again.

“Never.”

“Right.” She handed Owen another fry. “And I know the honeymoon stage is all sex and fun, but have you gotten into a fight with her? An honest-to-God, frustrated, want to shake-some-sense-into-you fight?”

I grimaced. “We’re kind of in one right now.”

“And you didn’t hurt her, did you?”

“Physically? No. Of course not. I’d rather die. But emotionally…that’s another story.” I snuck a fry and reached across Lillian to hand it to my nephew. So help me God, that kid would never go through what we did.

“That’s just…love.” She shrugged. “Whether or not you admit it, Cannon, love isn’t always forged in the hell we grew up in. Sometimes it grows tall in the sunlight. That doesn’t mean it’s not just as strong.”

“I’m not good enough for her.” The words choked my throat.

“Why don’t you let her decide that for herself?” When I was silent, she let out a sigh that moved the flame on the tea light in front of us. “Tell me this. Are you really prepared to live the rest of your life without her? Because it sounds like you’re on the brink of doing something incredibly stupid.”

“I just want what’s best for her.” I leaned over and smacked a kiss on her cheek. “I love you, Lillian.”

“Don’t fuck something up because you think it’s too good to be true,” she lectured as I stood. “Sometimes, good things are just…good.”

Apparently, my sister had been drinking the Kool-Aid around here. I nodded and headed after my wife. Shit, she wasn’t even my wife anymore. What the hell was she? My lover? My friend? Whatever label I put on us, was I honestly ready to live the rest of my life without her if it was for her own good? If it kept her safe? Made her happy in the long run?

My head spun as I opened the door wide enough to slip through and closed it behind me. It was another ballroom, but this one was smaller. The room was dark, but Persephone was illuminated in the moonlight that shone through the picture window at the end of the room.

Fuck, she was beautiful. Her white, lace dress had a modest neckline but hugged every one of her delectable curves until it ended above her knee. The woman was pure fucking class.

She turned when she heard me approaching and leaned against one of the large banquet tables that lined the edges of the room.

Our eyes locked, and my heart fucking hurt with everything that was stuffed inside it. It felt like the stupid organ was ripping at the seams. God, how could I ever walk away from her? How could I replace the strength to do what was right for her, when all I wanted to do was fall at her feet and beg her to love me? To keep shining her light in the places I felt the darkest?

“Cannon,” she whispered as I came closer.

I didn’t slow my approach or lower my eyes.

Hers widened, and her tongue darted out to lick her lower lip.

I took her face in my hands and kissed her hard and deep. She moaned as our tongues twined and rubbed, the sound filling the dark room. This was my heaven. Not the ice, or between the pages of a book, but right here with Persephone in my arms.

I lifted her onto the table without breaking the kiss, and her fingers found my hair as she tilted her mouth beneath mine. I slid my hand to the back of her head, careful not to fuck with her hair—we’d eventually have to go back out there—and she melted against me, surrendering to the power of the unquenchable desire between us.

I kissed her in every way I’d come to love—deep and wet, soft and slow, hard and needy, until we were both panting, straining to get closer to the other.

She unbuttoned my suit coat and slid her hands inside, skimming the edges of the area that still burned—and would for a couple of days—before reaching around my back and scoring me lightly with her nails. I hissed in pleasure and moved my mouth to her neck. I fucking loved her neck. Loved how responsive she was. Loved how she gave everything over to me without reservation. I just fucking loved h—

“Stop!” she said suddenly, pushing me away with both of her palms on my abs.

I stilled, frozen in the moment.

“Cannon, please,” she pled.

I raised my head and managed to replace the willpower to step away from her. My hands slid from her hair, and a chill washed over me from the loss of her warmth.

“Don’t do that,” she insisted, smoothing out the lines of her dress.

“Don’t do what?” I asked, barely recognizing my own voice.

“Kiss me like it’s the last time,” she whispered. Her lip trembled.

We stood at the proverbial fork in the road.

“Persephone, what are we doing?” I asked her softly.

“I hope we’re getting married.” She forced a smile.

I sat on the table next to her, aware of the inches between us, of the warmth of her skin and the scent of apple blossoms in her hair. “I need to ask you a question.”

“Anything,” she responded instantly, her pinky nearly grazing mine as we both grasped the edge of the table.

“If we hadn’t gotten accidentally fucked up in Vegas, would we be here?” I turned to study her face.

Her lips parted, and her brow crinkled. “I don’t understand.”

“Yes, you do.” I kept my tone gentle. “If we hadn’t woken up married…or not married, whatever, would you ever have given me a shot? Given me a first date?”

Her mouth twisted into a wry grin. “Would you ever have asked?”

“No,” I responded as honestly as I could.

Her face fell, and the pain I saw there ripped another seam in my heart.

“I never would have asked because I knew I wasn’t good enough for you. I knew I could never make you happy or give you the things you were accustomed to. I’m not talking about money. I’m talking about social acceptance and an easy relationship.”

“I don’t need any of that,” she countered, her voice breaking at the end. “I just need you.”

I sucked in a breath.

“You see, I would have given you the first date,” she continued with a little laugh. “I did. Remember? I wanted you so desperately that I bought you at that charity auction. I couldn’t stand the thought of another woman touching you.” She shook her head. “Did you lie to me when you told me that you would have bought me, too?”

“Lie? I’ve never lied to you. I meant every word of it. Fuck, even the thought of someone putting their hands on you…kissing you…” My jaw clenched. “But I was prepared to watch you date someone else—hell, marry someone else because I knew that I could only bring you pain, and that’s all I’ve done since this thing started.”

She startled. “You’ve been tender, and kind, and protective, and everything I could ever want. You haven’t hurt me.”

“I punched out one of your oldest friends this morning and embarrassed your entire family—including you,” I reminded her.

“Oh. Right. That.” She huffed a laugh. “Well, Michael is an ass.”

“You’ve seen the online gossip since this morning. I know you have.” The shit with Michael had gone public fast, and the worst part is that every article dragged Persephone into it.

Was she saddling herself with a violent man?

Was Charleston’s belle of the ball married to a man who would eventually replace himself behind bars?

Was I a domestic violence case waiting to happen?

Every headline had been worse than the last.

“I’ve seen them, and I don’t care.” She shrugged.

“You don’t care?”

She shook her head. “I’ve been tabloid gossip since I can remember, and though I’ve tried my best not to give them much fodder, Andromeda’s antics have taught our family to roll our eyes and move on.”

“Right, but marrying me—for real this time—would give them that fodder you tried so hard not to.”

“Okay.”

My stomach sank. I was going to drag her very good name through the mud. The name that got her the job as the head of the charitable foundation and opened doors into a society that I had thought only existed in movies.

“Cannon, those reporters don’t know you. They don’t know what you’ve suffered for your family. Or how much of your salary you give to the women’s shelter downtown. Or that your favorite book is Wuthering Heights.”

I balked. “My favorite book is not Wuthering Heights.”

She grinned. “I know. Because you’d never stand by and watch the woman you loved marry someone else. I remember. I was just checking to see if you were listening.”

“That stuff isn’t anything the world needs to know about me. I don’t want people talking shit about you because I can’t contain my temper.”

“I’ve never cared much what strangers think about me,” she said with a whisper. “I know the truth. I know the man you really are.”

Did she? Had I shown her the best and the worst of me while we’d been married. Married. The ring on my finger mocked me. It was a fucking tease.

The silence stretched between us to the soundtrack of the band in our ballroom next door.

“We’re not really married.” The words tasted like sand.

“I know. I still can’t believe it, but I know.”

“We can call this whole thing off,” I offered slowly. “We were only doing it to make your mom happy.”

“But we ended up making ourselves happy, didn’t we?” She brushed her finger along mine.

I couldn’t lie to her. “We did. But I don’t think it’s the kind of happiness that lasts.”

The door opened, and a crack of light filled the room as Mrs. VanDoren walked in. “You two! I swear, you can’t stay away from each other!”

“We just needed a minute, Mama,” Persephone replied.

“Well, you have exactly one minute, and then I’ll be back in here. Cannon, your job is to stay and entertain this rowdy lot as long as they’d like to dance.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I nodded.

“Persephone, your job is to come home with me and get some beauty sleep…and maybe give Anne a piece of your mind for that little stunt she pulled.”

“Yes, Mama.”

“One more minute. You understand?” She pointed her finger at us, but she was smiling.

“I’ll send her right out,” I promised.

“Good. And that suit looks mighty handsome on you, Cannon. You should wear ties more often.” She winked.

Fat chance in hell, but if either of these women wanted me to, I would.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Mrs. VanDoren gave us a little wave and closed the door behind her as she returned to the party.

Persephone sighed, then lowered herself from the table and faced me.

“Okay, I’m going to talk now, and you’re going to listen.”

I arched an eyebrow.

“I want to marry you.”

My lips parted, but her fingers covered them before I could speak. I barely kept myself from darting my tongue between her fingers out of sheer habit. Fuck, touching her, kissing her had become so common to me I couldn’t imagine not doing it.

“Nope. I’m talking,” she reminded me. “I want to marry you, and I’m not afraid to say it, to put my heart out there on the line. I know you think I’m weak—”

My eyes flared, and a growl worked its way up my throat.

“But I’m not. I’m strong enough to stand here and tell you that I love you, even though you…” She shook her head. “I want to marry you, Cannon. I’ve never been happier in my life than I have been as your wife. I want to sleep next to you, make love to you, walk Cerberus with you, cheer you on at games, have babies with you—all of it. I want everything with you.” Her face fell, and so did her fingers from my lips. “But you just keep listing all the reasons we shouldn’t be together instead of everything we have going for us.”

“Persephone,” I pled. For her to stop? For her to continue? Fuck, I didn’t know. The only thing I was certain of was the ache in my chest, ripping my soul from my body when I thought about the rest of my life without her. But how many painful moments like this morning would I bring her if I selfishly stayed?

Would I be stealing away her real chance at happiness with someone who was a better fit for her just because I couldn’t bear to let her go?

“So here it is, Cannon.” Her shoulders straightened, and her chin rose. “I love you. That’s my reason for wanting to marry you. I love you, whether you believe me or not. I’m sorry that I haven’t had to make the sacrifices you have. I’m sorry that my life has been so much easier than yours, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t love you, because I do. If that’s not enough of a reason for you…” She sucked in a breath that stilled my heart. “Then maybe you’re right, and we shouldn’t be married because I’m realizing that the more I love you, the surer I am that I can’t walk down the aisle toward someone who doesn’t love me.”

She didn’t wait for me to reply or give me time to process. She just turned and walked out of the room with her head held high, and shut the door, leaving me alone in the darkness.

Where I’d been before I’d fallen for her.

Telling her the truth in my heart wouldn’t solve our problems. It wouldn’t make this easier. It would be the tether that bound her to me. The fuse on a lit bomb that would eventually destroy her.

My phone buzzed for the millionth time that day, and I finally slipped it from my pocket. A text message alert from my personal publicist—one of at least a dozen lit up the screen. Eventually, I was going to have to call her back. Eventually, I was going to have to deal with the shitstorm I’d created because Michael had been successful in pushing my buttons. He’d gotten exactly what he wanted when I lost my shit.

Eventually wouldn’t cut it for the timeline on my biggest problem.

I had less than twenty-four hours to figure out if I was strong enough to walk away from the only woman I’d ever truly wanted.

My hand rested over that burning patch of skin on my chest.

I meant what I’d told her—that love meant sacrifice. It meant being willing to lay your own body down to protect the person you loved from pain.

That’s what I was doing for her—protecting her even though it was fucking killing me.

I had to protect her because I loved her.

Fuck. I was in love with Persephone.

But my heart felt like it always did, like it always had since that moment.

Chills shot down my spine with the realization.

I’d been in love with her since—

The woman fell into the hallway, and I opened my arms, letting both my stick and helmet crash to the floor as I caught her.

She was a tiny thing—ridiculously light as I carefully set her back on her feet. Feet that were clad in equally tiny, sexy heels. They matched her light blue sundress and sweater that buttoned modestly over her breasts and had a little bow at the back. Red soles.

This woman reeked not just of money—but of class. The kind you couldn’t buy. The kind that got passed down through generations of the same.

“Are you alright, lass?” Connell asked from a few feet away.

She untangled herself from a waterfall of long blonde hair. It was pale as moonlight, the strands soft as silk as it grazed a bare strip of skin between my glove and jersey, and long enough to imply that she lived in a tower. A tower I had no business climbing because she was clearly so out of my league that we weren’t even playing the same sport.

“I’m just a bit embarrassed, but I’m okay.” Her voice was sweeter than honey, lilting with a southern drawl that slid over me like velvet and stirred my cock to life. Holy shit, this woman had just turned me on, and I hadn’t even seen her face.

Then I did. She turned to look up at me, and her eyes punched me in the damned stomach. Crystal-fucking-blue and rimmed with thick lashes that did nothing to hide the emotion in them. Fuck, I bet this woman wore her heart on her four-thousand-dollar sleeve. Innocence, embarrassment, honesty—it was all right there for anyone to see, for anyone to take advantage of. An inexplicable, almost primal urge to protect her slammed into me with the force of an avalanche.

She was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen in my life. So perfect that she couldn’t be real. No one was that flawless outside the pages of a book…and yet she was. Her nose was pert and a perfect fit for her heart-shaped face and her plump, bow-shaped lips were a kissable shade of pink.

“Thank you so much for catching me—” She started to say, but then those eyes widened in surprise and recognition. She probably knew who I was, which meant she probably knew I was the last man whose arms she should have tumbled into.

Then her pupils dilated slightly, and her lips parted. Apparently, she liked what she saw, too.

Not for you. Not for you. Not for you. My brain tried to get the thought through to the rest of my body, but couldn’t seem to break past the swelling in my chest that screamed its own chant.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

Holy shit, I was losing it. Right there in the hallway of my own rink, surrounded by my teammates, I was sinking into insanity, driven mad by a woman who had such little disregard for her own safety that she was running in heels on a rubberized hallway slick from the melted ice dripping from our skates. I scrambled for the first words I could think of.

“Next time, don’t run down the hallway in heels,” I growled, narrowing my eyes in hopes I’d scare her off. Big bad wolves like me ate innocent little girls like her for breakfast.

If she wasn’t careful, I’d eat her all night long.

My teammates groaned at my lack of manners. Fuck them. I was who I was, and it was for her own safety that she learned it fast.

“Jesus, Cannon, can’t you just say you’re welcome?” Connell chided.

Instead of running like she should have, the woman arched a delicate brow at my tone, making it clear that neither my size, my reputation, nor my tattoos intimidated her.

She wasn’t scared of me.

My heart fucking stilled, and when it began pounding again, the beats felt like they didn’t belong to me. Like I no longer belonged to myself in general.

“I’ll be more careful in the future,” she drawled softly, her eyes dropping from mine to where my hand cupped her elbow, keeping her steady. No wedding ring.

Shit. Had I been touching her this whole time? I cursed my glove, wishing I could feel my bare skin against hers just once. Once, and I’d be content.

That was a lie. Something told me that if I ever got this woman under my hands, I’d never be content, or capable of letting her go. She looked like ambrosia, food for the ancient Gods, and just like ambrosia, all it would take would be one bite to ruin a mortal, flawed man like me.

It felt like slow-motion, but in reality, my grip snapped open as I found the strength to let her go. That protective instinct swirled in my gut, pairing with that heavy, sweet ache in my chest to turn me inside out.

Protecting her meant keeping my damned hands off her, which I vowed right there and then to do. Besides, she was everything I hated, right? Obviously wealthy, educated, and a member of the upper class who had always sneered at those more unfortunate than they were.

Right. I should have hated her.

I should hate her designer shoes, her diamond stud earrings that were bigger than most engagement rings, and the refined way she held herself.

There was only one problem with hating her.

One fucking look and I’d been a goner.

My hands clenched at the memory, at the effort it had taken to let go of something so innocent as her elbow. Now I knew her—I knew her heart, her soul, and her mind. I’d found solace in her arms, and mind-bending pleasure in her body.

I knew the taste of her kiss, and the depth of her pure, unscarred heart—a heart that had tricked her mind into thinking that she was in love with me.

My cell phone dinged with yet another text—no doubt another article publicizing my evil temper and her naiveté for marrying a man like me. Another article shaming her.

This wasn’t her elbow anymore—it was her future, and I wasn’t sure I was strong enough to let her go this time.

I loved her. My soul belonged to her.

I had to protect her…even if she’d hate me for it.