A Long Time Coming (Cane Brothers, #3)(93)

“But she can act like I’m a second-class citizen, and you have no problem with that? Don’t you see the issue here, Brian?”

I do. *mentally raises hand* I see it bright as day.

Speaking quietly and in an even tone, The Beave says, “Let’s all take a deep breath and focus on the cake.”

Lia completely ignores her and turns toward Brian. “You will always take her side, no matter what. She can say to my face how I don’t meet her standards, but because she’s so desperate to see you married, she’ll settle for me as a daughter-in-law. Do you understand how fucked up that is, Brian? Why would I want to enter a family who treats me like that? Why would I want to be with a man who allows his family to treat me like that?”

Brian’s eyes flit to his mom and then back at Lia. “Mother is right. I think we all need to take a deep breath.”

“I don’t need a deep breath,” Lia says. “I have never in my life seen anything more clearly.” She stands from the table and pulls her engagement ring off her ring finger and places it on the table.

Another expertly placed gasp by The Beave echoes through the bakery.

I want to slow clap, encourage this valiant behavior because, God Almighty, seeing Lia fired up like this makes my goddamn nipples hard.

“I’m done, Brian. I should have been done a while ago, but maybe I just needed the cold-hearted evidence about why I should be done.”

“What are you talking about?” Brian asks, panic setting in his eyes. I can’t tell if it’s panic from what his mother might say, from the image being portrayed of him, or if he truly is concerned about Lia. Sad that there are so many options to choose from.

“You treat me like I come third in your life, directly under work and your mother, and I don’t want to be with someone who doesn’t consider me their number one. You insult me when you say things like I’m having a mental crisis, that I never should have changed my hair, and that you hate my glasses. You hurt me when you don’t want to touch me at night, when you don’t want to even try something new. I think the only reason I’ve been hanging on for so long is because when I met you, you helped me through the grief of losing my parents. But now, I just wonder if that was out of the kindness of your heart, or if that was you trying to use the loss of them to get closer to me.”

“Lia, that is not true.”

She pushes the ring toward him. “I’m done. I’m done with everything. I’m done feeling like shit when you’re around. I’m done worrying if you’ll actually kiss me or not when you see me. I’m done asking myself if I’m good enough for you, good enough for your family. And I’m done dealing with your psychopath mother. I need more. I want more. And I sure as hell deserve more. Come on, Breaker.”

I stand from my chair, ready to be at her beck and call. But because I have manners, I first address the table before I leave. “Always a pleasure.”

I’m about to guide Lia out the door when she turns back around and says, “Also, the club is probably one of the ugliest places I’ve ever seen, and nothing about it is elitist other than trying to look elite.” She then reaches toward the table, palms the chocolate cake with chocolate frosting, and scoops it into her hand. “I’m taking this with me because it’s the only decent flavor on the platter.”

And then she turns and walks out the door, me trailing her with the biggest fucking smile on my face.





“Holy shit,” I say as we reach my car. “Lia, I can’t fucking believe you did that.”

She’s shaking and pacing as she holds the cake in her palm. “Oh my God, oh my God . . . did I just say all of those things?”

I grip her shoulders, stopping her from moving, and bend at the waist to look her in the eyes. “You fucking did and, Jesus Christ, I’m so proud of you.”

“You are?” Her lip trembles, and I can see that the adrenaline is starting to wear off.

“Yes, Lia. That was so fucking amazing and well-deserved. Jesus, my nipples got hard in there listening to you.”

That makes her smile. “Hard nipples, really?” I thrust my chest out at her, and with her non-cake-filled hand, she runs her fingers over the hardened nub. “It is hard.”

“See. Hell, I’m so proud of you. How do you feel?”

She nods, her head bobbing lightly. “I feel . . . I feel good.” Her eyes connect with mine. “Free.”

And that makes me smile. I pick her up and twirl her around as I press my head close to hers while she holds the cake out.

“We need to celebrate.”

I set her down, and she holds the cake between us. “I have cake.”

“I think we need more than just cake, but yes, let’s eat.”

She lifts her hand to her mouth and takes a large bite before offering it to me. I second the bite and together, while standing in front of my car, we eat her stolen cake out of the palm of her hand.

After a few moments, she says, “I think I know what I want to do.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“Grab some pizza for lunch, lots and lots of hard cider, go back to your place, and play Plunder.”

“That’s how you want to celebrate?”

“I couldn’t have asked for a better idea,” she says, meeting me once again with that beautiful smile.