“That’s it!” I flung my hand out toward him before bringing it back to rub at my forehead. “That’s exactly it. There is a very real possibility that we would’ve broken up anyway, and Parker was getting too attached as it was. If I had let our relationship go on, only for it to end months or years down the road . . . it would crush him. This is why I don’t let men into our lives.”

“No, it’s because you’re f**king scared!” he yelled, and I jumped back. “I get not wanting to have a bunch of guys coming in and out of his life. I get that, and I think you’re right in not wanting that for him. But you’re not giving yourself the chance to be with someone, and you’re not giving Parker the chance to ever have a dad because the first guy in six years who you’ll give the time of day, you push away after only a ­couple weeks.”

“I’m protecting him!” I gritted out.

“Yeah, you’re protecting him. There are also ­people who put their kids in plastic bubbles because they don’t want them to get sick. Are you gonna do that too?”

“Do not belittle me for the way I am living and have raised my son!”

The anger slowly left Coen’s face, leaving only pain. “You’re an amazing mom. There’s no questioning that,” he said gruffly as he rounded the couch and walked toward me until he had me backed up against a wall. “But you’re scared of getting hurt, and you’re terrified Parker will get hurt as the result. I get it. I swear to God I get it.”

I shook my head and tried to steady my quivering jaw. He couldn’t understand. No one—­unless they were in my situation—­could understand.

“You’re right, Reagan. Actually being a father hasn’t crossed my mind. And, no, I don’t know how I would have reacted if Parker had asked me if he could call me that; but I know it wouldn’t have made me bolt for the door. Because I knew he came with you. And you? God, woman, you f**king know how to piss me off . . . but that doesn’t stop me from wanting you so damn bad. But I do know this. I know that your son is the coolest f**king kid I’ve ever met. I know that last night was the best night of my life. The whole night, not just after Parker went to bed. I know that I want a lot more nights just like it. And I know that what did freak me out, was the thought of not having it again when you were telling me it was over this morning.”

“Coen . . .” I swallowed roughly and looked away when his thumb brushed against my jaw. “I’m trying to save all of us a lot of hurt down the road. This can’t work between us.”

“How do you figure? Because last night and this morning, I could’ve sworn you were thinking the opposite.”

My cheeks heated and I tried to push away the memories that kept assaulting me from our time together. “Almost all of our conversations begin with arguments. Have you realized that?”

“Yeah,” he said without missing a beat. “And how have all of those arguments ended? Just like this one. With you in my arms, and with you fighting what you want.”

“That’s not something to be proud of, Coen. It can’t be healthy for ­people in a relationship to have most their conversations start as fights. What if Parker starts catching on to that? And I don’t willingly go into your arms, you always back me up against something so I don’t have any other option!”

Coen just smiled and shook his head once as he got somehow, impossibly, closer to me. “We argue because you’re a bitch and I’m a dick, and neither of us know how to keep our mouths shut. We argue because you’re usually fighting me on something, or trying to protect yourself and Parker, and I’m trying to get you to see how ridiculous you’re being. We argue because that’s our way of talking through things. We get loud, yeah, but we don’t scream at each other, we don’t throw shit, and you will never in your life see me raising a hand to you or any woman. So we argue? Who f**king cares, Reagan? At least we don’t have to worry about our first fight. At least we don’t have to worry about communication issues. This is how we talk, and when we’ve talked everything out, we’re fine.”

“Always the charmer, Coen. You really think you can call me a bitch, and I’ll just swoon or something because you tried to justify it?”

He looked at me for a few seconds before whispering, “Yeah, Duchess, I do.”

“That’s not how—­” My words cut off on a high-­pitched whimper when his mouth pressing firmly against mine, and it took a few seconds of giving into his kiss before I pushed him back. “No, I’m not done being mad!”

Coen’s dark eyes held mine, the humor now gone. “You’re not mad at me, Reagan. You’re trying to protect yourself again, and in doing that you’ve tried to find reasons to be pissed. If anyone should be mad here, it’s me. You tried to take you and Parker from me because you thought I would run. You tried to take away my say in our relationship. If I really thought you wanted to break up, then this wouldn’t be happening. But I know what you’re trying to do, and I’m not going to let you.”

“I’m—­”

“Scared. You’re scared, baby, I know.”

My jaw trembled harder and tears pricked at the back of my eyes.

“We can have this argument a thousand more times than we already have, Duchess, and I’m still going to be here, fighting for our chance. What Parker said scared you today. Not me. You. But like I said, I know you don’t want to break up. I know you want this just as bad as I do. We can go back a few steps, we can slow things down. I won’t come over, I won’t stay the night . . . whatever it takes for you not to be scared.”