Текст книги "Tough Enough"
Автор книги: M. Leighton
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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 20 страниц)
NINETEEN
Katie
I’d already been nervous about agreeing to see Rogan again today, so when my phone rang, I was relieved that it was Mona. I wasn’t really looking for an excuse to back out of my date tonight, but when my friend practically handed me one, gift-wrapped, I jumped on it.
“White had me arrange a party for some of the cast on his boat. He wanted to spend the day out here and then take them all to that little private island for the rest of the night. The problem is, the liquor for the bar hasn’t arrived. Ronnie is on the island now, setting up sound and some of the other stuff White wanted. He said the bar is still empty, though, and I’m freakin’! I mean, what’s a Hollywood party without alcohol?” she’d explained. There was panic in her voice, which is the biggest reason I agreed immediately.
“Okay, just calm down. What is it that you need me to do?”
“Could you go to the liquor store and pick up the things on the list I just texted you and bring it to the island? Please, please, please, please, please!”
“Mona, I don’t have a boat. How am I supposed to get it there?”
“It’s not a real island. They just call it that because it sticks out into the lake like an island. There’s a gated drive that leads to it from Downton Drive. Do you know where that is?”
“I know where it is. Give me an hour to get it and have it there for you. Will Ronnie still be there to help me unload it?”
“I’ll tell him to wait for you. You’re a lifesaver, Katie! Have I ever told you that?”
I smiled. “I think you might’ve mentioned it a time or two.”
“Don’t leave until I get there, okay?”
“Okay. I’ll wait for you.”
That was over an hour ago. I called Rogan and then left right away.
The guy at the liquor store was more than happy to help me cram my vehicle with boxes of assorted liters of alcohol. I wondered if my little car would even be able to move when I drove out of the parking lot. Heaven forbid I break down or get into a wreck. It would surely look like I have an enormous drinking problem. It seems to be doing fine, though, as I carefully take each curve on the way to the lake.
I slow down as I search for the gated drive that will lead me to the “island.” Even though I’m watching for it, I cruise right by the entrance. I drive farther down the road, searching for a place to turn around. It seems there’s just a big bunch of nothing past the very private entrance to the island. Finally, I just stop, check my rearview for oncoming traffic, of which there is none since this isn’t exactly a well-traveled street, then I steer the car into a wide arc and perform about a six-point turn right in the middle of the road. I’m relieved when I don’t get caught or hit. On my return, I watch more carefully for the gate. From this angle, I see that it’s slightly ajar. Probably Ronnie, making it easier for me to get in.
I smile as I think of him. The friendly redhead has been very very nice to me from day one at the studio. I see him almost every morning and he’s always kind and sweet.
The trees on either side of the road part farther, forming a clearing that boasts an amazing view of the lake. Six cheerfully-striped canvas cabanas housing intimate seating groups are set up in a semi-circle. They face a central tent in white canvas that covers several tables. Each is draped in linen and set with all kinds of food. Sitting along the back “wall” is a tiki bar.
I look around for signs of life. I don’t see Ronnie anywhere, but at least I know where I’m supposed to take all this liquor.
I park sideways. I’m blocking the road, but I don’t really care. It’ll be easier to unload my car this way.
I lug the first of the boxes out of the trunk. I carry it toward the lake, between two cabanas and under the main tent to the bar at the back where I set it down on the ground. Dusting off my hands, I go to turn around. I yelp when I find Ronnie standing right behind me.
“Wow!” he exclaims, his eyes raking me appreciatively from head to toe. “And I thought you looked amazing in work clothes.”
I didn’t think to change clothes before I left. Not that I would have. I mean, the jeans and scoop-necked tee I’m wearing are hardly indecent. They’re just a bit more . . . fitted than the clothes I normally wear to work, which consist of either loose cotton dresses or dress pants and blouses. Nothing fancy, nothing with much personality. It’s been years since I’ve dressed to impress anyone.
Until Rogan.
Damn it.
“Thanks,” I reply casually. “Wanna help me unload some boxes?”
“Anything for you,” he declares with his easy smile.
A dozen boxes and enough liquor to rot a small town’s liver later, we are finished setting up the bar.
Ronnie is standing with his hands in his pockets, grinning at me. “What do you say we open up one of those bottles of vodka and break it in?”
I put on my politely removed face. “I’d love to, but I can’t.”
“You sure?” he asks, walking to the bar and pulling out a clear liter. He disappears for a second and when his head pops back up, he’s holding two martini glasses, a shallow dish of something and a lemon. “I make a kick-ass lemon drop.”
I’m just about to reiterate my refusal when my phone rings. It’s Mona again.
“Did you get the liquor? Did you find the place? Was Ronnie still there?”
“Yes, yes and yes. Now breathe.”
So she does. She exhales so loudly I can hear it whooshing in my ear. “You are an angel. An absolute angel!”
Even though she can’t see me, I shrug. “It was no problem.”
“I appreciate it more than you’ll ever know. White would’ve . . . Ugh! Yeah. You know how that would’ve gone.”
“I know. Not pretty.” White is anal, which is probably why he makes such a good producer. He’s a details man.
“We should be there shortly. Will you stay for a few minutes after I get there?” Her tone is hopeful.
“Meh. I’m really not in the mood to—”
“Katiiie!” I can almost hear Mona stomp her foot. “You’re never in the mood. Can’t you stay? Just for a little while? For me? Pleeease!”
I frown. This isn’t like Mona. Normally all she ever needs is White and she’s happy as a clam. Unless things aren’t going well. “Is something wrong?”
The long pause and her short response say it all. “It’s White.” Her voice is small and wounded, and I can hear the resignation in it.
I don’t have to ask what he’s done. It’s the only thing he ever does to hurt Mona. Unfortunately, he does it with disgusting regularity. “Who is it?”
“Peony,” she answers miserably, bringing to mind the mental image of a trashy, raven-haired beauty. She plays the resident freak on the show and she’s very convincing. Mainly, we suspect, because she’s such a freak in real life. Dark, brooding, daring. Admits to loving sadomasochism. Observes some pretty scary “personal pleasure rituals.” Thinks the devil talks to her. That kind of thing.
“Peony? Ewww. Why?”
“I know, right? White doesn’t even like brunettes. And she’s named after a stinky old flower. I just don’t . . . I can’t . . .” I hear the tremor in her voice and I know she’s about to lose it. Now is definitely not the time to tell her that peonies don’t stink. They actually smell quite good.
I hold back my sigh. My friend needs me. “Of course I’ll wait for you.”
Like a ray of sunshine breaking through thick, ominous clouds, I hear the pleasure and relief in her voice. She needs to be with someone who won’t hurt her. Someone like me. “Really? You will?”
“Really. I will.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
“You’re the best, Kitty.”
When we hang up I turn back to Ronnie, who is just slurping the last sip from his martini glass and preparing to make another. “Why don’t you make that two?”
Ronnie smiles and whoops enthusiastically. I feel an answering smile curve my own mouth.
An hour later, I’m two drinks in, Ronnie is starting to slur and Mona still hasn’t arrived. I check my phone to make sure I haven’t missed a call.
Nope. Nothing.
“Excuse me for just a second,” I tell Ronnie when he pauses in his rambling long enough for me to get a word in.
I get up and walk toward shore, scanning the dark lake horizon for the lights of an approaching yacht. I see nothing except the reflection of the dozens of flaming tiki torches that are burning to illuminate the island setting.
I turn back and slip into one of the cabanas for a little privacy as I tap Mona’s number into my phone. The way she answers, I can picture her with one finger stuffed in her other ear so she can hear me on the phone. “Don’t leave!” she says without preamble, practically screaming. “We’ll be there in just a few minutes.”
“It’s getting late. I need to get home.”
“It’s nowhere near late, Katie! Don’t you dare leave yet. I’m coming. I swear.”
“I’ll wait as long as I can, but if you’re not here in another thirty minutes, I’ll have to go.”
She huffs. “Fine. But give me thirty minutes. We aren’t that far away. We’ll be there shortly.”
“That’s what you said an hour ago.”
“Well, that’s what I thought an hour ago. Nautical . . . stuff isn’t exactly my area of expertise.”
“Okay, okay,” I say in frustration. “Thirty minutes.”
“See you soon.” And then the line goes dead.
I inhale deeply and turn to find my way back to Ronnie. And run right into him. He’s standing behind me in the cabana. I grab my chest to still my runaway heart. “Ronnie! God, you scared me.”
“Sorry,” he slurs softly. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
“I’m fine,” I say, taking a step back, away from his crowding closeness.
Ronnie takes a step forward. “You look so beautiful tonight. I just can’t get over the way your ass looks in jeans.”
What a crude thing to say, especially from Ronnie, who’s always fairly mild in his appreciation.
A little thread of unease weaves its way down my spine. “Thanks. I think. Let’s go back out to the tent. Mona said they’ll be here in a couple of minutes.”
I start to walk around him, but he winds his fingers around my upper arm to stop me, pulling me against his side. “Sit and talk with me then. Just for a couple of minutes.”
Still gripping my arm, Ronnie pivots slowly, backing toward the day bed–type structure that’s piled with pillows. There’s one in each cabana. As inviting as it looks, I don’t want to sit on it and talk to a drunk Ronnie.
I plant my feet, resisting his guidance.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. You’ve had a lot to drink, Ronnie.”
He laughs, giving me a sharp tug that unbalances me. I careen forward, right into his arms, which he folds around me as we fall together back onto the makeshift bed.
I make a strangled squeaking sound, surprised by the sudden movement. Alarm flashes through me. I go from uneasy to distinctly uncomfortable with Ronnie’s insistence. I push against his chest in an attempt to find my feet, but rather than letting me go, he laughs and rolls until I’m trapped beneath his weight. Considering how short I am and what a big guy Ronnie is, he holds me down with little effort. I’d say he’s easily twice as heavy as me.
“I think we’ve flirted around this attraction long enough, Katie, don’t you?” he says, his voice gruff with intoxicated passion.
Before I can set him straight, Ronnie smashes his mouth against mine. I clamp my lips together, my body going stiff as a board beneath him. That does nothing to deter him, however. He runs his overly wet tongue over my cheek and down to my neck, his hands multiplying by the second. They’re everywhere—massaging my breast, rubbing my side, gripping my butt, tugging my legs apart.
My alarm increases tenfold when he wedges his hips between mine and starts to grind against me. He’s moaning against my throat, licking and kissing and crushing me with his weight. I feel breathless, but not in a good way. It’s as though the pressure of his thick chest is collapsing my lungs.
“Ronnie, stop,” I manage in a pant.
“I know you want this as much as I do. You don’t have to pretend. I heard you on the phone. They won’t be here for a while. We’ve got enough time, sweet thing.”
As I struggle to bring up my chin and pull in gulps of fresh air, Ronnie’s fingers curl into the neckline of my shirt, dragging it down and pressing slobbery kisses to my chest. Panic begins to well within me when I hear the seam crackle.
“You feel so good, Katie. I can’t wait one more minute.”
Ronnie leans up as if to start taking off my clothes and I use the moment of freedom from his suffocating torso to twist my upper body out from under him. I try to wriggle away, but my movements seem only to further inflame him. “That’s right. Show me some fight. If you like it rough, I’m down with that.”
As if to prove his point, Ronnie runs a determined hand between our bodies, pressing his palm to the apex of my thighs and rubbing hard with the heel of his hand. I buck my hips against him, trying to unseat him, but he holds me down effortlessly.
“God, I can’t wait to be inside you,” he mumbles as he rubs.
I don’t stop fighting. I can’t.
When I’ve managed to wiggle us toward the foot of the bed, a little closer to a possible escape, Ronnie seems to sense the direction I’m thinking and he runs a hand beneath me to push us up farther onto the bed. This time he stretches out full-length on top of me, trapping my legs between his as he rolls his top half away. For a second, his face is illuminated by the flickering torches and I see a mad desire in his eyes. That’s when true fear blazes through me. In my gut, I realize that he’s not going to take no for an answer.
“Ronnie, I mean it. Get off me right now,” I hiss.
“If only your body agreed with what that filthy little mouth is saying,” he says with a growling laugh, taking both of my wrists and jerking my arms above my head. His hands are so big, he subdues them both in one of his, leaving the other free to roam over my torso and follow along with his mouth.
My shirt has ridden up my abdomen, leaving my midriff bare. He rubs his palm over the skin and then shoves it up under my shirt, easily pushing my bra up with it. I feel him turn his hand and, with a yank, snap the front closure open, exposing me to the cool night air.
I catch and hold my breath, the reality of my situation momentarily paralyzing me. He finds my right breast immediately, kneading and pinching painfully. It’s the way that he attacks my naked flesh, like a ravenous dog, that puts me into motion.
Jerking, kicking and twisting every muscle in my body at the same time, I fight Ronnie with all the fight that I can find. I unearth a panicked scream somewhere from the bottom of my burning lungs just before he grabs a handful of my shirt and rips it from me in one sharp wrench.
I don’t even try to cover myself with my hands. I flutter them around, trying to keep them from being recaptured. When I find his face, I sink my fingernails into Ronnie’s temples. I dig in and pull, raking my nails down and tearing his skin as I go. Ronnie howls in pain and, even in the dark, I see the streaks of blood appear on either side of his face.
“You bitch! That’s too rough!”
Ronnie dips his head and bites my chest. I push at his shoulders and cry out in panic, tears of pain and fear streaming from the corners of my eyes to wet the hair at my temples.
Ronnie leans back, clamping his thighs around mine as he works the button and zipper of my jeans, opening them despite my thrashing. When he stills, so do I. I don’t know why he suddenly stopped, but I’m prepared to fight like a hellcat when he moves off my legs.
“Damn, what happened to you?” he asks, the sneer of disgust plainly visible on his shadowed face. The swift change takes me by surprise, but only for a second. Then it registers. I don’t have to ask what he means; I already know. My scars. “Lucky for you, you’re still hot enough to make this worth my while.”
I feel the grip of his thighs lessen ever so slightly. This is my chance. My muscles are tight with readiness. I’m going to kick out with all my might, aiming right for his balls, the instant I can get my legs free.
They loosen a bit more, and then suddenly I’m free. Aiming for his crotch, I squeeze my eyes shut and lash out with my feet as hard as I can. Strangely, they meet nothing but air.
Although I’m confused, I don’t waste valuable time wondering what happened or looking around for Ronnie. I roll quickly to one side and scramble to my feet, running wildly in the opposite direction of the cabana. I have no intention of stopping, maybe ever, until I hear a voice. A familiar voice. A voice that’s not Ronnie’s.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing, you piece of shit?”
I whip my head back around, my wide, terrified pupils immediately focusing on Rogan’s tall, hulking form hovering over a curled body. It’s Ronnie, lying in the fetal position on the ground at Rogan’s feet. He’s holding his stomach.
Rogan bends, taking a handful of Ronnie’s thatch of red hair and holding his head still while he brings his fist down. I hear the sickening crunch of bone just as blood spurts from Ronnie’s nose. Rogan releases his head, letting it bounce against the sparse field of grass beneath him.
“Make him stop, Katie. Tell him to stop,” Ronnie pleads in a pained, desperate voice muffled by the hands he’s holding up to his face.
I don’t tell him that I have no intention of doing any such thing. But I don’t need to. At the mention of my name, Rogan whirls to face me, his eyes taking me in. He rushes toward me, bending slightly to put his face in line with mine. “Are you okay?” he asks, tenderly palming my cheeks. His expression is wild and worried.
The surreal quality of the moment is only intensified by the sound of hysterical hiccupping and sniffling that I soon realize is my own. “Ye-ye-yeah.”
Rogan folds his arms around me, pulling me against his chest and stroking my hair with a soothing hand. “I’m here now, darlin’. You’re safe. You’re safe. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
And for some reason, I believe him.
TWENTY
Rogan
I’m torn. I want to go back and beat the ever-lovin’ shit out of the asshat who put his hands on Katie, but having her in my arms . . . knowing how vulnerable she is right now . . . how much she needs safety and security and strength . . . Well, nothing could take me away from that. Away from her. Not even the lust for blood.
I’m so glad that I managed to track Katie down. It took some finagling, but I finally managed to get Mona’s number once I was able to get hold of White. It pays to be an actor working on his show.
Mona told me where Katie was and that she was waiting for the boat to arrive. I hauled ass out here to find her. Passed the damn entrance twice. It was hard as hell to spot in the dark. And then when I did finally manage to get here, this is what I find.
I grit my teeth, holding Katie close and bending my head to whisper in her ear. “Let me get you out of here. I’ll keep you safe.”
She doesn’t argue, just continues to cry softly into my neck as I sweep her up in my arms and carry her toward my bike. It’s as I’m nearing it that I remember she’s practically naked from the waist up. That image—the one of her standing at the edge of the light, chest heaving, perfectly rounded breasts swaying, eyes wild—will be burned into my memory for the rest of my days, I suspect. Holy shit! So will this rush of desire. I’ve never felt anything like it. It might be intensified by the rage that I’m experiencing, too. I thought I’d left that kind of emotion behind me, but tonight . . . Mother of God! Even growing up with a father like mine or during my time in the Army, I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to hurt another person so much, so violently. I know that’ll be another picture I won’t soon forget—that asshole holding her down, touching her, trying to force himself on her.
My blood boils just thinking about it. With the iron will that I honed early on in my life, I make myself calm down, focusing on the wounded creature in my arms and how she doesn’t need anything but tenderness now. My fury can wait. Katie comes first.
“Are your keys in the car?” I ask, pressing my lips to the crown of her head. Her hair smells like flowers and that hint of musk that seems to be unique to this woman.
She doesn’t speak, only nods. Relieved, I change trajectory, going to her car rather than back to my bike. I open the passenger side door and place her gently in the seat. Her arms are crossed protectively over her chest. Despite the fact that her modesty is mostly preserved by them, I tuck the tattered remains of her shirt around her.
As I straighten away, Katie’s glistening eyes meet mine. They look tortured. Ashamed even, which I find a little bizarre considering what almost happened to her. Maybe it’s normal for the victim to feel shame. What the hell do I know?
She turns her face away, tucking her chin against her shoulder. “Thank you,” she murmurs. And then she starts to cry again, a delicate, heartbroken sound that claws at my heart.
“You don’t need to thank me. I would never let anyone hurt you. Never,” I tell her as earnestly as I know how.
That just seems to make her cry harder, so I close the door and round to the driver’s side, scooting the seat back and sliding in behind the wheel.
With only the occasional muted sound of Katie’s sobs to break the silence, I make the trip back across town to her house. After I park, I take the keys out of the ignition and go unlock her door before returning to scoop her out of the low seat and carry her inside.
I place her gently on the couch and turn to go close the door, but Katie’s words stop me. “Please don’t leave me,” she whispers brokenly.
I take three long steps toward the door, just enough to get me close enough to kick it shut before I return to the sofa. I lean down to draw her into my arms one more time, settling her on my lap with her head on my shoulder. Then I answer her. “I’m not going anywhere.”
With Katie cradled against me, we sit in silence, the only noise coming from the cat, who’s purring loudly from his perch on the back of the couch. My arm falls asleep long before Katie stops crying. I don’t know if it happens suddenly or if it just feels like it happens suddenly. Either way, it’s like one minute she’s shaking and the next minute she’s looking up at me from beneath her lashes.
I’m surprised by what I see when I look down at her. There’s fire in her eyes. Something like a rebellious anger maybe. I don’t ask questions, even though I want to. I just wait for her to speak. I let her set the pace.
Finally, she levers herself away from me, sliding her legs between mine until her feet touch the floor. I miss holding her the instant I no longer feel her warmth against me. I liked being close to someone who’s impossible to get close to. But I don’t tell her that. I just hold my tongue and wait.
Katie stands to her feet, clutching the shreds of her shirt around her as she backs slowly away from me. She stops when there’s about two feet separating us and she straightens. She looks like she’s bolstering herself. I can see her spine stiffen and her chin ratchet up a few notches. The difference is subtle, but it feels profound. Fierce. And I’m instantly curious about it. Gone is the timid girl who hides away behind downcast eyes and a swath of comforting hair. She’s been replaced by this bold, kind of ferocious woman standing in front of me.
Surprising the shit out of me, Katie lets the pieces of her shirt fall away. Bra, too. They dangle at her sides for a few seconds before she tears them off, almost viciously. She tosses them onto the floor with jerky movements. My mouth drops open as I take in the sight of her. Blue eyes flash hotly, lush lips thin into a determined line, chest swells beneath mouthwatering tits as she inhales deeply. She’s fiery. And beautiful. And I’ve never wanted anything more in my whole miserable life. I’ll never forget this either. I know that tonight is already full of images that will probably haunt me for a long time to come.
I can’t stop myself from looking at the rest of her, so proudly on display. Her breasts are creamy and bigger than I imagined, capped with delicately pink nipples that pucker toward the sky. Her stomach is flat, dipping in at the sides to give her a perfect hourglass shape that flares into her slim hips.
God, she’s amazing!
As I eat her up with my gaze, she shifts slightly, causing the light to glint off some less-than-smooth skin. My eyes focus on the pebbly texture that stretches from the left side of her neck down, grazing her shoulder and then disappearing until it picks up again below her ribs on the left side of her torso.
When she speaks, her voice is too hard for someone so breathtaking. “This is what I hide. This is what Ronnie discovered. This is what disgusted him.” Her face is full of anger and bitterness.
“But, Katie, I—”
“This is why you don’t want me. Not really. This is why I’ll never be the girl for you. You just didn’t know it.” With her pause, she sticks out her chest in defiance. “But now you do.”
It’s obvious she’s trying to push me away. I just don’t understand why. I’m frowning when my eyes drift back up to hers, which are spitting fire. “You couldn’t be more wrong,” I tell her softly. She’s more wrong than she could ever know. This doesn’t make her any less perfect. It just makes her more fragile. If anything, I’m drawn to her in a totally different way. Something fiercely protective rises up inside me, something that rivals the way I felt at the lake a little while ago.
I have to know what happened to her. I have to know about her past. I have to know how she was hurt so badly.
I rise slowly to my feet and step closer to her, brushing over the bumpy skin with the tips of my fingers. I know it doesn’t hurt her anymore. Scars don’t have feeling. They’re numb, thankfully. But I also know that some hurts run so deep they never heal. And I have a feeling this is one that goes all the way to her soul. “What happened? Who did this to you?”
Despite the way her eyes are flashing at me, I see her chin tremble. This is hard for her. Very hard, evidently. Maybe it’s the memories. Maybe it’s the fact that scars are often a thousand times uglier to the person wearing them. Or maybe it’s some other ghost I know nothing about.
“I had a different life before this one. And it involved a man a lot like you. He used his fists instead of words and he prized beauty above all else. He thought I was beautiful. Too beautiful. He was always jealous of something or someone else in my life. When I left him, he couldn’t take it. So he found me. And he set my car on fire. With me in it.” Her chin trembles and her voice cracks. “And then I wasn’t beautiful anymore.”
My stomach clenches. Like I’m doing crunches, but it’s involuntary. There are few people I’ve ever felt really connected to, people I’ve wanted to shield or defend. My brother. The men on Delta Five, my team in the Army. But with them it was different. It was like a brotherhood. Loyalty. Solidarity. Never have I felt anything like this before. Never.
Until I met her.
Until I met Katie.
My gut churns. Fury. Sadness. Determination. Defensiveness. Tenderness. And a thousand feelings I don’t have names for.
All I can think of, though, is that she didn’t deserve this. She didn’t deserve what it has done to her life.
As these thoughts run through my head, I’m staggered by the desire to take away her pain, to guard her from the shitty curveballs life has thrown her way. And from any more that could hurt her.
“He was an asshole and a fool if he thought anything could make you less desirable. Now you’re even more what I want.”
If I hadn’t been watching her so closely over the last few weeks, I’d never have seen the slight softening of her features. It’s practically undetectable. But not entirely.
“But why? Why me? Can’t you understand how ridiculous that sounds? Look at me! I’m scarred. Ugly. Men like you don’t do ugly.”
I move slowly, cautiously. I uncurl fingers I wasn’t even aware of drawing into fists, and I reach for her again. I brush away the hair that wants to fall back over her shoulder, like she’s trained it to cover her. I bend to press my lips to the curve of her neck, to the scars that have haunted her for so long. “This doesn’t make you less,” I tell her softly. “It makes you more. More beautiful, more desirable. It makes you a survivor. A winner. Someone worth having.” I drop my voice into a whisper. “Someone worth loving.”
I move to nuzzle the soft space beneath her ear, gratified by the subtle change in her breathing. It turns from a heave to a sigh as she leans into me just a few centimeters. But a few centimeters is enough. It’s enough to assure me that I’m reading her right. Despite what has happened, despite the turmoil of the day, she wants me. Like I want her. She cares what I think. She might not want to, but she does. And that’s good. Because I care, too. Maybe more than I should, especially for a girl who wants nothing except to push people away.
“Can’t you just trust me? Just a little? Can’t you let me love you?”
The pause before her answer is so long I think she might not answer.
But then she does.
“I-I’m afraid,” comes her barely audible response.
“Don’t be. I’ve got you. I won’t let anything hurt you. Including me.”
She’s silent for a long time as I press tiny kisses along her jaw and cheek, stroking the smooth parts of her skin to put her at ease.
“Please don’t disappoint me.”
Her request is like a punch in the gut. The pain, the raw plea in her voice cuts through me like a knife.
“I’d rather take a beating than disappoint you.”
She raises tentative hands to curl her fingers around my biceps. I feel them tremble. I feel her fight as clearly as if it were my own. But I also feel her give in.
“Then love me.”
She doesn’t have to tell me twice.
