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“I know. You loved her. I think she loved you, too. She cried every day for a month after you left. After you never came back.” Tommy’s fingers curled into fists. “After I chased you away.”
Jeremy blinked. “She did? Why? She didn’t love me. I told her…” He balked. It was hard to be honest with Tommy, after so many years—and so many unanswered questions. What had he meant about Erica’s scars? Was that why she’d pushed him away? “…I told her I loved her, and she ran away.”
“She might have run away,” Tommy said, “but she regretted it. But how the hell did you end up with her last night?”
Jeremy groaned and rubbed his temples. “It all started yesterday…”
Chapter Five
Erica stood in front of the mirror and tried to accept that the thing staring back at her was really her. This was her reality, now. She wasn’t ugly, she told herself. She shouldn’t hate herself. It wasn’t her fault.
One night, one careless truck driver, and her whole life had changed forever. She hated what she saw. So did every man she’d been with since then. It had started with Nathan. She hadn’t been surprised when he’d left. Hell, she’d been ready to call it off before the accident. She could only take so much perfection before she wanted to hurt him just to see some real human emotion.
But he’d only reaffirmed what she’d feared when she’d woken up in her hospital bed, bandaged and hurting everywhere. No one could see past the scars on her stomach and back. No one could ever want her again, without pity motivating them. She’d spend her life alone. She’d been all right with that. Accepting, even.
Until Jeremy came back.
He’d dared to make her want more. Dared to make her want him. But if he saw her, the real her, what would he do? Run away? Make excuses? No. She couldn’t bear to be rejected by the one man she’d loved since childhood. She was better off alone. Safer.
But she didn’t feel better.
A knock echoed up from the first floor. She dropped her shirt and smoothed it back into place. Who the hell was at her door at nine in the evening? Tommy, probably. She dashed down the stairs, cracked the door open, and peeked through, squinting into the darkness. The damned porch light was out again, and she wasn’t taking the chain off the door until she was sure it was Tommy and not some escaped convict out for revenge.
Worse. It was Jeremy, standing on her doorstep with flowers in hand, Tommy’s clothes precisely folded in the other.
He even folded shirts better than she did. She wanted to just slap an apron on him and keep him.
He offered the bouquet. “Can I come in?”
Erica bit back a groan. “Why? I think we said everything already.”
“No, we didn’t.” His eyes captured her and refused to let go. “We need to talk.”
Her heartbeat quickened. She wished she could grab it and just squeeze it until it stopped being so stupid and gullible. Why did he want to talk to her? Anything they said would only hurt more when she sent him away again. What would it take for him to realize she wasn’t his, and never would be? Did she need to give his heart a good squeeze, too—squeeze it until it broke?
“You need to go.” She tried to close the door. He stuck his foot in the crack.
“I saw Tommy at my hotel.”
She caught her breath and checked him for more bruises. He looked the same; battered, beat to shit and back, still gorgeous, but no worse than before. “What happened?”
He raised a brow. “That’s a topic best discussed inside.”
“Are you going to tell me if I don’t let you in?”
“No.”
She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Then by all means,” she said, unhooking the chain and opening the door. “Come in.”
Warning bells screamed in her head. Close the door. Slam it in his face before it was too late. She ignored them. Apprehension left her trembling—apprehensi
on and a tiny flicker of hope, that the impossible might happen. That she could tell him all about her scars, and he would love her anyway. Want her anyway.
She really was a stupid, hopeless idealist.
When he stepped inside and offered the flowers, she curled her fingers around the crinkling paper wrapper. Tulips. She’d always loved tulips, and she couldn’t help bringing them close to inhale their fragrance. “Thank you. Did you remember these were my favorites, or was it a lucky guess?”
“I remember everything you’ve ever told me,” he said, his voice rough, each word nearly caressing her. “I couldn’t forget if I tried.”
