But then, she’d let him in. She’d let her guard down and given herself to him. She’d let him into her inner circle by inviting him to her grandmother’s. And she’d trusted him with this — the darkest secret of her heart. If they could come this far, maybe there was hope that she could love him back.
She does love me.
He’d seen it in her eyes at dinner. And he’d felt it long before that. Why else would this be so hard for her? She was afraid he’d hurt her. She’d always been afraid of that, despite his promises.
His course was clear. Do nothing to hurt Wren. This, he knew, would be as easy as breathing. It was so easy he couldn’t keep it to himself.
“I will never hurt you.”
Wren gave a bitter sort of laugh. “Don’t be silly,” she said, the world-weary look still in her eyes. “Of course you will.”
She was baiting him, like she always did. But this time, Lee understood what was behind it, so he just smiled.
“All I’m asking for is time to prove myself.”
Her eyes softened, but they still held defeat. “You might have second thoughts before then.”
Lee shook his head. “No way. I know what I want.”
Her eyes welled again, and Lee thought his heart would tear out of his chest at the sight.
“You deserve better than me,” she whispered.
At her words, he felt his jaw and fists clench. “I want to kill him.”
“What?” Wren asked, frowning up at him.
“The man who did this to you. What’s his name? Where is he now?”
Surprise flickered over her face, but she held the frown, her lip curling in disgust. “His name was Darryl Turner. He was sentenced to eighteen years in federal prison,” she said evenly. “Six years into his sentence, he was found beaten to death in the showers.”
Lee swallowed this information. “I can’t say I’m sorry to hear that.”
Her eyes were guarded, but Lee thought he saw appreciation. “By then, I was fourteen, and I remember wishing I had my license so I could drive to Beaumont to thank the inmates who’d killed him. Mamaw and Papaw wouldn’t take me.”
Lee tried to picture her at fourteen. It was easy to imagine her tiny force, ready to walk into a federal prison as if she owned the place. “What were you like as a teenager?”
This earned him a chuckle and an eye roll. “Total Goth. Black lipstick. Black eye makeup. The whole nine yards. I lived for Evanescence and Mandragora Scream. I was pissed at the world, so I was pretty damn scary.”
Lee ran a hand up and down her back.
“At fourteen, I was pissed at the world, too, but I wasn’t allowed to show it — or I was too chicken-shit to show it,” Lee told her, wanting her to hear the admiration he felt. “You would have worn on the outside what I felt on the inside. If I’d have known you at fourteen, I wouldn’t have been able to stay away then, either.”
With warmth in her eyes, Wren reached up and touched his cheek again. He was supposed to be comforting her, but her gesture healed something in him. He hoped to God he did the same for her. Lee turned into her touch and kissed the palm of her hand.
Her mouth twitched then with a mischievous smile. “Of course, when you were fourteen, I was eight. I was still playing with Furbies.”
Lee laughed. “Fair enough.”
Her smile grew, and she arched a brow. “And when I was fourteen, you were twenty. Following me around would have been highly inappropriate.”
Lee rolled his eyes now. “Okay, rub it in.” But he rallied. “What about when you were twenty? What were you like then? Where were you?”
“I’d upgraded to punk by then,” she said with a laugh. “At twenty I had the half-hawk thing going.” She ran her hand over the left side of her head. “I had the long bang that I dyed a variety of candy colors.”
“Candy colors?” Lee asked, grinning at the delicious thought. “I like that.”
“Well, I was at UL in art school, so, you know,” she said with a shrug.
