Page 88 of Weston’s Treasure

“I also won’t argue about you and the guys cleaning out my apartment. You’re right, I don’t feel safe there. And before I freaked out in the car I was going to ask you if you’d help me find a new apartment because I’m not ever staying there again. Logically, I know you’re not my dad. I know you’re not selfish and self-centered. I know I don’t need to protect myself against you. But I can’t help it. It’s habit. It’s so ingrained to fight against any sort of dominance or control I can’t stop it.”

My insides still burned with humiliation and guilt. I’d hurt him again. I needed to do the right thing and walk away. I was too screwed up. It wasn’t fair to him that I kept putting us through this. I wasn’t treasure, I was toxic. Weston was a good man, he deserved better than me. So much better than the shit I kept piling up.

I was so dumb to think I could change. What was inside of me wasn’t ugly shit my parents had let in, it was simply just me. I was cut from the same cloth as Dale and Silvia. I was their daughter and had inherited the worst from each of them. And my parents’ selfishness mixed together was grotesque and vicious.

“Don’t ever walk away from me when you’re mad and especially when we’re in the middle of talking about something important—no matter how heated that talk gets. And that is not me being bossy or controlling. That’s me telling you exactly what I need in this relationship. I need to know you’re willing to stand and fight for it. Not cower from what you’re feeling.”

I felt my eyes start to drift closed. I should’ve felt some sort of relief he was talking about the future but I didn’t. My heart and my head were at war. A battle so devastating I didn’t think I’d survive.

“I think—”

“I know what you’re thinking, Silver, and you’re wrong.” My spine snapped straight but I held my tongue, remembering this was Weston and I’d inflicted enough pain. But before I could remind him he was not a mind reader, therefore he had no way of knowing what I was thinking, he proved me wrong. “I know you’re planning your retreat. You’ve twisted an argument into the end of us. You’re standing across the room from me thinking that you’re not good enough. Thinking that I’m some pussy who would give up something I know is right, know is mine, because I’m so fucking stupid I don’t understand what two assholes left inside of you. Further, you’re thinking that because I told you to use the door, I was giving up. Which you’re gonna warp into me being one more person who abandoned you.”

He knew it all. Everything that had been swimming in my head. I should’ve been scared out of my mind how he’d figured me out down to the very last smallest detail, but I wasn’t.

Finally, someone saw me.

Finally, someone cared enough to see me.

Finally, I wasn’t walking through life invisible.

But that still didn’t negate that fact I’d hurt him again. As a matter of fact, it made it worse—way worse.

His hands on my shoulders made me open my eyes and the second I did I wished I’d kept them closed. Brown, soft eyes full of so much care and love it hurt to see, hurt to feel as his adoration washed over me, warming my insides.

“I don’t deserve you,” I whispered.

“We’ve—”

“I don’t, Weston. I know I don’t. I’m so sorry I keep screwing up. I know I have to do better. I know I hurt you. But I can’t let you go.”

I stood nervous with my heart jack-hammering in my chest. His hand moved from my shoulder, slid up, curled around the back of my neck, and he brought my forehead to his lips before he tucked me under his chin.

“It’s a good thing you’re not letting me go because I wasn’t gonna let you.”

“Wes—”

“Let’s get into bed, baby. I’m wiped.”

“But—” My throat tingled and my body shivered.

“Bed, Silver. Everything else can wait until tomorrow.”

* * *

Two minutes later, Weston had me in his tee, cuddled to his side. Five minutes after that Weston was asleep—I was not. An hour later I was still staring at the ceiling trying to figure out how I was going to get rid of all the ugly shit my parents left me. Then I realized, it wasn’t ugly, it was hideous and more than that, it was dangerous. If I didn’t find a way to let go, I’d lose everything.

29

A week later, Weston found himself standing in Silver’s bedroom shifting through the papers that were strewn about. The rest of the guys were in her living room and kitchen. He did this with his blood boiling, his gut churning, and his heart heavy. Everything Silver owned lay tattered.

He stacked the papers, probably shit she’d kept in her now demolished nightstand, when his fingers grazed a glossy four-by-six. Weston turned the picture over and his breath caught.

Silver stood smiling flanked by Dale and a woman Weston assumed was Silvia. The fact that Silver was a spitting image of the beautiful woman meant it really wasn’t an assumption. Much like her daughter, Silvia had long, shiny brown hair, the same natural light streaks, same hazel eyes. But unlike Silver’s bright beautiful eyes, Silvia’s were dull. Even smiling, the woman looked unhappy. Lifeless.

Silver looked beautiful.

Weston hated the picture.