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CHAPTER27
DEREK
Megan isquiet as I pack. She sits so still, so stiff, a color of resignation in her features. I know I should wrap my arms around her and hold her and let her tell me the whole, sordid story, but right now my hands are shaking I’m so angry. I need something to keep them busy.
“I was seventeen,” she says, softly, her voice bland, lifeless. As if she’s reciting facts from a history book.
“I didn’t know he was her pimp.”
My chest tightens and I reach for a pair of boxer briefs, shake them out, fold them in half, roll them up, stuff them into my carry-on.
“I was stupid. I should have known. But for some reason… I don’t know. He was nice when my mom wasn’t. And he didn’t look like he does now. He used to be handsome. And he was always looking at me. I look back and I should have known that wasn’t okay. He shouldn’t have been looking at me like that.” She shudders and shakes her head as if trying to rid herself of the thought.
“When Momma kicked me out, he took me in. I was just grateful to have somewhere to go. But then, after about a week, rent was due. He told me I needed to pay my share. I didn’t have the money. So he told me he’d let it slide… if I let him feel up my breasts.”
She stares straight ahead, her hand rubbing a gentle circle over the small bump on her belly, as if wanting to protect it from the truth. But the truth of it is that I want to protect her. An overwhelming sense of protectiveness washes over me. I don’t know if I deserve her, but right now, in this moment, I really want to.
“I didn’t.”
“I didn’t think you did,” I say.
She flashes a small smile that disappears quickly.
“He told me it was his way or the highway. I don’t think he thought I’d leave.” She snorts. “I stayed on Bee’s couch for a night, but her dad is really bad off. PTSD from Iraq, can’t work. It was hard for her. It was too much for me to stay there. So I bought a bus ticket to Reno. I knew someone from work that moved there. And I left.”
I stare at her for a moment. I can’t imagine moving to a new city with nothing at that age. I could barely make it to practice on time at seventeen. She had to run and she started a new life.
I give up on packing nicely and stuff my toiletry case into my bag. I zip it and push it on its wheels toward the door. Then I return to the bathroom and look for her toiletry bag. My stomach tightens when I realize all she brought was her toothbrush, toothpaste, a bar of soap, and a small makeup kit—that she must’ve brought inside a clear plastic bag. I tuck it together as carefully as I can, and then bring it to her small overnight bag.
I feel her bright blue eyes on me as I search the room for anything else of hers, and I find a book sitting on the nightstand next to her bed. I pick it up and read the cover—Expecting Better. I grip the book, and something hot and molten melts inside me.
“I’m sorry I brought you here,” she says, the defeat clear in her voice. I walk over to where she’s sitting on the bed and squat so that she has to look at me. Placing the book on the bed next to her, I squeeze her thighs.
“No, princess,” I say, tucking a strand of her dark hair behind her ear. “I made all of this happen. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you today.”
She blinks and her eyes focus on mine, her fear melting away and turning into something else. Something that almost looks like gratitude, or peace. They look so blue, her long lashes tangling with her dark bangs. A sudden realization hits me: I’ve been protecting this girl from the moment I met her. Even before we were something, before we knew about the baby, there was this innate instinct within me to take care of her. And if taking care of her came so naturally, maybe—just maybe—it’s possible for me to truly take care of a family of my own.
The thought nearly knocks the breath out of me, but then her eyes drift to my thumbs as they trace circles on her inner thighs and her pupils dilate. But I’m not taking her in this crappy motel in this shitty town.
“Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
By the time we reach the Strip, I’ve already made a reservation at the Bellagio. She’d once mentioned that she’d never seen the Strip, but I thought maybe she had just never stayed there. But as I pull into the valet line, her eyes get big and she stares at the ridiculous amount of water shooting into the air to the tune of “Luck Be a Lady” by Dean Martin.
Her eyes stay large as a bellhop takes our meager luggage into the soaring lobby, as I check us in, and as we enter our room, bags already there. She takes in the room, and the massive king bed in the middle, something I requested. I watch her for a moment, hoping it’s okay, and with the pretty pink blush that rises to her cheeks, she looks happy.
“Look at this,” I say, pressing a button that retracts the curtains.
They open, revealing a wall of windows, and beyond, the fountains. Her jaw drops as she walks to the window, pressing her fingertips to the glass, and watching the ridiculous display of man’s domination over the desert.
“This is…”
“You like it?” I ask, tucking hair behind her ear again.
She nods, her eyes wide and shiny, biting a little smile into her sweet lips. In that moment, something inside me breaks wide open, and I can’t hold back.
I wrap my arm around her waist, pressing my lips to hers. She gasps in surprise, giving me the chance to taste her, to savor her sweet, hot tongue. I kiss her, pulling her tighter into me, holding her against me so secure, showing her that she’s safe with me. After another moment, she sighs into my mouth and relaxes into me, gripping my shirt as she kisses me back.
Her nipples press hard against my chest and I slide my palm over her full, swollen breast. She moans into my mouth, pressing into my grip as she wraps an arm around my back, pulling me into her. I slip my other hand down to her ass, squeezing her soft curves into my growing erection as I bite her bottom lip. She lets another moan drift from her throat and the vibration carries down my body, jolting my already pulsing cock.
