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While they catch up, I glance around at the small, empty restaurant. Now I understand why Dex tries to give him business when he can.
“Sit anywhere you want,” Remy says. “I’ll bring over a menu.”
After we place our orders, Dex slides his hands across the table and covers mine. Warmth from his skin seeps into my chilled bones. Not a chill from the ride—Dex had given me a pair of gloves to wear. This was a deeper cold that sprang from memories, freezing everything in its path.
“You must think I’m a real mess, huh?” I say after I can’t stand another second under his watchful gaze. “I’ve told you about all these shitty guys I’ve dated, my parents…”
On paper, I don’t sound very dateable.
He scowls. Not the regular annoyed-with-the-world-in-general scowl that’s kinda sexy on him. A deep, frustrated, at-his-wit’s-end expression that snaps my mouth closed.
“How does any of that makeyouthe mess?” he asks.
I shrug. “The common denominator is me?”
“No it’s not. It’s rotten people who like to hurt others.” He closes his eyes for a second. “Fuck, Emily. I admire the hell out of you for living through all of it. Taking care of your sister the way you have. Experiencing something sotraumaticwhen she was so young…that would fuck a lot of people up for life. But she’s such a sweet, funny,normalkid. That has to beyourdoing.”
“Me and lots of therapy,” I mutter.
He lifts an eyebrow. “Who got her the therapy?”
“My aunt sent both of us,” I answer. “But I kept taking Libby after she died.”
“You’re a good sister.”
Not that good. Maybe if I’d been home that night, instead of out partying like a bratty teenager, I would’ve found her hiding in the hallway. I would’ve carried her into her bedroom like I’d done so many times before and read her a book until she went to sleep. It would’ve spared her the trauma of seeing her parents brutally killed. I could’ve hidden in that closet with her, keeping her safe. Instead she slipped into a near catatonic state to deal with what she saw.
“Emily?” Dex glides rough fingers over the back of my hand. “What did the letter say?”
“Huh?” I blink and focus on his handsome face. His brows knit together in curiosity and concern.The letter.I force myself to try and remember. “It was a while ago.” I curl my hands into fists so tight my nails bite into my palms. “I kept it in case Libby wants to read it one day.”
“That’s probably good. What did he want?”
I close my eyes, trying hard to remember the tone and intent of the letter if not the exact words. “Sort of anI’m sorry. That he had a shitty beginning but he takes responsibility for what he did.” I pause, trying to recall the last part. “I think he wanted me to visit him?”
“No fucking way.”
“That was my reaction.”
A waitress stops by to drop off our sandwiches.
“Can you bring a small bowl of lemon wedges, as well,” Dex asks.
“Sure.” She glances at me. “Anything else?”
I stare at my grilled ham and cheese, suddenly ravenous. “I’m good. Thanks.”
Dex waits for me to take a bite before slicing into his hot turkey sandwich smothered in gravy. The waitress returns with my lemons and leaves without a word.
“Thanks for remembering that,” I say to Dex, picking one up and squeezing it into my water.
He dips his chin in acknowledgment.
I bite into the buttery, crispy bread and gooey cheese. My eyes close in comforting satisfaction. I munch on one triangle of the sandwich and take a few forkfuls of coleslaw while my mind turns the letter over.
I set my fork down with a clink against the plate. “He said something about giving me the truth of that night and that he wanted to apologize in person.”
Dex’s fork is halfway to his mouth but he sets it down. “What truth?”
