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“We both know that’s not true.”
“I mean, we can't replay the footage like Sunday night football, but I can tell you, the most we've ever connected is through sex. That has been the bulk of our relationship. Are you trying to say you want more than that? More than me being an item you proudly display on your shelf?”
She won’t be satisfied until she’s crushed my balls. At least I can say I knew she wouldn’t make it easy. I know better now. She deserves this. Deserves answers and honesty.
“Yes. I want more than that. I want you. I mean, do I want to give up the sex? Not on your life.” We both chuckle, which I take as a good sign. “But I know in the deepest part of my heart that the sex wouldn't be nearly as good if it wasn't for you. You were always missing from my life all this time. I don't want to go back to living without you. That is just something I'm unwilling to do.”
She goes back to her food, picking at it again, pairing a piece of cheese with a grape. “I want to be together, too, but it can't be the way it was before.”
“What do you mean?” At least I know she's willing to be more honest with herself. No pushing me away, pretending there's nothing between us. I can work with this.
“The control stuff. I won't be caged—and I told you that before.”
“And I told you I want you to be safe. I want you protected from all the shit in the world. I've seen too much of the world's ugliness and almost lost you to it. You can't expect me to turn a blind eye and risk your safety.”
“There’s a difference between wanting me to be safe and controlling every aspect of my life. It isn’t a relationship if I don’t feel free to go where I want, to see who I want, or talk to who I want.” She looks downright pissed, staring me in the eye. “I want to be able to go somewhere and not wonder if I’m being tracked or followed.”
“If you weren’t tracked, I wouldn’t have found you at that cabin.”
Right away, I regret my response when she winces. Why don’t I kick a wounded animal while I’m at it? “I didn’t mean to throw that in your face.”
“Sure, you did,” she whispers. “That’s how you found me. How you saved me.”
Silence fills the space between us while she picks at the rest of her muffin. “I don’t want that anymore,” she whispers. “Promise me.”
Every word takes effort to pry from my mouth. “I promise you. No more tracking.”
“I need to feel like you trust me.”
“I get it.” It’s the rest of the world I don’t trust. That’s the last thing she needs to hear after having Charlie for a father. No doubt his work tainted the way he raised her, not to mention how his wife died. The hair on the back of my neck stands at the thought of her. I set Romero on the task of digging up information the day Charlie showed up, and as far as I know, there’s been nothing yet. The woman was innocent, the way her daughter is.
“So you’d back off with the following me and tracking if we were together?”
“If?” The word stirs uncertainty in my gut. “What do you mean by if?”
Her head tips back until it rests against the headboard. “You know how I told you that my dad thinks you killed my mom—and even though I don’t believe you did it, he does.” Her chin quivers before she adds, “It would kill him to know we’re together.”
He already knows, little bird. It’s on the tip of my tongue, prepared to tumble past my lips and throw our entire conversation on its head. It might be easier for her if I break the news of Charlie’s visit and my awkward confession. However, remembering why I haven’t told her about it yet, sets me straight. I don’t want her to know the condition he was in at the time, and there’s no way to avoid it. A sober, sane man doesn’t barrel their way onto my compound and pull a gun. Not on me. Bianca would, of course, rightly assume his condition.
All I know is that he hasn’t told her yet. He might be too embarrassed to admit what he did. If that’s the case, I’m not going to shame him.
There’s nothing to do other than hold my tongue about it. “He’s a grown man. He’ll have to handle it eventually.”
“Not until he’s got proof of who killed Mom.” She wraps her arms around herself, sighing. “Until then, there’s no way it won’t look like I’m a traitor who’s, you know, spitting on Mom’s grave.”
