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But of course, that was a Polly thought.
In other words, not something that would survive in the outside reality.
Heath didn’t answer my petty question. Because he had all that strength and willpower not to engage in something that would turn into an ugly fight.
Or maybe he simply just didn’t care enough to go to the effort to create a fight. Because I’d created enough little cuts in his feelings for me to drain out every piece of emotion he had.
“No,” I said quietly. “He didn’t hurt me…tonight.”
It wasn’t a lie. He hadn’t hurt me tonight. Hadn’t put a finger on me, in fact. But I was hurting now. From a different man who hadn’t put a finger on me either.
But he didn’t need to in order to crush me.
Something flickered in his eyes at my words. “Tonight?” he repeated, his voice low and almost feral.
Crap.
I totally forgot how perceptive he was. He had the ability to analyze everything I said, and what I didn’t say. My young self had thought it was because of some crazy connection that had him in tune to my very emotions since we met.
The older and slightly less naive version of me knew it was because of his military background and because he was…Heath. He was an intense guy.
I didn’t answer, because my aversion of a lie and the aversion from the truth was battling it out right now.
“Polly,” he growled, stepping forward to grasp my forearms in his hands, the grip tight enough to bruise if he held on long enough.
Please let him hold on long enough.
“Did he fucking hurt you before tonight?’ he demanded.
There was no longer a blankness in his tone, in his eyes.
No, there was murder in them.
I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt right then, that Heath would kill Craig if I told him the truth. Of course that was not something that made sense. For starters, Heath didn’t care about me anymore. He’d made that clear. And even if he had something left from our battered non-relationship, it wouldn’t be enough to kill a man.
I knew he had enough in him to kill someone.
But still, it didn’t make sense why he’d kill for me.
Not now.
Still, I knew that’s what would happen if the truth came from my lips.
I didn’t like Craig much. Or at all. But I’d loved him at some point in my life. And there was nothing I could do to change that. I didn’t want him to come to harm. I didn’t want anyone to come to harm. I didn’t believe in capital punishment—an extremely unpopular opinion within my family, specifically with Rosie and Lucy—I hated any form of violence being used to solve a problem. Again, another thing that disgusted Rosie and Lucy. So I wouldn’t want any human being to die because of a truth I’d uttered about them.
“No,” I said, little more than a whisper, trying to focus on the situation and not the beautiful pain of Heath’s hands grasping my arms.
“He didn’t hurt me…physically, at least,” I lied, trying to sound convincing. “He was drunk. Hurt. People do stupid things when they’re hurt. Stupider things when they’re drunk. The combination was bad.”
He eyed me before taking a large step back.
My arms throbbed from the force of his grip, and from the absence of it.
“Seein’ you on a date couldn’t have helped that,” he said, folding his arms and widening his stance as if he were anchoring himself to the floor so he couldn’t move to touch me again.
His voice was back to that cold and foreign tone.
My mouth dried out.
“It wasn’t a date, it was—”
He held up his hand. “Not my business who you fuck, Polly,” he said.
I flinched again.
It wasn’t the cursing that did it, I grew up around Lucy and Rosie for goodness sakes. And bikers. Swearing was not something that shocked me.
But I’d never liked that word used to describe the act of making love. I always found it so ugly and harsh. And it was all the more harsher and uglier coming from Heath’s mouth.
“I’m not—”
“Not my business, Polly,” he repeated.
The underlying sentiment was there.
I wasn’t his business.
My vision blurred.
My throat burned.
Such a reaction was ridiculous. I’d known this. I’d actively participated in this. Heck, I’d created this whole fricking mess.
So why did it feel like my heart was being torn up through my ribcage, yanked out by Heath’s blank stare, empty tone, and harsh words? Why was it mangled and bloody at my feet, taunting me with the truth of this mess?
He didn’t speak. Didn’t betray any ounce of emotion that he knew what this was. He just stared.
I stared back. A thousand things to say but nothing that would make a difference. Not now.
“I came as soon as I heard!” a voice all but screeched in the deadly quiet of the apartment, I jumped at a slamming of the front door.
