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My face starts to warm at the implication. The last time I got hurt, he carried me. I remember his arms, the way he held me tight, and the smell of his cologne. It feels like it was just yesterday.
Yeah, no, I can’t let him carry me.
It’s hard enough being attracted to a man you hate.
Oh, shut up, Payton. You don’t hate him.
Tolerate. You tolerate him.
Even I am getting annoyed with my lies.
It’s more that he makes you feel things you don’t want to think about. Which means you can’t be held in his arms.
Because that will confuse me even more.
However, his narrow eyes tell me there is no getting out of this, so I pivot my body to the right, extend my leg out, and move to stand. Before I can, he’s reaching in and pulling me carefully into his arms.
“Can’t you just get me crutches or a wheelchair?”
“No.”
“Seriously?”
This is unbelievable.
“Yes.”
“Why do you have to be so difficult? I am perfectly capable of handling myself.”
“Yet you’re not. You said you would stay with me. You said you would heal in my place. You sprained a rib, sprained your foot, and don’t get me started with your concussion. Can you just not argue with me?”
“Fine,” I say on a huff.
He chuckles, and this time it’s a happy laugh. A sound I’m not used to hearing come from his lips. I really like it. It’s contagious. I stop the matching smile from spreading across my lips.
In his arms, he pulls me tight, but he’s careful not to hurt me. I’m having a hard time reconciling the two versions of Trent.
The one who treated me like a servant, forced me to write papers, and had me volunteer.
That Trent was nasty, cruel, belittling. Yet the one I see now . . . This is the same man who brushed an old lady’s hair and helped Henry find his son. He tied shoes, cleaned, and stayed with me in the hospital every day . . .
It’s hard to figure out who the real Trent is.
I don’t think he knows either. I think he’s lived in a dark world for too long, and he doesn’t remember what it’s like to grow in the sunlight anymore.
I want to show him the light. I want to remind him what he has to be grateful for.
My mind says that would be dangerous.
But my heart? It’s beating like a drummer, begging to see him shine.
If I let those walls down, if I stop protecting myself and it turns out I’m wrong . . .
If the gamble isn’t worth it, if Trent turns out not to be the man I think he is beneath all the practiced hatred?
He can use that against me.
All the things in my past before his father stepped into my life, he can use against me.
