“Two more weeks until Valentine’s Day.” He just stood in her living room looming over her, his hands in his jeans pockets, his black sweater looking too damn good on him.
“Yep.”
They didn’t talk. He glanced at the bag then at her.
Swallowing a sigh, she opened it. “A Reese’s heart.” It was white chocolate and peanut butter, a combination she found utterly disgusting, but she still warmed at the thought behind the gift. “Thank you, Axel.”
They stared at each other.
“I waited for you to call,” he said at the same time she said, “I didn’t call because—”
They stopped and stared at each other again. And waited. When they both started to talk at the same time again, Rena took charge. “Okay, me first. Axel, I like you. You’re great, but we can’t have a relationship if you—”
“I saw my father,” he blurted.
Thank God. She’d been gearing up to give him the old heave-ho speech for days but still couldn’t make herself do it. She’d fallen in love with the big idiot and his terrible Valentine’s presents. She felt so weak for wanting to pretend his shutting her out didn’t hurt. She should just take him as he was. All her friends wanted the hottie. He was sweet and kind, and, sure, he beat people up sometimes, but they had it coming to them. Rena should accept what Axel was willing to give.
Bull. Shit.
She wanted Mr. Right, the kind of man she read about in her books. And, yes, she knew they were fiction. She’d been told so many times by so many exes that they’d never live up to her exacting standards. As if loyalty and good communication should be an unachievable goal.
Well, Axel seemed to be loyal. But that pulling-away crap had to go. Living without that two-way trust would eat at her until she hated him for making her doubt herself for loving him. If he couldn’t talk to her, what did they really have outside the bedroom?
So she waited while he gathered his thoughts. Tired, she moved to the couch and sat down.
He paced, watching her warily. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you since you left me on Saturday.”
“Uh-huh.”
He looked to be trying to gauge her responses, but she was too tired to care about being nice. He continued, “But I didn’t know what to say.” He looked confused and sad, and she squashed the nice side of her wanting to offer comfort. “When I told you I needed space, I meant it.”
That hurt. She cleared her throat. “Well, I’m here. You live there, so…”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
She swore his heart shone in those deep-blue eyes then wondered just how much wishful thinking could kill a girl’s hopes and dreams.
“No,” he clarified. “I mean, I worry I might someday hit you.”
“You do?” She hadn’t expected that, though she’d not once, in all the time she’d known him, sensed any violence toward her.
He sighed. “My father used to hit my mother. Like he hit me, and, I just learned, like he hit my brother. But I deserved it. I didn’t listen well. I had violent outbursts when I was young. Episodes, my mother would call them.” He looked away, as if ashamed.
Rena didn’t know what to say, so she just listened.
“My mother wanted to be a good wife, so she stood by his side, no matter how he abused her, with fists or words. She grew up in poverty, and she didn’t want that for us. She truly loved my father when they married, but when she learned what he was really like, by then it was too late. She had two boys she would do anything for. My father had a lot of money, and if my mother played the good wife, he promised to take care of us always.” He met her eyes, his full of grief. “Cancer runs in her family, and her sister already had enough mouths to feed. My aunt’s husband left her, and I think my mother worried my father would do the same if she didn’t follow his rules.”
“I’m so sorry.”
He nodded, his pain stark. “My brother believed my father’s lies aboutMutter, and one day I fought with him about it. One of many arguments, sadly. My mother tried to interfere. And I hurt her.” He closed his eyes. “I didn’t mean to, but I struck her so hard I gave her a concussion and a broken cheekbone. I was only thirteen years old, much smaller than I am now, and I did such damage, Rena.”
He opened his eyes, his expression bleak. “I have never fought like that again. Never so lost in anger. I like to fight,ja, but I’m in control. I’m ice. Nothing touches me.” He paused. “But with Rabies and Scott, I lost it. What if you’d been there, and I’d accidentally hurt you?”
She couldn’t watch him looking so sad and not do something about it. “Oh, Axel.” She stood and moved to hug him. He let her, hugging her back tightly, before he stepped back.
“When I rage, and the feeling is there, I worry I’ll strike out.”
“But Axel, relationships areaboutfeeling. Acting out. You laugh, and you cry. You shout, and you whisper.”
