“You’ve always been the only one in the room.”Truth.
She points at me, the same top she just flattened out becoming a casualty of her accusation. “That’s the shit—that right there.”
“You’ve folded and refolded that shirt six times now.” That is my poor attempt to proffer the levity she is generally so adept at providing. It doesn’t work.
“Yeah? Well”—she throws it onto the table—“I’m pissed. I had accepted that you wouldn’t … and then I was lost, and you were there, telling me you couldn’t be. Shouldn’t be. Until, suddenly, poof”—her arms fly wide, displaying evidence—“let’s get married. I mean, when Ryker is right, he’s right. Not that I’ll ever admit that to him. But I was dumb and blind.”
Inching closer to her, I station my shoulder against the wall and cross my arms. “Are you done?”
She scowls on a gasped, “What?”
So, I slowly reiterate my question. “Are you done with your rant?”
“Did you only marry me because you’d fucked up?” she volleys with a heaping mound of sass. “Yes or no?”
I scrub my hand over my mouth, the scruff bristling against my palm and my bruised jaw aching. “It’s not cut and dry like that.”
“Then, it is,” she argues. “Your refusal to answeristhe answer. The whole middle-of-the-night, fuck-me-on-a-balcony-so-I-agree-to-till-death-do-us-part, ostracizing-our-families ceremony was to cover your ass and, in turn, protect me. I guess that’s admirable. People are always protecting me, it seems. From myself. From myroots. From the truth. From the unseen. But I don’t want that from you.”
“Too fucking bad,” I snipe, hurling my arm into the air. “I won’t even apologize. Because I can’t help that. I will never stop protecting you.” I grab my chest, feeling my lungs dispel any morsel of oxygen inside them at the mere thought of something happening to her. “Keeping you safe will always be my top priority.”
“That would be fine if … it’s like you’re still here for my brothers.” She flips open the washer, drags an item out, smells it, and immediately throws it back inside, slamming the lid and adding detergent as she continues. “I want you to be here because you can’tnotbe with me. Because you’re out of your freaking mind for me. I don’t care how quick it was. I didn’t ask for it to be this quick. I would have been content with waiting years to be Mrs. Reynolds. But I wasn’t afforded that option, and that’s what I need from my husband—for him to be out of his mind for me. What I fucking deserve. From you, Ty.”
“Why do you think I came out here, Rena?”
She doesn’t turn to face me when she extends her flat response. “You said it was for my brothers.”
“Right,” I scoff. “So much for your brothers that I didn’t even tell them where you were. Or that you were safe. Which was such a shitty move as their friend. And I stayed. And, yes, I forced you to marry me. Partly to protect you. But also because I’ve been out of my mind over you for longer than I should admit. The only part of marrying you that bothered me was that I couldn’t do it the way you deserved.”
Everything in me wants to go to her, to scoop her up, to devour every inch of her until she understands this, but I’m not sure she’s ready for that.
So, I settle for crowding in behind her, my arms bracketing her against the washing machine without touching her, only that electrifying buzz zapping between us and my fanning breath pebbling her bare skin. “I know that sounds romantic, but, fuck, I … they aren’t wrong. I’ve chained you to me in ways you don’t fully understand yet. And it was selfish. But I still can’t let you go. I’m too fucking crazy for that. You’re mine. It’s the only thing I’m certain of. I don’t even know how to let you out of my sight. The thought … I can’t breathe. So, when your brothers tell you that you sold your freedom, believe them.”
She twists within the circle I’ve enclosed her in, those wary hazels coasting over me with a tenderness that wasn’t present before. “I hear what you’re saying, Ty. And I love so much about it. I know protecting the people you care about is the most important thing to you, so I’m grateful to be one of them. But I can’t stay for that. It has to be more. For me, it has to be more than your residual nightmare about your sisters.”
That slams into me like a brick wall of defeat because I know what she’s saying, and the only way to help her see past it is to slice into wounds I never willingly open. But Jax’s words course through my veins, bolstering me to try something different.
“Don’t hide from her. No one respects demons more than Rena.”
“That’s fair,” I concede. “Quick or not, you deserve to understand that part of me.”
And it all comes bubbling to the surface. Years of torment. Of guilt. Of hopelessness. So, I step back and drag a hand down my face, doing my damnedest to compose myself like a fucking man.
But my eyes sting with grief, my chest shudders, and my voice quavers anyway. “I’ve been the walking dead for over thirteen fucking years, Rena. I see them when I close my eyes, when I look into the faces of women at the shelter, when I thought we’d lost Ivy, when Celeste was hurt, when the Skulls attacked and I didn’t know whether the three of you were okay—whetheryouwere okay.”
A hushed sob flows out of her, but I keep going, rubbing the emotion from my leaking eyes.
“They. Are. Everywhere. Like my goddamn penance.” I suck in a jagged breath and take a seat on the bench, fastening my bleary gaze to the ceramic-tiled floor. “I’ve plastered on a smile like a dementedlunatic, terrified if people look deeper, they’ll know I’m nothing more than a zombie at heart. A coward who made the wrong fucking choice and let that motherfucking predator take them.”
She hoists herself to perch atop the washer, and I appreciate the fact that she knows to give me space here more than she could ever comprehend. Because so much about this feels like failing. Grieving and joy. Laughter and anger. All of it is failure. Human experiences I get and my mom and sisters don’t.
But I really could use a reprieve. And this girl is it. Jax was right about her respecting demons. She asked for ours to dance. She pleaded for me not to hold back. And for the first time, I don’t want to.
My heart is thrashing against my sternum, thrumming to the beat of remorse and shame and solace—the somber dirge that guides me every day. “Don’t get me wrong. I love my family. Wells saved my life. More than once. All three of the guys are my refuge. Ivy, Celeste, and Felicity have brought me joy again. So, when I tell you this, I don’t want you to feel like you’re responsible for … anything other than being you. I won’t put this shit on you.”
I lift my chin and stare at her anguished face, tears tracking down her pink cheeks, makeup smeared, chin wobbly.
Breathtaking.
