“Aren’t stalkers supposed to deny their obsession?”
“Can a husband stalk his wife?”
“We’re not married.”
“Yet.”
“Brennan,” she warns.
I take a turn sighing and wrap my arms around her from behind.She stiffens and sinks her nails into my forearms.
“I’m sorry, Audrey.I wasn’t thinking when I made breakfast.I made a mistake.Please don’t pull away.”
For a few heartbeats, she doesn’t respond.Alarm spears through me when I realize she shakes from head to toe.A tear lands on my forearm.
I release her, turn her by her shoulders, and suffer a mini heart attack at the vacant expression in her eyes.
“Audrey, baby doll, what’s wrong?”
She blinks, shifts her gaze up to mine, blinks again, shudders, and burrows against my chest.
“I’m sorry, I was fine.Iamfine,” she lies.
She wraps her arms around me and fists the back of my shirt.
I return her embrace, humbled at her trust and grateful to have her close.
“You’re not fine, love, but I’ve got you.What did I do?”I murmur into her hair.
She shakes her head and squeezes me tighter, but says, “Don’t hug me from behind.I was fine until you grabbed me.”Her shuddering breath reverberates through my chest.“God, I’m still a mess.I thought I had gotten better.Ten fucking years,” she curses.
Every muscle in my body locks.She’s suffered for so long, but I cut ties with my father thirteen years ago, not ten.This is the first time she’s referenced any dates beyond my leaving.
Her reaction to Donald the other day, along with today’s revelation, compounds my hatred for him.
He attacked her from behind before hurting her.I force my muscles to relax and rub her back with slow, soothing strokes.
“I want to learn how to cook,” she whispers.
The sudden admission slashes deep into my soul.
“I’d love to teach you,” I say.
“How did you learn?”she asks.
“By necessity and with pure grit.I had no money, no basic life skills, a head full of dreams, and too much to prove.”
She nods.
“I should’ve learned, but was too broke at first, and then when I was making enough money for groceries, I was too afraid to waste food and so was never brave enough.”
My soul aches as she peels back another layer into her past.Despite the urge to shake her and demand she tell me everything, I hum a note of sympathy and continue stroking her back.
I assumed the small fortune Donald threw at her mother went to supporting both of them, but if she says otherwise, then I believe her.I long to know every detail of her life, but if I push now, she’ll retreat further into her shell and never come out again.
Part of me wonders if she even realizes how much she exposed with the words she just mumbled against my chest.
“What did you eat?”
