He snaps his eyes to mine, the shock evident in every little movement he makes. The way his hands curl around the branch, the tense bunching of his shoulders with corded muscles straining along his neck.
I sit up taller against the trunk. “The truth?”
“Fuck.” He squeezes the bridge of his nose, his eyes clenching shut. “You’re going to have to let that one slide, Princess.”
“And if I can’t?” I blurt.
His hand drops, and he looks to the ground instead of at me. “You have to.”
My mind spins, old memories of Pierce Racing and a younger Rome filling every tiny void.
Rome jumps down from the branch and lands on sturdy feet. I quickly lean forward and find him staring up at me with his arms out wide.
He wants me to jump? Now?
He calls up to me, “You don’t trust me?”
“Should I?” I ask.
His chest expands, his arms remaining open. Without thinking, I swing my legs over and jump. He catches me with ease, one arm under my legs and the other pressed against my back.
I wrap my arms around his neck and look into his eyes. “I guess I do trust you,” I say. “But I don’t think you trust me.”
The grinding of his teeth is loud enough to hear over the breeze in the air. I almost reach up to grab his jaw so he’ll loosen it.
“I trust you more than I’ve ever trusted anyone, Tess.”
I wiggle in his grip, and he places me on flat feet. I cross my arms. “Then why won’t you tell me?”
“I already told you that I can’t.” He swallows. “It’s not that I won’t tell you; it’s that I can’t tell you.” His hands disappear into the pockets of his jeans. “And that has to be good enough for now.”
Before I’m able to say anything else, my dad’s voice echoes into the yard. “Rome?”
We both look to the porch just as my dad walks through the back door.
“Meet me in the den. I have to talk to you…” My dad glances at me with a soft smile. “Alone.”
Rome starts past me but not before whispering, “Just trust me, Tess.”
I don’t say anything, but I do trust him.
Chapter Forty
ROME
Vince slideshis phone across his desk. “Did you do this?”
I already know what it is before scanning the photo on the screen.
“I didn’t peg you for someone who reads GRID,” I say.
Vince makes a noise that resembles a chuckle, though there isn’t much humor on his face. “I don’t. An old colleague sent it to me. Apparently, when asked, Beau answered by telling them that another driver—who shall remain anonymous—came into his quarters and sucker punched him.”
“Or my dad slapped him around like he used to do to me.”
Vince leans back in his chair.
Instead of meeting him eye to eye, I scan his office and every last accomplishment he has achieved.
