“Oh my God! I—I’m so sorry. I’ll—tell me how to fix it?”
He waves a hand as if he’s trying to wave away my panic.
“Nah, I’m just giving you shit. So, you wanted to wear my shorts? The ones that’re super baggy, even on me?”
“Something like that,” I shrug, pulling up a dining table chair so I can sit close to him.
“Something like what, Sugar?” He asks, his voice going soft. “I’m not a mind reader, remember?”
“Well, I, uh, I overheard you muttering under your breath about not liking the way people look at me. So I thought I’d give them less to look at, you know.”
He stares at me with an unreadable expression, making my strawberry shortcake scent sour with my panic.
“Did I do something wrong?” I whisper.
“So you’re doin’ it for my sake? Not yours?”
“Yes!” I nod eagerly. “I want to make you happy. Especially when—when Jett hurt you because of me.”
“He didn’t hurt me ‘cause of you. He hurt me ‘cause he likes hurting and felt out of control,” Rowan shrugs. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to because you think I want it, okay, Sugar? Not in this trailer. In this trailer, you do what you want.”
“Oh, well, um, I like wearing just your boxers.”
“Then just wear my boxers,” Rowannods definitively.“On second thought, keep those shorts on.I’ll figure out a way to get you some clothes that fit better, but the doctor is a man.”
CHAPTER 19
Rowan
This territorial urge is bizarre, but the thought of anyone else seeing her grates against my skin like sandpaper.
I’m surprised she’s still so sweet and chipper after everything she’s been through.
“What exactly did my brother do to you,” I ask, my voice low.
Ineedto know. Even though I can’t do anything about it now, it’s eating me up inside not knowing.
“Oh,” she says, her shoulder slumping forward. “He brought me into the barn where they were keeping Ash after his fight and?—“
She looks so small as she curls in on herself.
“Come here.” I don’t know if I’d be able to manage getting to my feet right now, but I shift myself so there’s room for her to sit by my legs.
She sits, and the automatic way she follows my instructions turns the sandpaper grating against my skin into shards of glass.
I reach out and lace her fingers with mine.
“You can tell me, I won’t be mad.” Her skin is so soft as I brush my thumb across the back of her hand.
I’m such a hypocrite, basically forcing her to tell me somethingshe obviously doesn’t want to share when I’m sitting on a big fucking secret.
The secret of what happens to the blood of omegas like her. And the fact that I’m a fucking pathetic loser who’s addicted to that shit.
I’ve been fighting the itch to take it. It’s been gnawing away at me, worming its way into every other thought I have.
If I’m being completely honest, I’m probably going to dose myself again soon. I’ll probably use the excuse of needing it to try to heal faster, but I know why I’ll actually be using it.
“He tied me to the ceiling—I had to stand on my tippy toes—and then, he cut off my clothes,” she says, her voice trailing down into a faint whisper. There’s a faint tremble in her shoulders as she stares at the floor, refusing to look at me. “Then he touched me.”
