Clearly, I hit a nerve, but that thought never crossed my mind.
“That’s the exact opposite of what I think, Benny.” I touch his face now, holding his chin in my palm and putting pressure until he looks at me. I hope I can give him an ounce of the reassurance he gives me. “I only said that because I don’t want to be with anyone else right now.” His hazel eyes warm, and the tension leaves his jaw. “But after the problems I caused, I know I’m asking a lot from you, way too much. I wasn’t even sure you’d want to talk to me, let alone help me, but you were, and you still are the only one I trust to protect me. So don’t say that shit again.”
He blinks, probably shocked at my attitude. “The problemsyoucaused?”
“It’s my fault you got shot and then everything after with my dad and—”
“Shut up,” he snaps.
My head rears back. Um, no. Being told to shut up is one of the worst things you can say to someone, telling them basically that they’re not worthy of speaking. I’m more hurt by Ben’s dismissiveness than anything, though, so I stay quiet as he says what is clearly more important than what I have to say.
“That wasnotyour fault. It was mine.All of it.” He grabs my hand and slides it under the collar of his shirt. Touching him like this has always been a fantasy, so my anger is a forgotten memory. “I hate that you’ve been blaming yourself.” His skin is warm, eyes languid, and I wish I could glide my fingers into his hair to feel if it’s as soft as I remember. But he guides us in a different direction—to the front of his shoulder, a little to the left.
I encounter a circle of rough tightness and realize what he’s doing. I try to pull away, but my effort is moot. “I’m the one with the scars, Annie, so I get to say who’s to blame.” He leans in and drops his forehead gently to mine, making it impossible to avoid his declaration. “It’s not your fault. It’s mine. Tell me you understand that.”
I get it. He wants me to not only hear him but to reallyseehim. And I do. I hear the veracity in his words, I see the sincerity not just in his eyes, but from the truth shining behind them. He’s wrong, but he’s also right—I am to blame, but he’s the one with the scars.
So if that’s what he wants to hear, that’s what I’ll say. “I understand.” But it’s a lie.
“Liar,” he whispers. “But I’ll let it go for now because we’ve got more important things to do than argue about something we can’t change.” He leans back and helps me to my feet. “You need a shower.” He doesn’t hold back his grin when he adds, “You stink.”
He’s already walking away, so he doesn’t see me glaring. “So do you.”
“Bullshit. I smell like the ocean,” he hollers over his shoulder.
I hobble behind him to his bathroom where he’s messing with the shower knobs. “Give the water a few minutes to warm up while I grab you some stuff.”
I spy a half-empty bottle of Cool Water cologne next to the sink and press the pump, smelling the fine mist. It’s refreshing with a hint of sweet, but when it’s on Ben, it’s even better, delicious.
“Oldie but a goodie.” He murmurs, scaring the crap out of me.
I scramble to put it back, feeling like I just got caught with my hand in the cookie jar.
He dumps a pile of clothes and towels on the counter. “Holler if you need anything.”
And then he’s gone, and I finally see my reflection. “Oh my God.” I look like death. My face is covered in dirt, and the wipes just spread it in streaks.My hair is a rat’s nest…no, a bird’s nest, I think as I pull out a few leaves and a couple of small twigs.
I wash my hair twice, but I do it as fast as I can. I’m anxious about finding Joan Wick, praying she used her kitty senses to come back home. Ben’s waiting for me, too, and I’m already putting him out, so I don’t want this to take any longer than it absolutely has to.
Mainly, I make quick work of my shower because nothing good will come from having time to think. There’s a good chance I’ll break down or freak out, and I don’t want to do either. I don’t want Ben to feel like he has to be my emotional support on top of everything else. Having him believe me is all I need. I haven’t felt validation in a really long time, and I couldn’t ask for anything else.
Yet here he is, giving me more than I deserve.
After a quick rinse, I dry off and wipe the steam off the mirror. My face looks almost back to normal. The cut on my forehead is smaller than I thought it would be, and my cheek is only a little puffy.
My ankle, however, is a lot puffy. It’s so swollen that it hurts to put weight on it as I struggle with the leggings he left for me. I finally get them on, and when they snap tight around my waist, I frown. These are women’s pants, and so is the tank top. The socks and hoodie are his, but I can’t even enjoy being wrapped up in his sweatshirt because I’m annoyed with myself for being annoyed that I don’t want to be wearing one of his ex’s clothes.
I know he had a life without me, and I had one without him. But mine was boring and on the verge of nonexistent, really. Obviously, he’s had women since…I don’t want to think about how many. For me, guys were few and far between, and none of them lasted any significant period because they weren’t worthmine. None of them were the kind of man I really wanted. They weren’t like Ben.
But he’ll always see me as a helpless little girl, not a sexy, mature, independent woman. My showing up like this doesn’t change that, but I still hate the thought of him with someone else.
A quick knock jolts me out of my pitiful thoughts. “You good?” he asks through the door.
“Yeah.”
“Clothes fit?”
Unfortunately. “Yup.”
