He seemed chagrined.
“I had to live a double life. At Roud, I had to be the severe, mean madam in order to protect the girls from themselves, from the men, from the guards, from Taweel. Teach them to be shrewd. But when the doors were closed and the men gone, to the girls, I was …” She lifted a shoulder in a shrug. Straightened. “Some needed someone to hate for all the terrible things done to them. And I …” Her ears still burned from some of the curses thrown at her by the others. “I could be that.”
* * *
Range wasn’t sure he could stand to hear anymore. But she had lived and breathed it for ten years. The least he could do was listen and try to understand.
Since they were married and all.
Yet each word, each syllable she used to unveil her past drummed against the rhythm of his heart, his conscience. Dismantled his arguments and left him standing—once again—on the shaky ground of his arrogance and self-righteous attitudes.
Wasn’t pretty, admitting that. But he knew he had to own it. All his life, he’d felt like he didn’t measure up. Always fell a little short. So he’d followed every rule. Lived every nuance of honor. Yet here stood a beautiful woman who had been through the unimaginable. And who was standing before her? Was it Canyon? Stone? Leif?
None of the above.
Hotheaded Range Metcalfe.Yours truly.
Though he had no idea how to help her, what to do with all this, he knew it started with ditching the anger. It seemed so simple all of a sudden. A blinding flash of the obvious that fed off her words from last night about him nursing the grudge.
Time to let go.
It struck him then that it reallywasthat simple. All these years he had made the choice to nurse that anger against Canyon. Hold his toes to the fire. It hadn’t been about making something right. It’d been about retaliation. Making them hurt.
The thought was a sucker punch that left a pool of shame in his gut. Definitely had a choice right here, about Canyon—and about his disgust toward the warrior in front of him: let go or hold on. The latter put the grudge and anger at the center of his focus, put him at the center. The former shifted focus to others. And hadn’t Mom always said to prefer others above himself? He’d lived that for a long time.
Seemed trite. An easy answer. Too easy.
And really, maybe for her, he needed—wanted?—to do both, let go of her past, and hold onto her.
“You are deep in your thoughts.”
Range blinked. Unfolded his arms. He shifted, suddenly feeling awkward. “Let’s get something to eat.” Extending a hand to let her go ahead of him, he felt like he’d been unmoored. Not himself.
Inaccurate. He felt like his old self, the Range of ten years ago.
Which was a bad ingredient to mix into a high-risk op like this.
They returned to the galley and he opened the fridge, staring into and seeing … his past. Her past.
“Eggs and cheese are a good start,” she said from next to him, then nudged him aside.
“What’re you doing?”
“You said I should cook.”
“It was a joke …” Because he’d lost his ability to think when he saw her in that jumpsuit. Now he sounded like some kind of male domineering idiot. “I didn’t mean for you to literally do it. I’m not—”
“Relax, Rage.” Kasra smiled at him.
He stilled, eyeing her. Was she teasing him? Calling him Rage on purpose? A taunt? Why did it draw him like a moth to the flame?
Her black hair hung in a curtain over her shoulder as she moved to the counter with a handful of ingredients. “I like cooking. It calms me.”
“Good.”Sit down, idiot, before you hurt yourself.He planted his butt at the table and … felt useless. And like a cad, sitting down, waiting for the little woman to feed him. The thought pushed him back to his feet. He joined her at the counter. “So … what are you making?”
“Shakshuka.” She side-eyed him as she let the onions and peppers sauté and sizzle while she went to a cabinet. “Assuming I can find canned tomatoes.” Bent, she scanned the lower shelves. Then the upper. “Ah!” On her tiptoes, she reached for it.
The ship canted.
