“I haven’t,” he finally answered.
I glanced down, catching a glimpse of the top of his blond head. Why did I have the urge to pet him? “What was that?”
“I haven’t cuddled with anyone since that night…” His voice quieted. “With you.”
Oh. Well then. I carded my fingers through his hair, feeling satisfaction rumbling like a V-8 engine inside me.
“If you try and get up, I’ll know,” I said, tightening my hold, those stupid pain meds already trying to drag me back under.
He wiggled closer and slid one leg between mine. I tightened around it just so he knew who was boss.
Just before I succumbed, I heard him whisper, “I’m not the one who didn’t stay.”
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
Rett
This was bad.
And totally unfair.
Someone please tell me why I finally, in all my twenty-two years, made a friend—a best friend—only to find out my bestie somehow knew the man who’d escaped into thin air with my heart.
Why can’t anything ever be easy?
Oh, but it was.
So easy to lie in bed beside him, my body soaking up his warmth like it was some kind of touch-starved sponge. Any thoughts of mutiny my brain conjured were basically overruled by my nervous system and the feeling of safety. Thing was, I shouldn’t even feel safe with him.
But even after he drifted off to sleep, I didn’t get up. He took a bullet for me, after all. Not that I asked him to do that.
Honestly, if he hadn’t left behind a pile of cash two years ago, I might have been able to convince myself that night had been nothing more than a weird fever dream. Even ifmost of my dreams were morbid, you know, like someone murdering me and hanging up my body parts on a clothesline. Or someone shoving me off the side of a mountain where I plummeted to my death.
I never once dreamed of happy things like being the object of someone’s desire and handed a jackpot.
Yes, Rett, because it’s so happy for someone to treat you like a prostitute.
But in my life? It was the nicest thing that had ever happened.
For the longest time, I was convinced he’d come back, if for nothing more than to reclaim the money he’d left. Time passed. The way he made me feel lingered even when hurt settled in alongside it. Still, I waited. I watched. One time, I wandered into an alley to see if he’d appear. He didn’t, but I got chased for two blocks by some thugs and only got away because I was small enough to slip inside a narrow space between two dumpsters and hide.
Jammed into the filthy crack, I trembled as the men searched, loudly making it very clear their plans to disembowel me. It had been an eye-opening moment.
Well, not really because I mostly had my eyes squeezed shut the whole time. There were rats back there. Also, I’m pretty sure one of the thugs took a leak on the dumpster just a foot away from where I crouched. Some things should just never be seen.
There was a realization, though. I realized, even though Hiro was not someone I could forget, I was obviously the opposite. Utterly forgettable.
I had a long time to think while crammed into that urine-marinated hidey hole, and by the time I crawled out, I was covered in scrapes and had to limp home. But I was stronger and more determined than ever to take care of myself and not rely on anyone else. Just because someone had shown me a scrap of attention did not mean they cared enough to stay. It didn’t mean I could depend on him.
The only person I had to depend on was myself.
I’d already made the choice of running away from home—away from that danger—and I didn’t regret it. But I was still running, still in danger. It was time to use the money Hiro had left behind. The money I’d held on to in fear he’d demand it back. And also, it wasn’t really right to just take someone’s money.
But I had waited for months, and frankly, if he didn’t want me to use it, then he shouldn’t have left it. I finally decided that if he came back asking for it later, I’d just tell himtoo bad, so sad.
I learned quickly that five thousand wasn’t exactly the epitome of riches I considered, but it was more than enough for a deposit and a few months’ rent on a tiny apartment in the worst part of Buffalo. I mean, sure, the ceiling leaked when it rained, the thermostat was more of a suggestion than a setting, and the first time I opened the closet (a term I use loosely), the door came off the tracks like it was trying to escape, but it was home. And everything else worked—just not very well.
