Because you might leave.
Tears burned behind her eyes.
“Please.” His voice cracked, and the sound shattered something inside her. “Little bird.” His expression was soft, but he wasn’t backing down. “Whatever it is, I’m here for you.”
For some reason, she believed him.
Grayson reached for her hand, enclosing it in the warmth and comfort of his own.
He wasn’t backing down, wasn’t walking away, wasn’t seeing her faults and deciding she was too much hassle.
Still, the silence stretched, heavy and painful.
Suddenly, a sob escaped—and she couldn’t hold it in any longer.
“I was nine years old when my great-uncle molested me.”
Chapter Eighteen
Grayson stilled, letting those words sink in. He’d suspected something bad had happened to Wren ever since his conversation with Lark, when she was cleaning this very cabin.
And after that nightmare Wren suffered a few nights earlier, he knew whatever it was, it was really bad.
But this…
His blood ran cold at the thought, and her words sliced through him like broken glass.
“Wren,” he whispered. He told himself he was prepared to hear whatever she shared. That he would be her rock, her support, that he’d find a way to help her. But right now…there simply weren’t any words.
He still held her hand, but he was no longer sure if she was the one trembling or he was.
“If this is too painful to…” He stopped talking, cursing himself for being a coward. Despite what Wren might think, it was obvious she was a survivor. And if she was strong enough to pick up the pieces after something like that, then he sure as shit could be strong enough to hear it.
If he couldn’t, then he didn’t deserve her.
She lifted the hand he wasn’t holding to wipe away the tear rolling down her cheek.
“Do you want to tell me?” Right now, he’d give her anything she needed. How this conversation proceeded was totally up to her.
She sniffled, pausing only for a second before nodding. “I’ve never talked about it to anyone except my therapist.”
He was relieved to hear that, to know that his brilliant, brave woman was smart enough to seek help.
“I mean, my family—most of my family—knows because they were there. Robin was only a toddler, so he doesn’t remember, and Piper wasn’t born yet. But Mom and Dad and Lark…” She bit her lower lip. “They know. We just…we don’t…we haven’t talked about it in a long time. It’s sort of the dark cloud that hovers over the picnic. We see it but ignore it, praying it doesn’t dump a bunch of rain on the hot dogs and potato salad.” She gave him a sad grin. “Cute analogy?”
He chuckled, even though his heart was breaking. “You’re wasting your time as a librarian. You should be a writer.”
She huffed out a soft laugh. “I’ll leave that to your future sister-in-law.”
Ella wrote steamy romance novels under a pen name, something that Maverick took great pride in sharing with anyone and everyone. Typically, because it allowed him to joke about how he was her inspiration.
“You were only nine,” he murmured, unable to hold in the part that fucking slayed him.
“Yeah,” she said, as the story slowly poured out, haltingly. “I’d never met Uncle John until that weekend. When he came to stay with us. He’d shown up out of the blue, surprising my dad. Uncle John and my dad’s mom were brother and sister. According to Dad, Grandma and her brother had a falling out before I was born. Dad never knew what caused it. My grandma was a tough old bird and very private. When Dad asked what happened, she just said that it was between her and her brother and no one else’s business.”
“Were you close to your grandma?” he asked.
Wren shook her head. “Not really. She’d retired to Florida before I was born—right after my grandfather died—so we only saw her at Christmas, and once when we traveled to Disney World. I never met my granddaddy. My mom was four months pregnant with me and Lark when he passed. Then Grandma died when I was eight.”
