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Her eyes are bright with unshed tears. “And if I hadn’t been taken? If none of that had happened?”
“I’d probably still be standing in the corner at family gatherings, watching you and hating myself for it.” I reach up, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “I hate that it took that to make me move. I wasted years, Trix. But I’m done wasting time. I’m done being afraid to tell you how I feel.”
She leans in, her lips meeting mine in a kiss that’s soft yet full of promise. When she pulls away, her smile is watery but bright. “Me too,” she whispers.
I kiss her again, quick and fierce, then pull back. “Let’s grab some dinner. I’m starving.”
The restaurant’s half empty, not quite buzzing with the dinner crowd yet. The hostess leads us to a cozy booth tucked in the back corner, perfect for two. I slide in across from Trixie, pretending to study the menu even though I already know what I want.
The waiter arrives with our food, and as we dive into steaming plates of pasta, the conversation lightens. She tells me about the time she broke her arm falling out of a tree, and I tell her about my first fight, a clumsy loss that earned me a black eye and my dad’s quiet respect.
By the time we’re done, the restaurant buzzes around us, conversations mixing into a comfortable hum. Trixie leans back, satisfaction in her smile. “That was perfect. I didn’t even realize how hungry I was.”
“You barely ate today,” I remind her, watching her sip her wine. “Too busy kicking ass again?”
She laughs, nearly choking on her drink. “Carter!”
“What? It’s true.” I catch her hand across the table. “I’m proud of you. You didn’t freeze or run. You held your ground.”
Something shifts in her expression, pride mingling with vulnerability. “I was terrified,” she admits quietly. “When he came through that door, I thought…” She stops, struggling for words.
“Thought what?” I prompt gently.
“That it was happening again,” she whispers. “Back in that car, that room, someone coming for me.”
The image hits me hard. Trixie, trapped and scared, reliving her trauma in a stark exam room. My grip on her hand tightens instinctively.
“But it wasn’t the same,” she continues, gaining strength. “I was different. I had tools and training. I wasn’t helpless.”
“No,” I say, my thumb moving across her knuckles. “You were never helpless, Trix. Surviving proves that.”
She nods, blinking back tears. “I know. I’m starting to believe it.”
We sit in silence, the weight of all she’s endured settling between us. I want to pull her close, shield her from every bad memory and fear, but I know that’s not what she needs.
I pull her hand to my lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. I hold it there for a long moment, letting the silence say what I can’t. “Come on,” I finally say, my voice rough. “Let’s get you home.”
She takes my offered hand as I help her from the booth. After dropping cash on the table, I guide her outside into the cool evening air.
As we walk to my truck, Trixie’s hand finds mine, her fingers intertwining as if it’s the most natural thing. I open the passenger door for her, watching her climb in, the hem of her sundress riding up just enough to reveal a fading bruise on her thigh.
Something stirs in my chest—not just desire, but the brutal need to keep her safe, to make damn sure no one ever leaves another mark on her.
“You’re staring,” she says, amused.
“Can’t help it.” I lean in, kissing her temple. “You’re beautiful.”
Her cheeks turn pink in the dashboard light as I close the door and circle to the driver’s side. When I slide in, she’s watching me with an expression that makes my pulse race.
“Take me home,” she says simply. “Your place or mine?”
“Mine,” I say without missing a beat, the word coming out rougher than intended. I turn the key in the ignition, the engine roaring to life.
“Yours,” she cuts in, her voice steady even with the pink on her cheeks. “I want to see where you live.”
My house is a short drive from the restaurant, tucked away in a quiet neighborhood just outside town. I bought it three years ago, a big place with more room than I need, but it’s hard to find privacy closer to the city. I’ve never brought a woman here before, and the thought makes my knuckles go white on the steering wheel.
When I switch off the engine, Trixie sits up, peering through the windshield at the house. Even in the dark, its size demands attention—three stories of stone and wood nestled among towering trees.
