Page 162 of Repairing the Wreckage

She sniffles and closes her eyes for a second. “Thank you.”

“Talk to me.”

“I’m sorry I lost it.”

“Baby, it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not,” she cries miserably. “I’m so stupid. I actually felt bad for her at first. Then, I was trying to take the high road.” She gestures wildly toward the door. “Now you look like you have a trashy girlfriend. I did exactly what they were hoping for. Behaved as bad as her.”

“First, I don’t care what anyone says or thinks,” I say calmly, looking in her eyes. “She came at you first. You defended yourself. Just like you’ve been taught. What’s my number one rule about fighting?”

“Don’t start a fight but if someone else does, finish it quickly?”

“Yup. And that’s all you did. Knocked her away from you.” Did she ever. “You didn’t do more than necessary. It’s not like you put the boots to her after she was on the ground.”

She sniffles again. “No.”

“That was the rule when I was locked up too. Remember that annoying cellmate Eraser told you about? Wiggles?”

Her nose wrinkles. “The one who jerked off in his bed every night?”

“That’s the one.” Even though I hate thinking about that time in my life, I’ve got Molly focused on something else and she’s starting to calm down. “When my mom came on visiting days, he used to talk shit about her.”

“Like what?”

I shake my head, not wanting to get that far off course. “Dumb stuff horny teenage boys say.”

“Oh.” Her eyes widen. “Your mom was pretty before…I mean…”

“I know what you mean.” I swipe the tissue over her damp cheeks again. “Anyway, he was younger, weaker, a weird kid. As much as it pissed me off, I’d never hit him just for trash talking.”

“He was dumb enough to take a swing at you?”

“Once.”

Her face breaks into a smile.

“They put hands on you, it’s game over.” I rub my palm over her leg. “I’m sorry. I should’ve protected you better.”

“I was already so upset.” Her leg bounces and she bites her lip.

“Why?” I lift one corner of my mouth. “Worried the whole world thinks your boyfriend’s a lousy fuck, now?”

“What? No. Pfft. That wasn’t even worth acknowledging.” She lifts her eyebrows. “Are you worried about it? I didn’t want to stoop to her level and recite my orgasm stats.”

I snort with laughter. “You handled it fine.” I rub my hand over her knee. “What else is bothering you?”

Her gaze darts to the door.

“It’s locked,” I assure her. “Talk to me, baby.”

She takes a deep breath and sits straighter. “I feel so fake. I hate the pretending and lying.”

“About what?”

“He brought up the car.” She inhales and rubs her hands over her pants. “They know they got to me. That I did lose faith. In you. In us. It feels unfair or wrong, disrespectful to you, to sit there and lie.”

I can’t have her think that. “Hey, hey, hey, look at me. That’s not true.”

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