Page 27 of A Little More Forgiveness

He nodded slowly a few times. “So I’m beginning to see.”

His reply infused my whole body and gave a much-needed lift to my pride. Maybe, just maybe, he’d start looking at me as more than a suit from the Big Apple, wanting to take everything from him, and focus a bit more on seeing me.

I held out my arms showing off the baggy sweater and jeans and oversize boots. “I mean, I’m sure I must look the epitome of a rich and successful businessman right now, huh?”

His sudden cheeky grin left me gawping at him. I’d seen him smile occasionally, and also seen him laugh, mostly at me when I came out of the bedroom, but I’d been too annoyed at looking like a hobo’s kid to take much notice. Now, I was taking very close notice. Normally, if he stopped being a grump long enough to actually crack a smile, a bleakness remained in his eyes that humor never managed to reach. But now, holy fuck, his eyes twinkled with genuine mirth, completely eclipsing the spectacular scenery.

Wow, he really was something else. His expression softer, the man he used to be emerged, the same man from the picture, and the transformation was beautiful to watch.

“I think I need to stop making so many assumptions about people,” he admitted. “But to be honest, you haven’t made it particularly easy to like you.”

“Gee, thanks.”

He held up his hands. “You know what I mean.”

I did. “You’ve not been a whole bundle of fun either.”

He shrugged. “When you’re being pressured to sell your life away, come back to me.”

We were heading into dangerous waters, but I decided I needed to navigate their murky depths to try to push my point. “You do understand how much you’d benefit from the sale, don’t you?”

He frowned, his shutters immediately slamming down.

“It’s not about the money,” he snapped.

“Exactly.”

He scrunched up his face at the same time he lifted off his cap and scratched his head, mussing his wavy chestnut hair. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Meaning, I agree, it’s not all about the money. Yes, money plays a huge part if you sell, but the real prize is what else my offer can give you.”

“Oh?”

“Freedom.”

He scowled. “Freedom? To do what exactly?”

“Anything you want,” I replied.

He stared at me for the longest time before he turned away. “What if I don’t want freedom?” he asked, his voice muted. “What if I don’t deserve it?”

I was stunned. Never did I think he’d give away anything about how he actually felt. Moving over to him, I tentatively rested my hand between his shoulder blades, wary of a repeat of his reaction to Leo earlier on. “Why wouldn’t you?” I asked him gently.

He wouldn’t look at me, so I stepped around him until we were face-to-face and I almost wished I hadn’t. The agony etched into his expression was excruciating to see.

“Mitch, why wouldn’t you deserve freedom?”

He stepped away from me, but I wouldn’t let him go, not while he still hurt so much. “Mitch?”

“I just don’t,” he spat and pulled himself free of my grip.

I doubted he’d ever talked about what was keeping him shackled here, or ever spoken to anyone about the pain he carried around, weighing him down.

“I didn’t want mine either,” I told him, not sure why I decided to spill my guts. “But I didn’t get a choice.”

He eyed me curiously.

“I was told I was surplus to requirements. No longer wanted by the men I loved.” I stared at a point over his shoulder, trying to suppress the emotions thinking about them conjured up. The sharp pain knifing through my belly at what I’d lost. I’d no idea. No clue at all. Why didn’t I know? I’d asked myself the same question over and over. They’d told me our relationship no longer worked for them but never furnished me with the specific reasons as to how they’d arrived at their decision and why they no longer wanted me.

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