Page 172 of The Sidekick

I unlock and open the door, grab my things, and walk out, shutting it quietly behind me.

Once I’m on the concrete, I notice I forgot my shoes. Dang it, my flip-flops were right there and I just bubble-headed my way right past them. Warmth splashes down my cheeks as frustration builds, tensing my shoulders. I want to start cursing. Would that help? I feel like it would.

“Tera!”

His muffled shout rocks the night.

I just want him to shut up. Leave me alone. I’m trying to think of a good curse word here. His voice makes me feel like I should be running instead of shuffling like a zombie to my car. The tears fall faster.

A horn blares and I stop to stare into the lights as a vehicle swerves around me in the lot. Someone screams out the obscenities that I can’t seem to conjure up. All I can feel is jealousy that they get to do that so easily while I’m standing here like an idiot.

Two arms band around my waist and haul me back into a chest hard enough that my feet drag on the pavement as I’m moved backward and lifted onto the sidewalk again. I don’t struggle as I watch my car get more distant, like a never-ending nightmare. I can see my destination, but I can’t reach it.

Asher’s arms squeeze so tightly they’re painful. I know there’s no moving out of this. I wanted to leave right this second, but I guess I’ll have to hold off on that. I’ll just be a statue for right now until he goes away. He has to at some point. I’m starting to feel like something is really wrong with me right now. That’s not good, is it?

His heart is hammering so hard I can feel it. He’s panting like he just ran a marathon.

“Come back inside, right now,” he demands in a low, hoarse voice.

My body stays still as the urge to obey refuses to rise. I don’t want to go inside. I want to go away. What cuss word matches this feeling?

“Please,” he grinds out. His cheek brushes against mine and he curses, rubbing my tears away roughly without letting me go. He gets to cuss. Why can’t I? Everyone does it, and I’m stuck hearing my mother’s voice telling me ladies never curse.

We stand there while he catches his breath and nuzzles his face in my neck. I start counting how many cars are in the parking lot just to pass the time. There can’t possibly be that many people living in the apartments on this side. That would be five people each. Aren’t they all two bedrooms?

I try my best to ignore his heat and the too-fast beat of his heart as he says my name in an anguished tone that makes me feel guilty.

“I guess we’re discussing this here, then?” His voice is exhausted and filled with something I would never have associated with him. Helplessness.

But I’m not doing anything. I’m an idiot bystander who is standing perfectly still. Nothing to see here. If the neighbors walked out right now, would they think I was crazy? I mean, I am, but they shouldn’t have to know that. They can live in blissful ignorance.

“The sperm donor liked to burn me. Mostly with cigarettes or cigars.”

Oh. That’s what the spots are. My gosh, there are so many of them! Everywhere!

Yeah, I’d be defensive about that too. But it’s not my fault he suffered before I met him! I didn’t do any of that. I shouldn’t be treated badly because someone else hurt him. Even if he hates him bad enough he can’t call him dad. That rage-covered vulnerability strikes a chord in me that makes the numbness surrounding me crack. Pain fills me quickly and the nausea rushes back in. My body starts shaking as I sag in his embrace, my tears starting up in earnest.

“I hate my skin and I reacted badly. I wasn’t ready.”

That is definitely another thing I can understand. Some pains take time and trust to talk about. I forced his hand. It’s no different than me throwing things when people bring up the forbidden subject. A defense that is completely out of my control, just like his.

“I love your skin,” I say softly and lift a hand to touch his forearm, cautiously rubbing my fingers over a flower as lightly as I dare. I don’t want to start the cycle again, but touch is how I comfort myself. I’m not sure what he needs. “Is this ok?”

His body shakes mine with how hard he shudders so I start to withdraw. “You can touch me as much as you want, angel.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to -”

“No.” He says in a stern tone. “I’m sorry. You didn’t know, and I would never willingly hurt you.”

“I won’t hurt you either, I promise,” I whisper and stare out into the night, hoping the feeble words are enough.

He buries his face in my shoulder.

We stand in silence, accepting each other for the damaged people we are. United in pain neither one of us has inflicted on the other.

“Can we go back inside now?” Asher asks so quietly that I can’t stand the broken sound of it. I never want to hear it again.

I nod and pat his arm. He doesn’t loosen his grip. Instead, he lifts me from the waist again, refusing to let me go for even a second as he carries me back inside. Then he sets me down and locks the door, maintaining a position in front of it. Silly man, I can fit through the windows if I want to leave. I look around at the mess we left in the living room and start picking it up just to have something to do.

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