Page 37 of June 7

He nodded.

"People around here believe I would do the same thing because I have my dad's blood flowing in my veins. They believe that I must be crazy, too." She set her coffee on the end table. "But I can tell you that growing up, my father was not mentally unstable. He was supportive. He loved my mom. He loved me."

Bane cupped his jaw and straightened his whiskers. The longer he went without saying something, the more she feared he'd walk out the door and want nothing to do with her.

"Liz's mom is on the city council. She got Liz and me a job as the pool's lifeguards when we were in high school. When I graduated, I went to the community college and took management classes at night for two years." She put her feet down on the floor and scooted to the edge of the chair. "Then, I was hired to run the pool. Even then, I made sure I only worked during the day when the little kids were at the pool because they didn't know about my past. I can pretend nothing is wrong around them. Liz covers the evening swim with the adults because they don't feel comfortable around me. I've heard what they say when I'm at the store or around other people. I've tried hard to always smile, to always laugh, to always be nice, so they wouldn't believe—"

"Stop."

"Bane, you have to understand—"

"Stop." He stood and approached her.

He grabbed her upper arms and lifted her from the chair. Then, he wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly against his chest.

Several minutes later, still shocked by his response or his non-response, she sensed his heart racing against her ear.

"With me, you don't have to pretend to be happy. If you want to ball up your little hands and beat them against me if you're angry or scared, you use me to get those feelings out. It's not healthy to always pretend you're happy and nothing hurts you," he said.

"I'm not going to use you as a punching bag, Bane." She held him tighter.

For him to even offer such a thing endeared him to her more. Instead of feeling better about telling him and no longer having to hide her past, she was left shaking. The crime was committed six years ago. Maybe all her emotions were raw because she'd recently lived through the anniversary of her parents' deaths.

"I have to tell you one more thing," she whispered.

He grunted.

Closing her eyes against the embarrassment, she held on to him. "I told you I don't drink, and that's a lie. I purposely don't drink throughout the year so it's easy for me to get drunk on the eve of June 7th. It's how I avoid the memories. I get so drunk that I blackout and then sleep all day."

"Babe..."

"I don't remember you being in my bed," she whispered.

"Nothing happened." He cleared his throat. "I found you drunk, sitting in the sand—Jesus Christ."

His hold on her tightened. Shame flowed through her. He'd seen her at her worst.

"I carried you to bed." He stroked the back of her head. "You didn't want to be alone, and I held you all night. The next morning, I was leaving when Liz found me walking out of your bedroom."

"I wish I would've remembered that part." She dared to look at him. "I'm sorry I never told you any of this from the start, but I was scared. You were different than the other men I've dated. I didn't want to scare you away."

"I don't get scared." He hooked her neck, bringing her to her toes. " I won't allow anyone to talk about you."

"You can't stop them. They'll start talking quieter, but they will talk."

"Then, let them talk." He kissed her hard. "It doesn't matter what those fuckers say. I enjoy being with you. I want to be with you."

"I want to be with you, too." She squeezed him harder.

"I just have one thing to say."

She leaned back to see him better. "What?"

"You only make cookies for me." He kissed her forehead. "You make damn good cookies, babe."

She laughed on a hiccup. "If we're making rules, I think you should only buy coffee and donuts for me."

"Only you."

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