Page 38 of Issued

Yes, of course I want her to sit with me. Hell, I want to know if she enjoyed last night as much as I did. I want to ask if she ran because she regrets having sex with me, or if she was afraid of something else. And most of all, I want for her to know she is safe with me.

I also want to ask her if she’s on birth control, if she’s upset with me. Well, she and I would have that in common, because there’s no way I am going to be a father, raising a version 2.0 of my own shitty self. I wouldn’t want that for anyone.

“Knock yourself out.”

She’s stiff in the way she moves around the couch, hesitation where confidence usually resides, an awkwardness replacing her grace. A bright green color peeks out from beneath the sleeve of the sweatshirt when she leans on the armrest to navigate around the coffee table, and I lunge forward, reaching for her when she struggles to sit.

Taya pauses halfway down and shoots me a death glare, complete with puckered lips and narrowed eyes. “I can sit on my own, thank you very much.”

My jaw clenches, molars grinding, as I pulverize the popcorn in my hand. I suck in a deep breath, trying to chase away the shadows of fear threatening to engulf me as I lean back onto the couch. “What happened to your arm?”

Taya stares at the television, rolls up her sleeves and reaches over with one hand to steal some of the popcorn from the bowl nestled in my lap as she settles onto the couch.

Our hands brush, and I want to grab her—shake her—anything to get her to look at me and tell me what I know she’s hiding. I can read her better than she thinks.

A few pieces of popcorn overflow from her fist, and she scoops the offending kernels off her cast with her tongue.

My heart is racing, and the taste of copper is heavy on my tongue. She’s hurt, and not knowing how or why is pushing my sanity over the edge.

“Taya.”

She rolls her eyes, grimacing when she reaches for another handful of popcorn with her uninjured arm. I can’t help but notice she doesn’t wait until she’s done with her first mouthful before shoving in another. Both cheeks expand like a chipmunk’s, and I stare her down while she does her best to chew as slowly as possible.

“Mmph pheff.”

“What was that?” Maintaining eye contact, I move the bowl out of her immediate reach when she stretches for it once more. Bruises on her skin stretch beyond the cast. My lips tighten. My muscles bunch, straining the seams of my shirt. “Taya?”

Unable to hold my gaze, she turns back to the television. “I fell.”

“Elaborate.”

Her head whips sideways. “What?”

“Fellhow?Where?”

She doesn’t answer at first, and the only thing keeping the silence from growing heavy is the movie. She forces out a self-deprecating chuckle. “Inara and I stopped at a CrossFit gym. I was doing box jumps, and I slipped. My guess is the janitor got a little overzealous with the floor wax.”

Liar.

CrossFit gyms don’t wax their floors. Most use rubber flooring. I take in a deep breath and count to ten while I plan out what to say next to get her to tell me the truth. But she pales like when we fought over the burnt pancakes.

Pales like the day the arrival of my friends left her shaking and terrified.

“Did someone hurt you?”

Her eyes widen and she sucks in a sharp breath, immediately choking on popcorn. I wait patiently for the coughing fit to pass, content to sit there all night, if need be. When she finally settles, she shakes her head. “Why would you say that?”

“Just the way you freaked out the other night at the party.”

“I told you and Marge what happened.” Her expression crumbles and she sags in her seat. “Well, maybe not all of it. Some of the wives at the table were being nasty. Marge shut them up, but it got to me. Especially since I couldn’t defend myself because I didn’t know who their husbands were, and I didn’t want to negatively affect your job.”

I reach out and press a hand against her thigh. “Wish you would have told me sooner, but glad Marge was there. Dealing withcertainwives is a skill you’ll need to learn. Some can be quite brutal, almost as if they get off on it.”

Taya laughs, but it lacks amusement. The lines of strain around her mouth and at the corner of her eyes make my heart ache. I’m not the cause of her pain and I don’t intend on adding to it by questioning her further. A broken arm hurts like a bitch. I wedge the popcorn between us, so she can reach it without straining and turn back to the movie, pointing a finger toward the screen. “This is my favorite part.”

“The part where they’re being castrated? That’s a shocker.”

My lips quirk. “Pretend castration.”

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