Page 24 of Rejected Plus-Size Mate

His entire body stiffens, and not in a good way. Even though I can’t see his face very well, I can tell he’s scowling.

“What?”

“Your nightmare. What was it about?”

He pushes himself up and sits on the couch, looking away from me. I sit up, putting my hand on his knee.

“You need to talk about it, Kyle. It was a pretty bad nightmare. I’m here for you, no matter what.”

He shakes his head, and I can tell he’s closing himself off again. The pain of his rejection cuts deep, and tears threaten my eyes again. He won’t let me into his heart, or his head.

I can’t focus on my own pain while he’s suffering so much, though.

“I’m sorry, Leslie. Just go to bed.”

I wait for a couple more seconds, but he doesn’t look at me, and he doesn’t speak. I stand up slowly and walk away, my mind full of questions.

Chapter 9 - Kyle

The next morning, I feel like a man who’s been to hell and back, and it doesn’t help to know that it’s the literal truth.

I make coffee while I wait for Leslie to wake up, wondering what I should tell her. The details of the nightmare are pretty fuzzy, but I know what it would have been about.

I can’t hold back a shiver as I think about the things I witnessed while I was undercover with the Sawpit Pack. They are savage beasts, there is no mistaking that. I spent a lot of time in rough areas while I was growing up, but these guys are next-level.

Beyond that, in much older memories, there is a kind of pain that I can’t begin to fathom. Even though I’m sitting safely in my kitchen with my hands wrapped around a hot cup of coffee, I feel terrified and exposed.

There are things lurking in my past that no one should know. Especially Leslie.

I hear her footsteps in the hall, and I look up, trying to arrange my face into a welcoming smile. The frown she gives me as she walks through the door makes me doubt that I pulled it off.

“Good morning,” she says softly.

“Good morning,” I answer. “I made coffee.”

“Thanks.”

The silence that falls then is beyond awkward. I struggle to find something to say that will put last night’s events aside without me actually having to explain anything.

“Are we leaving soon?” she asks, sitting down with her coffee. Relief floods through me, a powerful wave of tingling warmth.

She doesn’t want to talk about it, either.

“Yes, in a few minutes. You’re ready to go?”

She nods, not saying anything. She’s wearing a nice pair of fitted dark slacks, a pretty silver blouse, and a black jacket. While I go and help Bae at the sporting goods store, she wants to look around for work. I told her she doesn’t have to, but I won’t stop her if it’s what she wants to do.

Even though we only sit together for a few minutes, it feels like hours of awkward silence, and the pressure tires me out. Leslie looks calm and relaxed, as if last night barely fazed her at all. I’m grateful for it. I don’t want my trauma impacting her in any way.

The only way to protect her from the darkness inside me is to keep her far away from it. Sharing it with her to ease my own burden would be selfish beyond belief.

When we head out to the truck, I distract myself with the basics of pulling out onto the street, but as the silence between us deepens, I get so anxious that I have to break it somehow.

“What kind of work will you be looking for?” I ask, trying desperately to have a normal conversation.

As if I have any idea what “normal” actually is.

“I’ll just ask around at cafés and stuff for now,” she answers. “Do something like what I did at Gladys’s diner. The girls told me I might be able to support myself as a dressmaker, though.”

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