Page 24 of Eight Steps to Alpha

She shook off his insult and planted her hands on her hips. “Why won’t you let me see it?”

He lifted a brow. “Because I’m eating.”

She rolled her eyes. “This is exactly what always happens. Everything’s fine, everything’s great. Until one day, the infection is so angry, it require a toothbrush and iodine.”

He held up his hand. “Come near me with a toothbrush, and I’ll tickle you.”

She frowned. “Why won’t you let me see it?”

He heaved out a breath and shoved away from the table. “If I let you look at it, will you leave me alone?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“And you’ll let me eat my dinner in peace?”

Her lip twitch with amusement. “Yes,” she promised, crossing her heart with her finger. “I promise.”

With a heavy sigh, he tossed his fork to his plate, peeled the pink apron over his neck, then pulled his shirt over his head. He placed it on his lap, then gently peeled the film of Cling wrap away from his skin.

Her mouth fell open, just as the waft of baby ointment hit her nose. She plopped down on the seat and stared. Not because it was infected, nor that it was much larger than she remembered, but because it was beautiful.

Resisting the urge to touch it, she sat a little closer and took in the minute detail. She’d seen the drawing in the shop the night he’d gotten it, but it was nothing compared to the bright colors that cupped his shoulder in this moment. It was a tall tree, or at least the tribal interpretation of one, branching out around his shoulder, expanding around his bicep, it’s roots stopping just an inch above his elbow.

“I had no idea you were getting something so…big,” she whispered.

He craned his neck to the side to look at it, as though he himself was still in awe. “I figured if I was going to do it, I may as well do it right.”

Pulling her gaze way from the artwork, she met his eyes. “What is it?” she whispered. Because for some reason, the moment required silence. Because it felt delicate, like if she spoke too loud, it would break.

His frown surprised her, his brows growing closer together with concern. “What do you mean? It’s a tree. Isn’t that obvious?”

“Well yes.” She bit her lip, hiding her amusement. “But why did you get a tree?”

He inhaled a deep breath, as though realizing he wouldn’t get back to his meal anytime soon. “Because—it was my favorite place in the whole world, that’s why.”

“In Texas?” she asked softly.

He nodded, but his frown deepened somehow. “On my granddaddy’s farm.”

His voice held emotion. Distant, faded, but it was still there, in the very hallows of it.

“Tell me about it?” she asked, her heart aching. Because he hardly ever spoke of home, about the life he had before them, and right now, she was desperate for it. As a college freshman, she thought it was just part of his personality. That he was quiet, not having much at all to say, but the longer they’d been friends, she realized I was only his past he didn’t speak of.

He took the crumpled-up shirt from his lap, smoothed it out on his thighs, then dragged it back over his head.

“It’s where I kissed my first girlfriend, where I broke my first bone.” His voice quieted. “And where we buried the best man I’ve ever known.”

Her throat went dry, and she took another sip of her tea. “Your Grandfather?”

He glanced out to the window, where the last bits of daylight were fading into the horizon, but said nothing. She’d never heard him speak of his grandfather before, other than the mention of him passing a few years back, but they’d only just moved into the dorm. She hadn’t known him long enough to press for more then. “What happened?” she asked.

He lifted one shoulder, as though indicating it hardly mattered. “Heart attack. Like every other man in my family.”

She nodded, but her heart hurt at the painful look on his face. “What was his name?”

“Barnaby.” He smiled then. “Barnaby, E, Prescott.”

“E? As in Elliot?” Getting him to talk was like pulling teeth, but damn it all if she wasn’t determined to do so.

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