Page 31 of Finding Her Strength

My hands tighten around the steering wheel. While her words are gentle, the meaning behind them is not. Her dad was an asshole. “I can’t imagine how hard that was for you. Was your mom around?”

“No, she died when I was born. I lived with my grandmother until she died when I was fifteen. Then I had to live with my dad. My grandmother is the one who inspired my love of flowers. She used to call me Rosebud because I loved her roses so much.” Her quick change of subject to her grandma tells me she doesn’t want to keep talking about her dad. I don’t mind since I don’t think I have the strength to keep my anger out of my voice. Going through all of that before you’re an adult would be incredibly difficult. Not only did she have to deal with the death of a loved one, but she then had to live with someone who didn’t give a shit about her.

“What was your grandma like?”

“Beautiful,” she breathes. “My mom had me when she was young, which made my grandmother incredibly young, as well. She had this silky, dark hair that curled like mine.”

“And it was just the two of you?”

“Yeah, my grandfather passed away before I was born. Itwas hard on my grandmother, losing both her husband and daughter, one quickly after the other. She always told me I was the greatest gift to come from the suffering.”

“She sounds like a wonderful woman.” I pull into the parking lot of the bar, then turn off the truck. “Ready?” I ask, glancing over at Hope in the dark cab.

She nods her head in response and opens her door. I hold my hand out for Hope when I meet her at the back of the truck. The fact that she grabs it without hesitation gives me so many feelings, I can hardly name them all. Elation, hope, desire. They’re all coursing through me as we walk into the bar.

It’s noisy as we step inside. People are standing at the bar or sitting at the tables surrounding the dance floor. No one is dancing despite the music playing. Right now, it’s a pop song, but it’ll change to something different in a little bit.

“Do you want a drink?” I know I’m going to need one.

“Tell me what we’re doing first.”

“Two-stepping.”

“Sorry?” Confusion lines Hope’s face, and all I can do is laugh.

“Tonight, we are learning how to two-step. I know a little bit already, but I thought getting some lessons would be fun.”

“We’re dancing?”

“Yep.” I watch Hope’s face as she starts to understand what’s happening. Her smile grows so big I think it might split her face in half.

“I’ve never two-stepped before, but I’ve always loved to dance. I haven’t in many, many years.” A line furrows her brows as an emotion I can’t catch flits across her face. “I’m going to need a drink first, though.”

“You got it.” Keeping her hand in mine, I lead us up to the bar, catching an empty bar stool. I gesture for Hope to have a seat while I flag down the bartender.

“I’ll take a jack and coke and a—” I pause, looking at Hope.

“Vodka cranberry, please,” she supplies. The bartender nods, grabbing bottles to make our drinks while I turn to take in Hope. The lights in the bar are dim, making her olive skin look exotic. Her dark eyes hold so many emotions, I wish I could read what they were. Her tongue peeks out, wetting her lips. She’s fucking beautiful.

“I was worried dancing would be too much,” I say, leaning in close to be heard above the noise of the bar.

“Why?”

I debate about being honest or altering the truth. With the little bit I know about Hope, honesty is probably best. “Well, I’ve noticed you don’t like being touched, so I was worried dancing with me would be a bad idea.”

Hope looks down at her lap in what I’m guessing is embarrassment. “Physical touch hasn’t always been soft for me.”

“Someone hurt you,” I say quietly, attempting to keep the steel out of my voice. My teeth clench in anger at the confirmation of my assumptions. I’ve wondered since the first time I touched her and was afraid my suspicions were true.

Her eyes find mine, an ocean full of vulnerability swirling in them. It takes everything I have not to scoop her into my arms and promise to protect her forever. I wish I could’ve protected her from the beginning.

The bartender sets our drinks down, interrupting the moment. It’s probably for the best. Being in a bar isn’t the right place to discuss such a heavy topic anyway. At the same time, though, she was finally opening up to me. Hopefully, she’ll still feel like talking after we leave.

“So, you’ve two-stepped before?” she asks, changing the subject.

“Yeah, I have. Megan and Quinn wanted to try it out one day, so we all decided to go for it. Nat and Tucker never evenattempted the moves. Todd and Megan tried, but Todd was horrible, though Cooper and Quinn and Max and Lucy were amazing at it.”

“Who did you dance with?” A little line between her eyebrows has me wondering if she’s jealous. The thought makes me want to puff out my chest.

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