Page 26 of Protecting Her Secrets

“Yeah.”

“And the bruises?” I ask hesitantly, hoping she doesn’t pull away.

“Just accidents,” she says, avoiding eye contact.

She’s being more forthcoming than I thought she’d be, so I let that go. . . for now. If and when I find out that asshole laid hands on her, she won’t have to worry about him coming after her because he won’t be breathing. “So let’s say you don’t go home and he comes to find you. What would he do?”

She hefts out a breath. “He’d probably drag my ass home by my hair.”

“Caveman style, huh?” I joke, earning me a small smile. “Though that doesn’t seem like a biker thing to do.”

“No, you’re right. It’s more his style to ride into town with a few of his buddies, find out where I am and threaten my life, my best friend’s life, maybe even my preschoolers’ lives if I don’t go willingly.” Her eyes gloss over, and her entire body sags.

My mind immediately conjures up different ways to help this woman, pinning the ideas that keep her here in Culver Springs atthe top of the list. I want her safe, but I’m not a martyr. “I could protect you.”

Her head starts shaking before the last word leaves my lips. “It’s not the only reason I have to marry him.”

My hands rub up and down her thighs as she tells me about the house she grew up in and how she’ll lose it if she doesn’t marry him. She’s quick to defend her decision as if I wouldn’t understand, but I do. It’s true Mom and I moved around my whole childhood, but I don’t think it’s the actual home she wants to keep a hold of; it’s the memories. And that’s something I can relate to.

Mom might not be dead, but she might as well be for how much she cares about me. Before she remarried, we were two peas in a pod, just trying to survive. She worked a couple jobs and if I wasn’t at school, I was doing whatever I could to contribute, even if that meant stealing a couple cans of soup from the corner store.

We didn’t have much, but we had each other, and no one can take those memories away from me, just like Klutch or her dad can’t take hers away—even if they take away the house. I try to explain that when she interrupts me.

“It’s all I have left.” She shrugs. “I’m in my thirties and have nothing to my name except a piece of shit car, a month left on a lease to a decent apartment, a plant I picked up on a street corner with a sign that said ‘free,’ and my childhood home.”

“You think your mom would want you to suffer in a life you hate in order to keep a house?” I ask.

She sucks her lips in as she thinks about it before releasing them. Fuck, she has a beautiful mouth. “No, but I’m out of time and options, and it might not be so bad. Once I give him a son, I’m sure he’ll have no use for me and leave me alone.”

My blood boils, and without realizing it, I’ve tightened my grip on Skylar’s thighs. She inhales sharply and rests her hands on mine, and I release my hold on her. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

“You weren’t hurting me. You just tensed up and zoned out.” She places her hands on my shoulders. “This grown-up version of you can be kind of a dick sometimes, but I know for a fact one thing hasn’t changed. You’d never hurt me.”

“I wouldn’t,” I say, reaffirming her statement. “And I don’t want to sit back and allow anyone else to hurt you either.”

“You can’t control what other people do.”

“I know.” I push my T-shirt up her legs enough to show the bruises I saw yesterday. “Trust me, I know.”

“I better get dressed.” She climbs off me, careful to keep herself covered.

My head flops back on the sofa, and I stare at the ceiling. “There’s a clean stack of clothes in the bathroom by your room.”

While she’s gone, I decide we need a change of scenery and an activity. I gather some supplies and take them upstairs to set everything up. This is the kind of thing I did for her when we were younger and I believed in love. But then Skylar left, and I tucked away every ounce of vulnerability I possessed. Now here I am, opening myself up again, fully knowing I’ll end up hurt.

Nothing has changed. She’s still choosing the club over me, and I’m still the gullible asshole allowing her to come in and out of my life whenever she feels like it. I can’t even blame her because she has never once lied to me or downplayed her situation, never asked me to save her, even though I keep trying. This is a me problem, and unless I want to feel the pain of my heart breaking again, I need to stop pretending this is anything other than what it is.

I stand from my reading chair and pick up the bottle of champagne and carton of orange juice, hoping I can get this cleared away before she’s done showering and getting dressed.No such luck, though, because when I turn to go down the stairs, she’s right there on the landing.

“What’s all this?” she asks.

Damn, I’m too late. “Sometimes, when I’m stuck in the house and bored, I say fuck it and get drunk. I thought we could do that while we snack and put together this gazillion-piece puzzle.”

“A puzzle?” She looks stupefied.

“It was a bad idea. I’ll just clean?—”

“No, wait. I’ve just never sat down and done a puzzle before.” Her damp hair is in one long braid hanging loosely over her shoulder, and she tucks a few wayward curls behind her ear as she sits cross-legged on the ground. “This’ll be fun! I’m not much of a drinker anymore, but I’ll take some OJ.”

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