Page 70 of By the Letter

She shook her head, and I puzzled over what she meant, but only for a second. My shy Goldie didn’t like to ask for what she wanted. She needed it to be freely given.

“Because you’re too nervous?”

I finally got a nod.

“Would you want me to do that again?”

Another nod.

I kissed her head. “Then I will. And, Shira, your cunt is the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted, so expect me to freely use it with my tongue.” I gave her a squeeze and another kiss. “Get dressed. I’m going to go see to Mary and make you something to eat. Then we can talk.”

“There were things she left out.” Shira scooped up a nacho and popped it in her mouth.

We were on her couch, a basketball game on the TV. Mary had pranced away when she realized I wasn’t leaving, so it was just the two of us, plates in our laps, talking about the auction. Shira was the one who’d brought up Kit’s speech.

“We lived in my mom’s car. Then my dad reported it stolen and had it impounded. That night was the only night we had to sleep outside. Well, I slept. My mother didn’t even blink. We talked about it later—when I got older. She hadn’t been afraid for herself. She’d stopped being afraid for herself after my dad had snapped her arm like a twig. She’d been petrified for me. After that, she got us into a shelter. It wasn’t nice—there were waiting lists for the nice places—but we were together.”

She ate another nacho, and I didn’t even twitch. “I had to be quiet there too. I spent a lot of years being quiet. My mom always told me, ‘When Daddy turns into a hurricane, you tiptoe, quiet as a mouse, to your closet. The storm will be over before you know it.’” She took a long pull from her water bottle. “Sometimes I wonder who I would be if I’d had a different start. Would I live out loud like Bea? Be a confident and free biker girl like Clara? I’ll never know.”

“I think you’d be who you are when you’re with people who make you feel comfortable.” I squeezed her knee. “You’d feel like that all the time and let everyone see how funny and thoughtful you are.”

“Sweet of you, Rome.”

“Just telling the truth.” I rubbed my palm up and down her leg. “Where’s your dad?”

She lifted a shoulder. “We lived in Cheyenne. I would bet he’s still there. My beautiful mother died young, but the world is the way it is, so I’m sure my monstrous father will live to a hundred and two.”

“I could probably arrange it so that doesn’t happen.”

Shira grinned, and it would have knocked me down if I hadn’t already been sitting. “Again, sweet of you, but I need you around for Beanie—no murdering.”

I looked for signs of distress but found nothing. She ate her nachos and talked about murder as if she hadn’t just divulged the horrors she’d gone through—things I could never understand.

“You amaze me, Shira.”

She blinked, her nose crinkling. “I do?”

“You do. Look where you are, how far you’ve come.”

She gestured to her surroundings. “All this is from Frank’s money.”

“I don’t mean where you live or what you have. I meanyou. I spent a lot of years pissed off at my mother for dipping out when she got bored with having kids. Spent even longer doing everything I could to get my dad to pay attention to something besides his work. Playing rugby, excelling in college…nothing I did turned his head. After he died, I kept going, blinded by it.”

I scoffed at the understatement of the year.

“Well, you know how blind I was. What I’m saying is you haven’t used your trauma as an excuse. You’re shy, yeah. Quiet, hell yes. Those are the results—not an excuse. You’re still good, you care a hell of a lot, and you can laugh. You’re telling me about sleeping on the street in one breath and laughing with your whole chest in another. So, yes, you’re amazing. I know from experience how easy it is to let it beat you. You didn’t.”

“I’m not the saint you’re making me out to be, Roman. I’ve worked on myself, but I’m almost thirty, and this is the first time I’ve genuinely felt like I’m living for myself. You screwed up, but I have too. Plenty.”

My brow dropped. “What do you mean this is the first time you’re living for yourself?”

“I think it’s obvious. I married a powerful man at a very young age. As a girl who had nothing and no one, do you think I voiced my opinions if they opposed his?”

I did not like the sound of this. “Shira, did he—?”

She held her hand up. “Frank was wonderful in a lot of ways, but I knew why he married me. He didn’t want to be challenged. I don’t know if he would have divorced me if I’d gone against him, and I was never in a position to test that, so I lived for him. It’s been a year and a half since he passed, and I spent most of that time attempting to run his company because it was what he wanted. Then you came along and set me free. Even if that wasn’t your intention, it’s what you did.” She rested her hand onher bump and offered me one of her serene smiles. “I like where I’m headed now.”

“Think I’m just going to follow you then.”

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