Page 5 of Covert
Her eyes widen, but I can tell she's trying to school her features to give me the space to explain it all. "I didn't do it, of course, but the jury ate up her story and crocodile tears, and because of my size..." I trail off, shrinking in again.
"Because of your size, they assumed you did it."
I nod.
"And there were no witnesses..."
I nod again.
"So, it was your word against hers..."
I nod sadly again.
She leans back and crosses her arms across her chest.
"Prison tats. How much time did you do?"
I wince. I don't love them, but they were a good distraction while I was in. I also haven't had the heart to cover them up. Many days, I'm still locked up in there, unable to move forward or backward. "I was tried as an adult," I continue.
"Because of your size," she finishes for me. And she's not wrong. Even though I was only sixteen, I looked like a grown man and was deemed too much of a threat to be out in the general public.
"Because of my size," I parrot back.
"How long were you in for?"
"Five years."
The air whooshes out of her lungs as she blinks at me.
She leans forward and touches my hand briefly before I pull it back instinctively. I don't want to be like this, but so far, I haven't learned any other way.
She leaves her hand in a fist on the table and says, "I'm so sorry that happened to you, Beckett."
Now it's my turn to take in her serious brown eyes and the sincere tilt of her brows.
"You believe me?"
"I have no reason not to believe you."
"But look at me."
She does, and I instantly regret it. Her eyes trail over my broad shoulders and thick neck, down my large arms and faded black prison tattoos on the backs of my hands.
She softens when she works her way back up to my face. I know how I look. Long hair, tattoo up the side of my head. Built like a brick shit house. I know I look intimidating. It's on purpose. It's a defense mechanism. But at the same time, I want someone to see beyond that.
She shakes her head. "You're not a predator, Beckett. You're gorgeous, and your size is a gift."
I scoff into my coffee before taking another scorching sip.
She shakes her head and sighs as if she's having to explain basic math to first graders.
"You have no idea what it's like to be a woman, do you?"
I raise an eyebrow at her in challenge.
"The greatest worry a man has is if he's going to be embarrassed by something. A woman's greatest fear? Men. No matter how strong we are, no matter how much we prepare, no matter how much bear spray we have in our purses, it only takes a second for a man to attack us. You see your size as proof of this, but your size is a gift. If you were mine, I wouldn't have to plan what time of day I get gas or what time of day to go to the grocery store. I wouldn't have to walk from the grocery store to my car with my keys between my knuckles to use as a weapon. If I had a man like you, maybe I could finally fucking relax for once in this life."
Okay, now she's getting worked up. This seems to be less about my size and more like... how she's felt vulnerable as a woman? I don't know what to say. Because in the same breath, she's talking about how my size would be a shield for her. She's talking about needing a shield from guys like me. Guys who could easily overpower others and take what they want.
