Page 60 of Branded
“Kailey.”
She stopped, stared up at me.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I asked, and yeah, maybe my voice was a little too loud, a little too brusque.
Or not too little of either.
It was too loud and too brusque.
Because she jumped, shoulders slumping.
“Come here, little bird,” I said, tugging her toward me, wrapping her tightly in my arms. “I’m sorry. I’m a big, loud oaf. But, honey,” I went on, stroking my hand down her hair, “anxiety is a clinical diagnosis. It’s real and it’s a challenge, just like my dyslexia is for me.”
“I know that,” she said softly.
I pushed back her bangs. “But do you?”
A shaky breath. “I—” Her throat worked, even as her forehead fell forward and rested on my shoulder. “My family isn’t exactly supportive of me in that way. They don’t see it as a challenge, but rather, something to be ashamed of. And…they’re impatient,” she murmured. “And when I can’t always step up and be Little Miss Charming—when I haven’t ever been able to be that charming, carefree woman—their annoyance is like a palpable thing in the air, clawing at me from the outside while the ball of nerves shoots barbs at my insides, tearing me up.”
Fuck.
I hated her family.
But I didn’t want to add to that angst.
So, I just held her and kept stroking that hand down her hair, keeping her close and giving her the space to talk.
“They don’t understand that I want to be normal, more than anything. I want to be able to walk into any situation and just be myself. I don’t want it to take months for me to get comfortable, like it took with Oliver, like it took for me to even consider taking this job.” Her head lifted. “Do you know why I only slept with three guys?”
“No, little bird,” I said softly.
“It’s because my first time I had a panic attack,” she said, “and he didn’t stop.” Her lips pressed flat then curved up at the edges. “The only good thing was that he didn’t take long.”
My hand fisted in her hair, and I had to force myself to release it, to not yank at the delicate strands. One by one, I straightened my fingers, relaxed my palm, dropping it to her waist and clenching it into a fist there.
Still touching her, but the fury raging through me would mean that I wouldn’t hurt her.
“The second time was in college,” she whispered. “No panic attack, thankfully, but the whole thing didn’t last much longer than the first time. A good thing,” she added. “Because I think he watched that jackrabbit Sex in the City episode because I swear that my spine has never been the same.”
A laugh.
I forced a smile.
Definitely two men I wanted to kill.
And that became three when she went on with the last time.
“It took me years to try again,” she said. A shrug. “Until last year, actually,” she added. “We went out a few times, and he was super patient when it came to me wanting to take my time. And…it was okay, but work had been tough around then and I’d had a bad day and after we were finished”—a shrug—“after he was finished, I just laid there, wondering if that was it.” Her shoulders rose and fell again, this time on a sigh.
Three.
Definitely three men who deserved to die.
“What are their names?” I asked darkly.
She went still, fingers lightly trailing through my beard. “You want their social security numbers, too?”
“That would make the crimes I’d like to commit easier.”
