Page 43 of Never Fear (Whiskey Ridge)
“Because I cooked a majority of the food you had…?”
“Why wouldyoudo that?”
My eyes narrowed. “Because it’s eleven in the morningand you didn’t eat dinner last night.” That, and I couldn’t sit still.
She scanned the food like it might be fake. “But you don’t…feed me.”
With a huff, I grabbed the spatula once more and moved the pancake to the stack. Then, I turned off the heat source and went to wash the utensil in the sink. “Is that what’s too far, then? Cooking you breakfast?”
“Yes.” Her response came too quickly.
“Well, get used to it.”
“Why?”
I flicked off the faucet and set the spatula aside to air dry before grabbing the towel from the oven handle and drying my hands. “Because I’m not leaving until this asshole is caught.”
“You’ve said that before.”
My hands froze, my body going rigid. “You don’t need to remind me.”
Whatever she saw in me made her features soften. Made her tilt her head and morph her face into an expression of sorrow. “Austin?—”
“No, McKenna. You don’t get it.” I turned, tossed the rag on the counter so I could brace my hands against the edge. Memories should’ve slammed into me right now, but I’d become so numb to them that they stayed rooted exactly where they’d been for the last ten years—in the box of bullshit I’d had to endure throughout my life.
Gentle hands pressed against my lower back, and then her forehead—or maybe her cheek—rested against my shoulder blade. “Then tell me.”
“You just got flighty over me cooking youbreakfast. Now you want to know about my past?” I let out a half-assed chuckle. “You’re not making any sense, kitten.”
“I don’t know if either of us are right now,” she started, hands sliding around my waist to rest on my stomach over my shirt, “but we can live in this delusional moment. Even if it’s just for a second. If you’re okay with that.”
She was giving me an in, and I was hesitating. McKenna and I were surface level. Having fun messing with each other, pressing one another to their limits in this fucked-up game of trying to avoid what was happening right in front of us. I’d accepted it; she’d been shoving it away like it was a full-time job. And while her outlook might have been shifting, I was still scared for her. Afraid of what might happen if someone got to her if I stepped away for a moment. Terrified of finding her hurt—or worse, dead.
This was my fault. The target on her back. The fear in her eyes on so many occasions. And for some fucking reason, she was slowly giving up on pushing me away.
Only Booker and Henley knew about my past, but maybe opening up to McKenna would make her realize how fucked the world truly was. How even though we lived in a small town, bad shit still happened.
I wasn’t sure if it’d make her see me differently. If maybe my past was too fucked up for even her to handle.
There was a time when even I thought it was too much.
“Brynne might’ve told you I lived on the ranch with Booker and Henley before we built that house,” I began.
“In a tent.” It was barely noticeable, but she held me a little tighter. Leaned against me a little more. Maybe my defenses needed to break down in order for hers to do thesame so we could get past whatever we were doing and turn this into something…more.
I nodded. “I was a teenager. My life was…fine, I guess. My dad worked a good job, my mom stayed at home. I was an only child.” No emotion hit me in the chest or clogged my throat. Telling her this almost made me feel like an emotionless machine. “My dad didn’t want more kids after I was born. Something about how my mom didn’t want to be touched like before, and how he blamed me for that. But they never really fought over it. There’d be days where they wouldn’t speak but everything seemed normal from an outsider’s perspective.
“It was one of those periods where they weren’t talking when it happened. I think it was going on day six, the longest I’d seen, when my dad came home with a gun and shot her in the living room.” Now, I had to swallow. Swallow the image of my mom’s blood seeping from her body, onto that old, brown couch. How there was a stain in the burgundy rug where it puddled.
I shrugged when McKenna’s fingers dug into my stomach. “Then my dad lifted the gun to his head and killed himself right there in the front entry. There was a whole investigation, of course. The cops were kind of like my dad, blaming it on me.” I ran a hand down my mouth, focusing on the pancakes in front of me but not really seeing them. “A lot of shit’s been my fault, McKenna.” I turned around in her arms, cupping her cheeks so she’d really look at me. “But you never have to fear when I’m around. Do you hear me?” She nodded, eyes glistening with unshed tears over the story of my family. Or maybe they were for the boy I never got to be. I wouldn’t know. I didn’t think I’d cried sincethat day I had to call the police. Since I watched both my parents leave our home in body bags.
I brought her face closer to mine, bending the slightest bit to press my forehead to hers. “I will always keep you safe.”
“I know,” she whispered, so much conviction in those two words.
She didn’t say anything else as I picked her up and wrapped her legs around my waist. I pivoted so I could rest her ass against the counter, and then I rested my head on her shoulder while she ran delicate fingers through my hair.
I think the sound of her heart healed something in me.
