Page 97 of Fall to Me
“I lied. I wanted you . . . bad.”
He kisses the top of my head. “I know.”
Obviously, he’s still a cocky bastard.
But I wouldn’t change a damn thing about him.
Thirty
Carter
“Ow—Ow—Ow—Fuck! You’re squishing my boobs!” River yells as I pin her to the ground.
I lift off of her a little and press my weight down onto her lower half instead. “Jaxon isn’t gonna care if he squishes your boobs. Now, fight me.”
“But I’m so tired,” she protests. “Can’t we just call it a day? I don’t wanna do this shit anymore.”
Leaning back on my haunches, I drag my hands down my face. “Baby, listen to me.”
“No. You listen tome.” She sits up, resting back onto her elbows. “I don’t think he’s coming back.”
I scoff.
“Seriously, Carter. His pride is hurt. I took him down. Do you know how much that had to hurt his ego? Plus, he’s in Oklahoma. Isn’t that what your guy said?”
Lifting myself up from the floor, I stand, towering over her with my arms crossed. “That’s a flawed form of logic that I’m notwilling to gamble on. And yes, he’s supposed to be in Oklahoma, but that doesn’t mean he won’t come back here.”
“I’ve been training for months!”
“Get up and go wrap your hands.”
“Stop fucking bossing me around!”
“Kick my ass and make me!” I yell back, sauntering over to our water bottle.
Sweat drips down the side of the bottle, wetting my hand as I pick it up. I squirt the water into my mouth, cap the top, then toss the bottle to her. She goes to catch it, but it slips from her hands and rolls across the floor. She groans and throws herself back onto the floor.
“Are you really that damn tired? Because another thing he won’t care about is if you’re tired or not.”
“Fine! Just get off my ass.”
She heaves herself off the ground and snatches up the water bottle as she leaves the room. Wow. She’s really grouchy this morning. It’s ten o’clock. How tired can she possibly be? Placing my hands on my hips, I look down and sigh. Maybe I’m wrong for pushing her so hard, but I feel like I’m doing exactly what needs to be done.
“Carter.”
My eyes lift to her holding a roll of tape at her side, tapping it against the side of her leg.
“I’m sorry. I know you’re doing your best here, and you only want me to be able to protect myself. I asked for that. I wanted you to train me. It’s just that I’ve revolved my life around him for the past six years. I’ve based every step I’ve taken around my fear of him for so long that I don’t want to do it anymore. I don’t want him to dictate my life. When I train or evenifI train, I want it to be because I want to, not because, in a roundabout way, he’s making me. Does that make any sense at all?”
“I’ll feel better when he’s locked away . . . or dead.”
River takes a seat on the couch and lifts her brow. “You know there’s a possibility that he won’t ever be locked away, right?”
“I don’t believe that,” I argue. “There’s no way. After what he did?”
“I spent most of my marriage covering up what he did to me. I was one of those women who made excuses for him. Felt sorry for him. I don’t know what it’s called but?—”
“It’s a form of Stockholm syndrome.”
