Page 93 of Sugar Coated Lies
I take his injured hand and run my fingertip just below the redness and slight swelling. “I heard you beat him up.”
He laughs, but it’s weak. “I punched him in the face a couple of times. Not nearly enough.”
“I can’t see you two as friends. Not the you I know.”
“Yeah,” he says, his tone despondent. “Easton told me I used to be a dick. I didn’t think so, but now I do. I changed before you came along, did a one-eighty during my last semester of college. I knew I had to if I were to become the man my dad expected me to be. It didn’t keep me from fucking up.”
“Daire.” I sigh with sympathy.
“No, Everleigh. I don’t deserve that. Not from you.” His jaw muscles flex, his hate for himself near-palpable.
I tug his hand. “Let’s sit.” I sink onto the couch, and he joins me, resting his hands on his thighs.
I miss the connection with him. As soon as I touched his hand, I knew I’d forgive him.
“Why didn’t you tell me about Benedict?”
His leg bounces. “I didn’t know how. I think I was falling for you from the beginning. I just didn’t understand it. I’ve never fallen in love with anyone.”
“Never?”
“Not at all.”
“When I first met you, I had this urge to protect you.” He rubs his chest absentmindedly. “You looked so…”
“Beat?”
His gaze jumps to mine. “I only said that to Benedict to get him to leave you alone. I said what he needed to hear, and for a while, it worked. I thought you looked frail and tired.”
I think back to the diner, which feels like a lifetime ago. “I was.”
“I wanted to help you. You didn’t match how Benedict described you. You were kind and caring and selfless. It didn’t make sense. I know Benedict is an ass, and I assumed you were like most of the girls he dates. Wannabees. Gold diggers. Users.”
“That’s who he dates? What on earth did he see in me?”
“I know exactly what he saw in you. Kindness, generosity, beauty. You look like a young Angel Fox.”
“The actress. He told me. I don’t see it.”
“You wouldn’t. You don’t care about stuff like that.”
“Sometimes I do.” I did in the bathroom this morning.
“It’s not the same. You draw people in with your warmth and caring nature. You don’t ask for anything. You don’t expect anything. I wasn’t even sure if I could get you to accept my ring.” He glances at my hand and notices I’m not wearing it.
“I still have it,” I blurt, so he doesn’t think I threw it away. I would never. “It’s in my purse.”
He draws in a deep breath, his expression pained. “I was dumb. I am dumb to have allowed this to go on like it did. Benedict's family is so close to mine, I wasn’t sure how to handle it. I thought if I got proof that you didn’t steal his AmEx, he’d let go of his vendetta toward you. Everything I did was to protect you from him. When I realized I’d fallen for you, I didn’t want him anywhere near you. I avoided dealing with him and then your grandpa died, and I couldn’t tell you the truth. Not yet. You needed comfort and love, not anything involvinghim. Time got away from me. You were finally happy, and I wanted to keep you that way. I still do.” He stares at his hands on his lap. “Did I lose you?”
His body tenses, bracing for the worst, I assume.
“We both made mistakes.”
“No.” He shakes his head. “You did nothing wrong.”
“If I trusted you enough to agree to marry you, I should have gone to you first and trusted you’d tell me the truth. Instead, I let old habits take charge, and I ran.”
He takes my hand in his. “You wouldn’t have run if I hadn’t betrayed you.”
