Page 72 of To Belong Together
Tight-lipped, John nodded. “But you see, don’t you? I’ve had a lifetime of experiences where things I’ve said with the best intentions have caused rifts I’d never dreamed could happen. Between me and my parents, in their marriage …”
“None of that was your fault. What you said to that officer—you had to report it. You did the right thing.”
“And I paid a price for it.”
“The price would’ve been higher if you’d stayed silent.”
“What I said changed nothing. She stayed with him until she saw for herself. And Kate didn’t change her mind about Tanner. Same for when I was in the hospital. A blurry memory says I tried to show her this.” Still holding her hand, he used his casted hand to undo a button on his shirt and nudge aside the fabric, revealing the six-person stick-family tattooed where he rested his hand when he’d said the pledge in school. “She drew it and mailed it to me not long after we moved to LA. I got homesick, had the tattoo done. The reminder didn’t make a difference. She doesn’t understand.”
Erin was slow to lift her gaze from the tattoo. “You’re still the boy who’d scoop her up and take her running for cover.”
He tugged the shirt back into place. “I don’t think she even knows about that.”
“John. You have to tell her.”
“I’m done telling stories that’ll make things worse.”
“So you cut the speech short.”
He nodded as he rebuttoned his shirt.
She studied him as though his childhood experience was a scar she saw as plainly as the one by his eyebrow. “Thank you for telling me.”
He lifted her hand so the back of hers rested against his chest. Sharing with Erin felt … safe. Not predictable—the little speech thief—but reliable. Like she would’ve been right there beside him, herding his sisters from danger and fighting more loudly than he ever had for someone to believe him. “I’m sorry you’re struggling with your parents.”
He’d meant the statement as an offering to show his own care for her, but Erin flinched. Though she spoke of the situation easily, it must hurt as much as his own history. A door slammed down the hall, but she didn’t take her eyes off him. “I had a breakthrough with Mom. We’ll figure it out if I keep after her.”
He didn’t doubt it. “I’m sure speech theft isn’t the only trick in your arsenal.”
A smile stole across her face. “I cooked her lasagna. I mean, I bought it ready-made from the store and baked it.”
“No one told me lasagna was an option.”
“Would’ve been a lot less hassle than all this.” She motioned, indicating their clothes, and by extension, the night they’d had. But the pain had faded from her eyes, leaving them happy and clear as she rested a hand on his waist.
He brushed the short pieces of hair off her cheek, careful to touch her only with his fingers and not the cast. “This was worth the hassle.”
Her smile drew him closer, and when he ran his thumb along her jaw, she tilted her chin up.
An invitation.
He circled his arms—cast and all—around her back, lowered his lips to hers, and for the first time that day, gave his heart free rein to drum as fast and loud as it wanted.
23
Erin shut the door to her hotel room, leaned against it, and pressed her knuckles to her still-tingling lips. She’d found something to enjoy about being a woman after all. She thumped her heel against the door before realizing John might still be in hearing range. She kicked the shoes off.
Her first kiss had beennothinglike that.
When John spoke, it was always with purpose and in response to deep feeling, and she’d sensed the same in his actions tonight. His manner was confident but not demanding, unhurried but intensely focused.
He’d kissed her twice, gently, and amid the wonder and hormones, she’d realized with panic that she had no idea what she was doing. If kisses were conversations, that other guy had babbled at her like a baby while John had proved fluent in the language. How would she ever keep up?
Yet somehow, when he deepened the connection, the worry proved unfounded. They’d established a language of their own making, as much hers as his.
Erin loved to talk, but wow. She’d never so hated the end of a conversation.
She paced the room. The bed, which had looked inviting earlier, would be impossible to settle into. She bounced on her toes, tempted to launch into jumping jacks.
