Page 42 of Truck Stop Titan

“You need to go to bed. Get some rest.”

“I can’t. Mim and I are meeting with the psychiatrist today. I’m worried she isn’t ready, ya know? What if she freaks the second I try to take her home? I’m scared that I won’t know how to help.”

“She’s doing better every day.”

“I know. It’s just…she’s doing better because you’re here. And Rocky. All of you. But what happens when I take her home, away from this place, probably the only place she’s ever felt safe?”

“Then you deal.”

“Then I deal?” she asked, brows raised, hands to the sky. “Simple as that?”

“Sure.”

“We don’t even know what happened to her yet. We don’t know her triggers. Physically she’s thriving, but emotionally? We don’t have a clue what’s going on inside that little head of hers. And what the eff was I thinking trying to take on this responsibility? I mean, seriously, I’m a train wreck, and—”

I grabbed her chin, “Moriah. Take a fuckin’ breath. Okay?”

Hard enough to process the foreign emotion rolling through my head, but when that beat-down look on her face had me seeing red, I realized I was in a shit-ton of trouble. I wanted to destroy everyone who’d caused that woman pain. Worse? With every polluted vein in my body, I wanted to take that freckled face in my hands and promise I’d protect her every day for the rest of her fucking life. And fuck. I wanted a forever. Forevers were for normal people. Not assholes. Not career criminals. Not…a trailer trash lowlife.

“C’mon.” I grabbed her hand and dragged her back to the house.

When we reached her room, I settled her on the bed, ripped off her shoes, ordered her to lie down, then planted my fists into the mattress on either side of her head. My arms trembled, and I hoped she didn’t notice.

“You gonna tell me what happened to your face?” Moriah smoothed a finger under the cut on my lip.

I pulled away, her touch laced with tenderness I couldn’t bear. “Tito and I were messing around in the gym.”

“You should get that eye looked at.”

How could she worry about my sorry ass, when her life was such a mess? I stared down at her, fighting back the slew of profanities I wanted to spew. “Take a nap. You’re exhausted. I’ll wake you before the meeting.”

Allowing no room for argument, I left. I couldn’t take another second of that broken voice, or the way my insides responded to her pain. I hated not being in control. Hated that she was leaving and taking that little girl with her. Hated that I fucking cared. Fuck.

The door slammed shut, and I made my way to the kitchen, where Mim pulled out a chair for me at the table, then made me sit, then fed me milk and cookies while she put fucking princess bandages on my face.

# # #

“You good up there?” James chuckled.

“Yep.”

“Sure you don’t need a hand?”

“I’m sure.”

I glanced at the mansion one more time, hoping to catch a glimpse through the window. Moriah and Mim had been in that damn room for over two hours talking to that shrink. Couldn’t see a thing through the window, the sun’s reflection making it impossible. Oh, and the curtains were closed, but still, couldn’t keep my gaze from wandering that direction every thirty seconds or so.

“Just saying. I could’ve had that row down by now.”

“Yeah, yeah, old man.” I hammered down the last two shingles. Sighed. Then inched my way down the slope to the ladder, where James stood at the base, holding her steady.

When I reached ground level, he pounded my shoulder, said, “Thanks,” then handed me an open bottle of pale ale.

“Bottoms up,” he said, staring at the finished gazebo. “She’s a beauty.”

“Yep.” I pulled three long swigs of beer and glanced again at the window.

“They’re fine. You can quit worrying.”

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