Page 77 of Truck Stop Tempest

“Fuck.” His face reddened, then paled. He studied the building, gnawing on his lip.

“I’m going in.” Walking away was hard, but if I waited, I would cave. He seemed so vulnerable, and I hated knowing he was doing something so out of character just for me.

I started across the parking lot, forcing my smile, scanning for signs of Erik, or any of my family for that matter.

Halfway to the entrance, a warm hand cupped mine from behind. Tito laced our fingers and squeezed tight. Painfully tight. I pushed through the discomfort, aware of his struggle, sensing how hard it was for him to walk through those church doors, remembering how difficult it had been my first time.

My stomach knotted. Maybe I’d pushed him too hard. Would he regret coming along and decide I wasn’t worth the trouble?

I glanced up and shivered at the hard set of his features, the haunting sweep of his gaze. He seemed to study every face we passed, assessing every threat.

His body stiffened with each step closer to the building, his fingers tightening around mine. His silence was deafening. Nauseating.

Two feet from the doors, I pulled Tito aside. I’d lost all steam. I studied his shoes and struggled to force the words from my head to my tongue.

“What’s wrong?” Tito stepped in front of me, then tapped under my chin, urging me to look up. “You okay?”

“You don’t have to do this. It’s okay. We can go home. I never should’ve pushed the issue.”

“Oh, baby.” He dropped his forehead to mine. “I’m proud of you for pushing. Don’t back down now. We’re almost there.”

“I can tell you don’t want to go in there.”

He lifted our joined hands. “See this?”

I nodded.

“I’ve never held hands with a woman. Ever.” With his free hand, he cupped my jaw, his thumb tapping a soft rhythm on my cheek. “I’m holding your hand right now because I need your strength. You’ll help me tough this out. We’re doing this together, me and you. Okay, Bunny?”

Together. God, how I loved that word. “Bunny and the Beast.”

He laughed before landing a soft kiss on my nose. I’d never felt so cherished. “Yeah. Bunny and the Beast. I like that.”

He stepped back and sighed. “Church is important to you. You’re important to me. So, I’ll deal. Got me?”

I nodded, silenced by his tenderness, his perfect words.

“Just don’t let go, and I promise not to freak on you. Sound good?”

“Yeah. That’s good,” I whispered.

Hand in hand, we walked under the stained-glass image of Jesus and found a spot in the back row. Pastor Davies stepped behind the pulpit. His beard was longer, but well-kept. He dressed casually, welcoming even, in khaki slacks, a pale green button-down, and his signature black Chucks.

Tito shot me a puzzled look. “That’s the minister?”

“Pastor.”

“Hmm,” was his only response.

Tito barely moved for the next forty minutes, tension emanating off his body like a radiant heater. My heart broke, knowing my strong man, the man built of confidence and power, sat next to me, struggling, and out of sorts, in the one place I found comfort.

When the sermon ended and the band took their place on stage, I nudged Tito and nodded toward the exit, hoping to avoid the after-service chaos. “Let’s go,” I whispered. “I’m starving. Can we grab something to eat before I head to work?”

Without looking my way, Tito led me outside. It wasn’t until I snapped my seatbelt into place that he took a cleansing breath. I wondered if he’d ever shown his vulnerable side before. My chest constricted at the thought.

“Thank you,” I blurted.

With a huff, Tito roughed a hand through his hair and said, “You’re welcome.” Fiery eyes met mine. He opened his mouth to speak, then stared. I couldn’t tell if he was angry, frustrated, or relieved. I couldn’t read him at all. He then reached over and tangled his strong fingers in my hair, pulling tight at the nape, forcing me to keep eye contact.

I couldn’t bear to look at him, yet I couldn’t tear my gaze away from the stormy man. He studied my face, caressed the bruise on my neck, then met my eyes.

With a low, throaty gravel, he said, “You look beautiful today.” He released my hair, rubbed his thumb over my bottom lip, licked his own, and whispered, “So damn beautiful,” before starting the car, and pulling away.

Actions speak louder than words.

Heat splashed my cheeks. My stomach growled. Tito laughed. Loud and deep and genuine, decimating any lingering tension between us.

“I’ll make you lunch at home.” His gaze raked the length of me, his dimple coming out to play. “Then I’m having you for dessert.”

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