Page 7 of Concealed

The Jackie O sunglasses.

The gigantic hoodie and baggy sweatpants even though it’s 75 degrees.

Shit.

Well, I’m going to be living with this man – at least temporarily – so it won’t be long before he finds out the truth anyway. Might as well not delay the inevitable. Straightening my spine, I try to act casual while flipping the shades from my face to my hair.

“I forgot that I was wearing them,” I lie.

He catalogs the bruises, and his jaw immediately tightens as his fists clench at his sides. Unfortunately, even my best make-up attempts couldn’t come close to hiding what my ex did to me this time.

The last time.

I’ve been using tattoo cover-up for years – by necessity, despite the lack of having any ink – and even that didn’t work. My face looks like I went headfirst into a wall, which was one of my stories in the past.

Clumsy Rebecca, always falling down the stairs, bumping into doors, and walking into walls. I would laugh, brush it off, and change the subject. People love to talk about themselves, and it was easy to divert their attention.

It gets even easier when your partner cuts you off from almost all your friends and family. That’s why I called Gabe, who I knew would be there for me without question, keep his mouth shut, and help me stay safe.

I watch as Wyatt’s eyes rake up and down my body, and I can almost see him debating whether or not to ask me what happened. Even Gabe doesn’t know the full story.

Technically, they both deserve to hear it since they’ve gone out on a limb for me. Hell, Wyatt even opened his home at a time when it’s not convenient.

But I’m not ready to talk about it.

Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

Wyatt must have a lot of experience reading people because his stance relaxes, and he tries another easy grin. “I didn’t have a chance to go grocery shopping yet. How do you feel about ordering pizza tonight?”

The thought of spending any more time with him makes far too many terrifying emotions bubble up at once. “Oh, you don’t have to go to any trouble. I’m totally fine.”

Fine is not even on the top thousand list of adjectives that describe my life.

He nods, intuitively knowing not to push. “I’ll show you to the extra bedroom, and then I’ll bring your stuff inside.”

When he leads the way up the stairs, I can’t help but notice how tight his ass is. I don’t understand how I can be so repulsed by men, especially cops, and yet still find this particular one attractive.

Really attractive.

Okay,fine, attractive doesn’t even skim the surface of what he is.

But that’s all it is. I’m noticing because who wouldn’t? It doesn’t mean anything. It’s like saying the sky is blue, the grass is green, and Wyatt is hot.

He walks too far down the hall, clearly still unfamiliar with his new surroundings, and he turns suddenly, making me jump back and raise my arms in defense.

Instinct.

Instinct honed by years of dodging blows.

His eyes soften, and tears immediately blur my vision, making me wish I could put my sunglasses back on.

He’s going to think I’m a total head case.

“Hey,” he says, taking a few big steps back and keeping his arms loose at his sides, “the extra bedroom is actually that room there.” He points but doesn’t come any closer. “I got confused and almost brought you to the closet. I’m sorry. I was exhausted by the time I arrived, and I didn’t do much other than crash.”

“I’m really so sorry to intrude,” I say, through my burning throat. “I won’t stay long. I’ll start looking for a place tomorrow. I’m sorry.”

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