“I don’t live in a constant state of paranoia. It’s more like awareness. I’m careful, checking my surroundings when I’m alone, especially at night. I’m not always afraid. There have only been a handful of times in my life when I was truly fearful, and the two times I’ve been attacked, I wasn’t even the least bit suspicious or concerned. That’s the fucking insane thing about it all. I wasn’t paying attention. I let my guard down.”
“Don’t you dare blame yourself for what happened,” I tell her, pulling into her apartment complex. “A predator will find a way, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.”
“I know,” she whispers, turning her face away from me and toward the passenger side window.
“All that matters is that you were able to give yourself the opportunity to get away, and hopefully you’ll never be put in that spot again.”
“Yeah,” she says softly, her voice shaking a little on the single word.
We sit in silence, me lost in my anger and her lost in more emotions than I’ll ever be able to understand, as I drive the last hundred feet to an open parking spot near her building.
When I cut the engine and climb out, Ro isn’t quick to get out. She opens the door to the truck, but her ass stays in the seat as if she’s unable or unwilling to move. I stalk around the front and round the truck, finding her staring at the ground as if it’s about to swallow her whole.
“Ro?”
She lifts her face, tears streaming down her cheeks. “He could’ve really hurt me.”
I reach out, placing my open palm against her face, and she leans into my touch. “I know, but he didn’t.”
“That could’ve ended so many other ways.”
“I know, baby, but it didn’t.”
“What if you hadn’t…”
“You still would’ve gotten away. I wasn’t the one who clawed at his face and kneed him in his junk.”
Her gaze sweeps across my face, her eyes searching mine for something.
“You did that, Ro. You hurt him, hard and deep enough to get away from him. That wasn’t me, baby—that was you,” I remind her, wanting her to feel empowerment, if that is even possible, about what happened instead of victimized.
She blinks, the tears still running wild and free. “I did do that, didn’t I?” Her voice is soft and distant, as if she’s replaying every awful moment that happened tonight.
I drop my hand from her face, moving my arms to her back and legs. “You did,” I tell her as I scoop her into my arms.
She doesn’t fight me when I lift her out of the truck. One of her arms loops around my neck as if we’ve done this a million times before and are working on muscle memory and instinct. She places her head against my chest, melting into me as if I am her sanctuary and safety, neither sentiment I’ve earned yet.
I kick the truck door closed with my boot before marching toward her apartment, knowing I want a relationship like this but at a time when there’s not a crisis or a threat to her very existence.
She goes silent as I carry her toward her front door, reaching into her purse to retrieve the key when we’re a few feet away.
“I’m going to take care of you, Rosie,” I promise her, knowing I’m not going to leave her side again.
“Like you did last time?” she asks as I balance her in my arms and unlock the door at the same time.
The blow may have been low, but it is totally deserved. I did an asshole thing, taking off after we had sex, and I’m not even sure my reasoning could be understood by anyone except me. I’ll try, though. It’s all I can do. Explain everything to her and pray she forgives me, allowing me to take part in her life even if it’s only in a small way.
I don’t reply right away, stewing in my feelings and giving myself a verbal ass-whooping as I carry her inside. I walk straight to her bedroom, her still in my arms, and sit down on the bed, but I don’t let go of her. “Not like last time, wildcat.”
She peers up, her big blue eyes swimming with emotion. “You sure about that? Now’s your chance to run.”
I shake my head, tightening my grip on her body and cradling her more. “What I did was wrong. There was no reason for me to run away like a scared-ass pussy.”
She sits up a little, drying her cheeks with the backs of her fingers. “It was shitty, Dylan.”
Good. She is no longer sad. I’d rather her be pissed at me than sad or scared like she was earlier. As long as she’s focused on me, she can’t fret over what almost happened in the bar.
“I know, baby. I know.”
“Why would you do that?”
I keep one hand around her bottom, resting my hand on her thigh, and place my other one around her front so they cross. “Because I was an idiot.”
“Well, obviously,” she mutters. “But I thought what happened the night before was amazing, and then you vanished without a word.”
“I was scared,” I confess, hating to admit to that feeling to anyone ever.
“Of liking me?”
I shake my head. “I’ll admit that every day of the week, Rosie. I more than like you, but I was scared of what I saw in the morning when I rolled over.”
Her eyebrows pull down in the middle, and I replay my last statement, immediately realizing my mistake.
“No, wildcat. Not who I saw, but what I saw. The night before was—” I pause, my dick hardening at the memories of fucking her against the wall “—fucking amazing. Mind-blowing, even. But when I saw the bruises running up and down your back, knowing I put them there… I freaked out and ran. I couldn’t stop myself after I knew I hurt you.”
She lifts her hand to my face, so sweet and tender. “You didn’t hurt me, Dylan.”
I lean forward, placing my forehead against hers. “I spent my childhood covered in bruises, and I promised myself I’d never be that guy. When I saw what I’d done, all I could think about was my dad and how I could become him, or maybe that I was becoming him, and I panicked.”
She slowly glides her fingers through my beard as I confess what I felt and feared. “You aren’t him.”
“But what if I’ll become him? What if I am becoming him?”
She pulls away, staring into my eyes. “Have you ever hurt someone on purpose who didn’t deserve it?”
“I’m sure if you could raise my old man from the dead and ask him, he’d probably say I deserved every beating I got, Ro.”
Her frown is immediate, but her eyes never leave me, and neither does her touch. “He was an asshole. You are nothing like him. You are kind, caring, and thoughtful. You’re a protector, not an abuser.”
“But your bruises…”
“Were a reminder of the best sex I’ve ever had. They don’t even hurt much, Dylan. I forget they’re there. And then I’ll move a certain way, and all I can think about is the way you fucked me, the look in your eyes when you did it, and the pleasure you gave me…repeatedly.” She smiles, and my chest aches at the sweetness of her words and purity in her heart.
She’s a good person from an amazing family raised by great parents. I don’t deserve something so perfectly beautiful in my life, but I’m not willing or able to let her go.