“I could’ve… I would’ve given them something better.”
“Maybe,” she counters.
“Maybe?” I feel wounded by her statement. Unsure how to let go of the hurt, I drop my knees, no longer wanting her touch.
“You were angry for a long while, Rocco. You were ready to kill. You were what Kane and Marcus wanted you to be. You may not have been the right place for them either.”
Fuck. Straight for the jugular. “Anyone ever tell you honesty isn’t always the best option.”
Crossing her legs, she sits in front of me. “Is that what you want? Lies to make you feel even worse. Maybe their mom failed them, but that doesn’t mean she didn’t love them the best she could. Who knows what happened to have her become tangled in Marcus’ web? All we know is, that in the end, it was bad enough that she sought to escape the best way she knew how.”
I swallow the bitter pill she all but shoved down my throat.
“They’re forever scarred for whatever that asshole put them through, for what they saw with Kendall. I can’t take that away. I don’t have the power to fix it, to fix them.”
I’m empty. The fight only minutes ago coursing through me having dissipated into nothing. Into numbness. I’m broken and tired.
“You don’t fix them,” she declares indignantly. “You make sure this next phase of their lives is a new world. One of love and acceptance. You show them there is no longer anything to fear.”
My eyes sting. My heart aches.
“You’re one hundred percent right though, you can’t take away their past. But scars of yesterday aren’t ugly scrapes on our souls that will forever mar us as imperfect. They’re survival wounds, Rocco, ones we’ve fought tooth and nail for. They’re perfect, no matter how unsightly they look. Your kids are strong. They’re survivors. Exactly like you and Parker.”
“How do you do it?” I ask.
“Do what?”
“Pull my guard down before I’ve realized. Make me show you my insides without my permission. I give you everything. I give you all of me... all before I’ve realized it’s happened.”
She moves to speak but I cut her off.
“Tell me it’s not just me. Tell me I give it to you too. Tell me I’m not the only one leaning here, beggin’ for somethin’ I didn’t even know I wanted.”
“You give it to me too,” she admits almost shyly. “Likely more. I share the deepest parts of myself daring you to look away. But you don’t, in fact, you move closer.”
At that moment I realize there’s something sacred about bearing yourself completely to another. Something jarring. You’re jumping off a cliff, hoping, praying someone will catch you before you hit the ground.
This is it. Me. In the flesh. Ready to run yet?
Chapter Twenty-Four
Camryn
I wake, mentally spent, my head still reeling from yesterday.
Rocco is a dad.
Rocco Shay.
Has twins.
My temples pound and I stand before I’m tempted to draw a cushion over my head and suffocate myself.
His apartment is quiet. The sterile sound of silence welcome after the depth of conversation we dug ourselves into last night. We took a hammer to Rocco’s emotions. Cracked open a box he’d kept sealed away with the power of a million padlocks.
Searching through his kitchen, I open cupboards, disappointed to find zero chocolate. Note to self, bring a stash to hide away next time. Save myself this disappointment over and over again.
Moving to the fridge, I glance through the greenery on the shelves, grimacing with the thought of eating whatever the fuck it all is. Settling on a carton of juice in the door, I pop the opening, glancing over my shoulder to make sure I’m alone before drinking straight from the cardboard.
“That’s fuckin’ disgusting.”
I freeze, orange juice still on my lips, carton balancing in the same spot.
Sleepy Rocco has an incredibly rough voice. One that creeps across your skin like whispered promises of things I shouldn’t want.
“In my defense, I was doing you a favor.” I turn, closing the juice carton. “Firstly, your kitchen is so clean, I felt wrong dirtying a glass. Second, surely this has too much sugar for you. I was ridding its poison from your life.”
Sleepy Rocco also has super hooded eyes that trail along my body in a way that also makes me think of things I shouldn’t want.
“Sleep well?” I change the subject, hoping like hell my thoughts aren’t dusted across my cheekbones in a blush I can’t hide.
“Not a wink.”
“Want coffee?”
He nods, moving into the kitchen in long, lazy strides. “You sit. I’ll make it. Coffee is too important to me to have you fuck it up.”
I roll my eyes, trying my hardest not to sniff him as I walk past him to see how sleepy Rocco smells.
“You?” he grunts out.
Moving into the living room, I sit, legs out along the cushions, my front pushed to the back to ensure I can still see him.
“Meh,” I answer non-committedly. “Your couch, as comfy as it is to sit on, sucks as a bed.”
“Could’a used Parker’s.”
“Eww.” I scrunch up my nose. “He and Codi have done unmentionable things in that bed.”
“Could’a just crashed in my bed with me.”
I bite my tongue, unsure of how to respond.
Sleeping in a bed with Rocco Shay. It doesn’t repulse me as much as it should. In fact, the thought alone is enough to kickstart something deep in my stomach that both excites and scares me.
“As long as you don’t snore,” he jokes, saving me from my own awkwardness.
“I absolutely do not snore. I don’t think,” I add as an afterthought. “Not that it matters,” I rush out. “I am not sleeping in your bed with you.”
His shoulders lift in dismissal. “Your loss. I’m cuddly as shit.”
“Cuddly as shit isn’t exactly appealing.”
A soft smirk pulls along his face as his long strides bring him closer to me, coffee in hand. And look, I’m woman enough to admit that Rocco Shay, shirtless and sleepy, bringing me coffee isn’t the worst way to spend my morning.
“Did you put sugar in this?” I eye him suspiciously.
Sitting on the coffee table across from me, he nods. “Sure.”
“Lies.” I inhale the rich aroma, eyes closing in wanting.
“Just fuckin’ drink it.”
Watching him over the rim of my mug, I drink him in as I sip the smooth liquid; the perfect mixture of bitterness and sweetness exploding along of tastebuds in the promise of a good fucking day.
A small moan falls from my lips. That first taste of morning coffee like taking my first breath.
Rocco’s eyes zero in on my lips, watching as I lick them over, savoring that first drop.
I watch him, watch my mouth, the silver of his irises deepening with every second that passes. Coffee, forgotten in my hand, plays second fiddle to the violent need staring at me from the imposing man in front of me.
Desire is a funny thing. That amplified yearning for another person that settles within your body. An overwhelming feeling that is built solely around attraction and anticipation. The belief in your mind building like a bonfire, burning through you with the promise of pleasure that person can bring you.