Page 69 of Damaged Protector
The hint of a smile teased at the edges of her lips. “Did you know Chuck’s tears can cure cancer?”
My lips twitched, and I finished the punchline. “Yeah, too bad he’s never cried.”
Her aqua eyes closed, and she shook her head. “Stop being so nice to me. I feel like shit.”
“So you want me to make you feel shittier?”
She popped her lids open. “Yeah, actually. That would be great.”
I huffed out a sigh. “Stop beating yourself up, Mallori. It’s not like I’ve never been pepper sprayed before.” At her querying look, I explained. “We had to do that as part of our training.”
“Oh.”
“And for the record, I would never force myself on a woman. I may not be the king of morality, but that’s a hard and fast rule of mine.” I reached out and lifted her chin with my fingers, needing to see her eyes when she answered the next question. “Have I ever made you feel afraid or uncomfortable before?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head vehemently. “It wasn’t you; it was me.”
My heart skipped a few beats, and my voice turned to ice. “What does that mean?”
Wrapping her arms around her waist, Mallori’s already small frame seemed to shrink about three sizes. The sight of this usually happy, vibrant woman closing in on herself was like a knife to my gut.
“The whole situation… it just triggered something.” Her gaze skittered away, and she mumbled. “Doesn’t matter anyway.”
Oh, Little Bee, but it does.
“It’s been a long night. Do you mind if we sit?” I asked, gesturing to the bed. “If you’re uncomfortable here, we can go to the living room.”
I found some measure of relief when she climbed on my bed without hesitation and leaned against the headboard.
After following her lead—leaving some space between us—I picked up the bottles and twisted the tops off. We sat side by side, sipping our beers for a long while before the silence pressed around me like the walls were closing in.
Staring straight ahead, I asked, “Who hurt you, Little Bee?”
I heard her intake a shaky breath as her thumb swiped at the condensation on the neck of the bottle. “You probably wouldn’t believe me.”
Glancing over, I found her staring at me, pain glowing in those gorgeous eyes of hers. “Try me,” I challenged.
Her tongue slid over her upper teeth as she assessed me. Instead of answering my question, she asked one of her own. “Have you ever had something happen, and then someone blamed you for the way you handled it?”
It was a vague and complicated question, but it hit home, and I nodded. “Yeah, I actually have.”
“Will you tell me?”
I paused. “It’s not something I’ve ever told anyone. Not for years anyway.”
A small hand wrapped around mine. “Okay, you don’t have to.” I felt the unconditional acceptance in her words and in the squeeze she gave me.
Fuck. I sensed this was a test. A kind of you trust me, and then I’ll trust you thing.
Taking a fortifying glug of my beer, I started talking. “I was twelve the first time I realized my mother was cheating on my dad.” Mallori didn’t say anything, so I continued. “She would apparently go out at night after my sister and I were asleep. Meet whoever she was fucking that week, and then come back home.”
“Where was your dad?”
“On deployment. He was a Marine.”
“That’s pretty shitty,” Mal commented, and I snorted a humorless laugh.
“Agreed. So one night, I woke up about midnight with my stomach hurting. It was really bad. I could barely walk, and when I didn’t find my mother in her room, I woke up Jennifer.”