never let myself give into my emotions, not even in private. I had been schooled to never let them rule me, to let them usurp my strength. But this time I couldn’t stop it. This time I gave in; I was lacking hope. This world I lived in wasn’t fair. My friend had just been shot dead—a risk we all lived with every single day. And the man I loved, the forbidden half of my heart, was leaving and there was no way we could ever be together.
“Lita?”
I started, looking up as a voice I so desperately wanted to hear drifted into my ears. Tanner came rushing toward me from a gap in the tall hedges. His face was racked with worry. He dropped down beside me and swept me into his arms. I allowed myself a second of his comfort before I pushed away from his warm embrace.
“No,” I whispered, scanning around us. “You can’t . . . we can’t . . . we can’t be seen.”
Tanner’s face frosted over, wearing the hard mask he once used on me. But not anymore. Now his face was soft, his blue eyes kind . . . and his touch was gentle whenever we were together. At times, I saw the war he fought in his tight expression. But he kept returning to me. Kept kissing my lips.
“Fuck that,” he said, voice low and stern. “You’re upset.” Tanner reached for me again. “I saw you running as I looked out the window of my room.” He dragged me back into his arms. This time I melted against him and let the foreign feeling of comfort seep into my bones. My head fell against Tanner’s hard chest and he cradled me against him. And I fell apart. There was no pride in being a Quintana right now. In this moment I was lost; Tanner was the man who had found me and given me a home.
“She has died,” I whispered. My voice shook, wrapped in a breathless rasp. “Teresa, my friend . . . was murdered by Faron Valdez today.” Tanner held me tighter as though he was struggling too. I lifted my head and saw that Tanner’s face was stone; his mood seemed glacial. His blue eyes flitted to mine. Then I saw it . . . Tanner Ayers let down his defenses and I saw what had him so troubled.
What had happened to Teresa . . . it had shaken him to his very foundations.
Was he worried . . . for me?
“Tanner,” I whispered and lifted to my knees. I wrapped my arms around his tense neck, watched his cheek twitch. He swallowed back the emotion he was trying so hard to disguise. “Talk to me.”
“I can’t lose you,” Tanner admitted. As his words hit my ears, I felt my heart explode in my chest. I stilled. My breathing became labored and I felt fresh tears track down my cheeks.
“You won’t,” I reassured. Tanner inhaled deeply.
His hands came up and cupped my face. “You have people after you all the time.” He paused to gather himself. “You could get attacked every time you walk out of the main gates.” Tanner’s hands were locked on my face. I held his wrists. “Fuck!” he swore. “I won’t be here to keep you safe.”
My stomach turned in dread of not seeing him again. Of not having him in my life. Tanner went to speak again, but I didn’t hear it. My nerves jangled, my emotions were over-wrought. They switched from Teresa to Tanner, and the thought of not being in his arms again. Of having him express his feelings to me. Of hearing this man who had been crafted into being a violent, terrifying killer. Consumed by prejudice and bigotry, who through us, had started seeing life in a different way. Questioning his values—the ones that had been beaten into him since he was a child.
The scars on his back told the story of how an innocent boy had been hurt and wickedly crafted into the man his father had so carefully molded. The scars on his back and chest sang a harrowing song of a little boy crying out to be heard and loved, only to be soured against the variety of life, cultures and all the colors that enrich this world.
My hands ran over every scar. I prayed my touch—a touch that he once believed sullied and vile—would inspire him to leave the life that had been forced upon him. I hoped