The Gritty Truth (The Whiskeys Dark Knights at Peaceful Harbor #7) - Melissa Foster Page 0,121
if she was really okay.
He drew back and framed her beautiful face between his hands, wiping her tears with the pads of his thumbs. A knot formed in his gut at the sadness storming in her eyes. “I love my gift. Thank you for having Tru draw the pictures and write the stories, and for putting it in the book. The last picture is my favorite.”
Her lower lip trembled, but she drew her shoulders back, making a valiant effort at producing a smile, the fakeness of it tearing at him.
“Mine, too,” she said softly.
“You should open the gifts I put under the tree.” When she lowered her eyes, he lifted her chin and said, “Talk to me, baby. How are you doing? Are you going to work? Spending time with Angela or the girls? Do you need anything?”
“I’m okay. I’m going to work and seeing people for dinner.”
“Truth, baby, remember? We made a promise to be honest.”
Tears flowed down her cheeks, and a sob burst out. She threw her arms around him, burying her face in his neck. “I’m not okay. I miss you, and I have so much anger and hatred inside me for Puck and all the things he’s done to you, to me, to that poor man he killed. I don’t know what to do with it. I’m scared I’ll never let it go.” She gasped and said, “And now I’ve spilled my guts when I should be asking about how you’re doing. I’m sorry.”
Her confession left him raw, heartbroken, and determined to help her. “Look at me, beautiful.” She leaned back, and he dried her tears. “I’m fine,” he reassured her. “I’ve got this, Roni, and I would worry about you whether you told me what’s wrong or not, because I see it. I feel it. You’re a part of me, babe, and that doesn’t stop because we’re miles apart.” He pressed his lips to hers, thinking about the ways she relieved stress and remembered how she’d said she’d danced late at night after her grandmother had passed away to push through her grief. “Are you dancing after work?”
She shook her head. “There’s no time. Everyone’s being so nice and supportive, and I thought you’d want me to be with them, so I usually go right to someone’s house when I get off.”
“Listen to me, baby. I love that you’re seeing people because you know I don’t want you to be alone, but that’s my selfish desire to fill a gap for you while I’m in here. But it might not be the right gap. I need you to take care of yourself first and foremost while I’m in here taking care of myself, and if that means that you dance instead of seeing friends, then do it. Don’t let that bastard’s ugliness eat away at you and destroy your beauty. You need to get that anger and hatred out of your system, and dancing has always been your outlet. Promise me you’ll make time to do that.”
Nodding, she inhaled deeply, letting out a long sigh as she took his hand and pressed it to her chest. “Feel how fast my heart is beating?” She held it there as her heartbeat calmed, and then a genuine smile appeared, and she said, “You knew exactly what I needed. How could I have forgotten about the one thing that I relied on for so long?”
“Because we haven’t been stressed the last several weeks, and your extra time spent dancing has been for fun. But you’re in recovery again, babe. You relived the accident when the police questioned you, and I could see how it dredged up all that hurt and anger. When you pile that on top of the fact that your boyfriend is on day six of his recovery, that’s a lot for you to deal with. You need to dance and use that outlet as much as you can.” He rubbed her hips and said, “And be sure to pamper yourself afterward—take warm baths or get a massage. I’ll pay for it.”
“I’ll dance, but I only want your hands on my body.” She hugged him again and ran her fingers through his hair.
He closed his eyes briefly, reveling in her touch. “Babe, it might also be a good idea for you to talk to someone. A therapist. Did you talk with anyone after your accident?”
“They had someone at the hospital, but not really.”
“I know from how you kept to yourself after your Gram died that you