Proof of Life (The Potentate of Atlanta #4) - Hailey Edwards Page 0,75
I fixate on yours?”
“You heard what she said,” I whispered. “You know how I got them.”
Honest confusion tugged his lips down. “What’s your point?”
“You’ve dedicated yourself to empowering women who have suffered abuse.” I hadn’t consciously had a clue I felt this way about us until it popped out of my mouth. “What if that’s what attracted you to me?”
“You’re not wearing a scarlet letter, Hadley. You don’t telegraph your abuse simply by existing. You fight against your perception of yourself, against her perception of you, every day. It’s only natural you would think others see the conflict in you, but they don’t, I promise you that.”
“You did.” I had been too flighty around him at first, too nervous he would unmask me. “Quickly too.”
“Did I wonder at times? Yes. I’ve been around enough survivors to recognize the symptoms, and you evidenced several of them. I had no idea it was your mother, or what she did to you.” He laughed harshly, but it was self-directed. “I thought a boyfriend might have done it.”
Scrunching up my face, I asked, “Why is that funny?”
“Abuse colors the world survivors live in, and I chalked up your problems to my issues.” He hesitated as I studied him. “I laughed at the reminder of how twisted up we all get in our own heads, in our own pasts. We view everyone else through the clouded lens of our own life experience. That’s how assumptions get made, and they’re generally wrong. We apply our experiences to others in an effort to understand them and their motivations, but we rarely get it right.”
“Liz said something…”
“…designed to get under your skin.”
“I was happy to take it slow, physically, with you.” I wasn’t sure how to fit the rest of the words in my mouth without choking on them. “You were working through some stuff, and I didn’t want to pressure you.” He looked at his hands, his features unreadable. “I put it all on you. In my head, I mean. I convinced myself I was content waiting for your benefit.”
“You think you were subconsciously avoiding sex with me to avoid a conversation on your scars.”
“I’ve never dated anyone who mattered. I’ve never cared what the guys I was with thought of me. I had plans. I had school. Dreams. Guys were warm bodies when I felt like having dinner out or watching a movie or…that.” A slow burn moved through my cheeks. “But you matter. I care very much, maybe too much, what you think of me. I still have plans. I still have dreams. They just all include you now.”
“You can’t believe it would make any difference to me.”
“We’re all twisted up in our own heads, our own pasts,” I quoted back to him. “What do you think?”
“I want to see your scars.” He placed one hand beside my pillow and leaned over me, his delicious heat sinking into me. “I want to see you.” He ducked his head, pressed his lips to mine, and kissed me slowly, with such tenderness tears threatened to swamp me. “I want you, Hadley.”
The way he tasted me, with a hungry growl revving up the back of his throat and a sharp edge to his kiss, turned my knees—and more interesting places—liquid as I patted the mattress. “There’s room for two.”
“There are also half a dozen people with their noses pressed to the glass.”
“Frak, frak, frak.” I peered around him. “Tell them to go away?”
The crowd dispersed to make way for a woman with instincts that bordered on downright terrifying.
“Your mom is here.” I smoothed a hand down my chest. “Does she know? About…?”
The ants. The scars. The pantry.
“I didn’t tell her.” He twisted around to scan the newcomers. “I won’t tell her without your permission.”
Feeling small, I gripped his wrists. “Ford?”
“I can’t see him mentioning your private business in his report.” Midas rubbed his jaw. “He wouldn’t betray you unless he felt you had been compromised and the pack was in danger.” He dropped his hand. “Mom could have pressed him for details, without understanding what he would confide, but I doubt it.”
“Okay.” I wiggled myself upright. “Let her in.”
The door had barely cracked before Tisdale wedged herself through it and strode to me. “Sweetheart.”
“Hi.” I waved like a dork. “I’m fine. You don’t have to—”
Gwyllgi are strong, and their hugs can be fierce, but Tisdale’s was downright ferocious.
“Hush.” She cinched her arms tighter until spots danced in my vision. “I’m so relieved you’re all right.”