he kept his hands clutched tight on the steering wheel. Because he was nervous, and because he needed to keep them away from her until she was ready to be touched.
He studied her blotchy face and the balled-up tissues in her lap, his jaw aching with tension, his need to offer comfort overwhelming but stymied.
She didn’t speak. Not one word.
“April . . .” he finally said, her name a gravelly plea. “I don’t know what happened with your mom, and I don’t know how I fucked up, but I obviously did. I’m sorry.”
He’d thought he understood. Her father was an asshole, and being in his company upset her. If Marcus offered himself as a human barrier, then she could spend time with her mother and escape the visit home unscathed. Simple as that.
Only she’d emerged metaphorically bloodied instead, and Jesus. Jesus. Evidently he hadn’t helped at all. Best he could tell, he’d hung her out to dry instead.
His skin fucking crawled with shame at having inadvertently abandoned her in need. It was the absolute worst feeling. The worst.
Had he simply not listened hard enough? Or had she told him less than he’d realized, less than he needed to support and protect her? And if so, how could he have failed to notice such a glaring omission?
After another torturous silence, she finally responded to his apology, her words blunt and abrupt and startlingly loud in the hushed confines of the car.
“My father despises fat people. Including me. My mother wants to save me from the judgment of people like him, so she constantly advises me about my body.” She pressed her trembling lips together. “I told her today I would no longer visit her if the two of them came as a package deal, because I have no desire to see him ever again. Then I said I would cut off contact with her entirely if she didn’t stop discussing my body.”
Metal in his mouth. He’d drawn blood somewhere, lip or cheek or tongue, and it felt right. Blood should be spilled in response to what she’d just told him.
That motherfucker.
There were assholes, and then there were—
He didn’t even know what the right term for her father was.
Even then—even ravaged by tears, her cheeks blotched with distress—April glowed in the sunlight through the window. How her father couldn’t see her beauty or value, how he’d turned away from the daughter who should have been his greatest pride, Marcus had no idea.
And her mom. Her mom.
In some ways, that was almost worse, wasn’t it? In the end, a dismissal by her malignant asshole of a father might be easier to shake off than the inadvertent slights of her mother.
Brent wasn’t worth a moment of April’s time or a single one of her tears. But JoAnn . . .
JoAnn wanted to protect her daughter. JoAnn had the best of intentions. JoAnn loved her daughter, loved her sincerely, but hurt her anyway. Again and again.
The thought of April growing up like that gutted him.
Fuck, he wanted to hold her. Needed to hold her. Instead, as he tried to find the right words, he fisted the steering wheel so hard he was surprised he didn’t pry the leather free.
But when his mouth opened, she held up a hand. “Let me get this out, please.”
More copper spilled over his tongue, but he nodded.
“I wanted you by my side today, holding my hand. To show them I don’t need to change how I look to have a good relationship, and to support me as I had a hard conversation with my mom.” She rubbed her bloodshot eyes and sighed. “I really needed my boyfriend, not the public version of you. But I didn’t tell you any of that, so you don’t have to apologize. It’s fine.”
Amid the upheaval of the afternoon, her near-instant forgiveness was graciousness he hadn’t expected and wasn’t certain he even deserved. Maybe she hadn’t told him enough before the visit, but he should have asked what she needed from him, not assumed.
His failure roiled his stomach, but this wasn’t about him. Not at its heart. He had to remember that.
He didn’t speak until she met his eyes again.
His hand was an inch from hers, but he didn’t close the distance. “May I?”
When she nodded, he let out a slow breath and interwove their fingers, placing their joined hands on his thigh. With his free hand, he reached over and swept away a stray tear from her jaw, keeping the pad of his thumb