strained. “And now our bodies want to have a conversation.”
Her smile was slow, and it made my loins tighten. “My body has lots to say to you.”
A groan ripped from deep in my throat. I leaned toward her again, but she leaned away.
“But I actually do have something I want to talk to you about. And judging from the way you almost chewed off my head a minute ago, it’s something we should talk about.”
Have I mentioned I hate words?
I do. Like really.
Still, this was the main reason I brought her out here (I mean, yes, of course I planned on some sex; that’s why I brought so many blankets), so it seemed I should listen to what she had to say.
“That was about your father, wasn’t it?”
All thought of hanky panky time went flying off into the distance.
“Ivy,” I warned. My father wasn’t a subject I liked to talk about.
She held her ground. “You made me talk about him when I didn’t want to. And you know what?”
“What?”
“I actually feel better.”
“I’m glad, baby.” My voice gentled.
“So now we’re gonna talk about this. And then you’ll feel better.”
Not bloody likely. “There’s nothing to say, Blondie. My father is scum. He abused my mother half my life until he almost killed her. Now he’s dying and he thinks death should somehow earn him a forgiveness card.”
“So you don’t plan on talking to him at all?” she asked.
“No,” I growled.
“I think you’re wrong.”
I blinked. “What?”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “You heard me.”
“Whose side are you on?”
“Yours. Even when you’re being a giant doody head and are wrong.”
“Did you just call me a giant doody head?”
She nodded. “Mm-hmm.” I opened my mouth, but she lifted her hand. “Why are you so afraid to talk to him, Braeden?”
“I’m not,” I ground out. I was getting all mixed up inside. The darkness and anger deep down was getting all riled up. I didn’t like it. Not at all.
“Is it because you’re afraid that if you do—”
I cut her off. “I will not ever forgive him.”
Her face gentled even though my tone was angry and slightly mean. “That isn’t what I was going to say. I don’t think he deserves your forgiveness, B.”
“You don’t?” Just hearing her say that calmed me down.
“No. I don’t. But I do think you’re afraid if you talk to him face to face, you might see some things in him that remind you of yourself.”
Her words hit their mark.
I didn’t need to sit down beside him to see those things. Sometimes when I looked in the mirror, he was all I saw.
“You’re nothing like him,” she vowed.
“How do you know?” I asked, the words the closest I’d ever come to saying out loud my biggest fear. “You’ve never met him.”
“I don’t need to meet him because I know you. You aren’t capable of that type of violence. You don’t have that mean streak in you.”
“Yes, I am. I do.”
She tilted her head. “Maybe,” she allowed.
Her honesty only helped me. I admired that she didn’t try to sugarcoat everything she said.
“But those parts of you only surface when you feel like you have something or someone to protect . You don’t use those qualities against people, Braeden. You don’t use them to tear people down. You use them to guard people you love.”
She made me sound like some comic book character.
“I’m no hero, Ivy.”
“No, you aren’t. You drink bad wine, cuss too much, and let very few people in.”
“A guy gets one bad bottle of wine…” I muttered. “And he never lives it down.”
“You’re real. You have real feelings, real emotions, and the things you do reflect that. I’d take you over a hero any day. Even Spider-Man.”
I made a scoffing sound. “Superman would kick Spidey’s ass.”
She gasped. “Bad wine and bad taste in superheroes? You’re just pushing it now.”
I laughed. “Honestly, sometimes I wonder if I’ll regret not talking to him before he dies. Mom says I
Her smile was slow, and it made my loins tighten. “My body has lots to say to you.”
A groan ripped from deep in my throat. I leaned toward her again, but she leaned away.
“But I actually do have something I want to talk to you about. And judging from the way you almost chewed off my head a minute ago, it’s something we should talk about.”
Have I mentioned I hate words?
I do. Like really.
Still, this was the main reason I brought her out here (I mean, yes, of course I planned on some sex; that’s why I brought so many blankets), so it seemed I should listen to what she had to say.
“That was about your father, wasn’t it?”
All thought of hanky panky time went flying off into the distance.
“Ivy,” I warned. My father wasn’t a subject I liked to talk about.
She held her ground. “You made me talk about him when I didn’t want to. And you know what?”
“What?”
“I actually feel better.”
“I’m glad, baby.” My voice gentled.
“So now we’re gonna talk about this. And then you’ll feel better.”
Not bloody likely. “There’s nothing to say, Blondie. My father is scum. He abused my mother half my life until he almost killed her. Now he’s dying and he thinks death should somehow earn him a forgiveness card.”
“So you don’t plan on talking to him at all?” she asked.
“No,” I growled.
“I think you’re wrong.”
I blinked. “What?”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “You heard me.”
“Whose side are you on?”
“Yours. Even when you’re being a giant doody head and are wrong.”
“Did you just call me a giant doody head?”
She nodded. “Mm-hmm.” I opened my mouth, but she lifted her hand. “Why are you so afraid to talk to him, Braeden?”
“I’m not,” I ground out. I was getting all mixed up inside. The darkness and anger deep down was getting all riled up. I didn’t like it. Not at all.
“Is it because you’re afraid that if you do—”
I cut her off. “I will not ever forgive him.”
Her face gentled even though my tone was angry and slightly mean. “That isn’t what I was going to say. I don’t think he deserves your forgiveness, B.”
“You don’t?” Just hearing her say that calmed me down.
“No. I don’t. But I do think you’re afraid if you talk to him face to face, you might see some things in him that remind you of yourself.”
Her words hit their mark.
I didn’t need to sit down beside him to see those things. Sometimes when I looked in the mirror, he was all I saw.
“You’re nothing like him,” she vowed.
“How do you know?” I asked, the words the closest I’d ever come to saying out loud my biggest fear. “You’ve never met him.”
“I don’t need to meet him because I know you. You aren’t capable of that type of violence. You don’t have that mean streak in you.”
“Yes, I am. I do.”
She tilted her head. “Maybe,” she allowed.
Her honesty only helped me. I admired that she didn’t try to sugarcoat everything she said.
“But those parts of you only surface when you feel like you have something or someone to protect . You don’t use those qualities against people, Braeden. You don’t use them to tear people down. You use them to guard people you love.”
She made me sound like some comic book character.
“I’m no hero, Ivy.”
“No, you aren’t. You drink bad wine, cuss too much, and let very few people in.”
“A guy gets one bad bottle of wine…” I muttered. “And he never lives it down.”
“You’re real. You have real feelings, real emotions, and the things you do reflect that. I’d take you over a hero any day. Even Spider-Man.”
I made a scoffing sound. “Superman would kick Spidey’s ass.”
She gasped. “Bad wine and bad taste in superheroes? You’re just pushing it now.”
I laughed. “Honestly, sometimes I wonder if I’ll regret not talking to him before he dies. Mom says I
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