A Secret for a Secret (All In #3)(68)

“But I thought . . .” She trails off and brings her fingers to her mouth, nibbling on a ragged nail.

“That I came here to break up with you?” I finish for her.

She lifts a shoulder in a half shrug. “I wouldn’t blame you if you did. I’m a lot to deal with on a good day, and this is even more than I know what to do with.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose, uncertain as to whether I’m more sad, angry, or frustrated at the moment. Because one of the people who was supposed to love her and embrace her wild, passionate soul made her feel like those were flaws she needed to apologize for.

“Come here: you’re too far away.” I don’t wait for her to move closer. I simply grab her by the waist and settle her in my lap.

Silent tears glide down her cheeks, and her chin trembles. She smells like paint and laundry soap and fresh rain. I wipe away the tears as they fall, but there’s more behind them. “Baby, I want you to listen to me and really hear me, okay?”

“Okay. I’ll try,” she whispers brokenly.

“I love you.”

“That doesn’t change all the crap I’m bringing into your life.”

“You’re not hearing me.” I cup her face in my hands and press my lips to her forehead, her cheek, the tip of her nose, and finally her lips. “You can push me away as much as you want, but it’s not going to stop me from wanting you. I love you because of all these perceived flaws you have, not in spite of them. I know you’ve been let down a lot, and I don’t plan to be one of those people in your life. Give us a chance to get through this together, Queenie. Let me catch you when you fall. Let me be your safe place to land.”

She covers my hand with hers and nuzzles her cheek into my palm. “I’m a mess right now. My life is a mess.”

“You made a mistake, Queenie; it doesn’t make your entire life a mess. Is the situation messy? Most definitely, but you’re not at fault for that.” I brush away more of her tears.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but I didn’t think I’d ever have to tell anyone. It’s embarrassing.”

“I understand why you didn’t. At first I was hurt—”

“Because I kept it from you.”

“Because I thought you didn’t trust me enough to tell me. Everyone has secrets they keep from others, even from themselves. I know this is hard for you and that you’re very used to being let down by the people who are supposed to lift you up, but I want you to know that I’m not going anywhere, Queenie. I want all your dark secrets to be mine to keep. I want all your pieces, all the things that make you who you are. I don’t care if you think you’re bent or broken; let me love all of you.”

She gives me a soft smile, and her warm palm settles on my cheek. “I’ll try my very best.”





CHAPTER 25





THE POWER OF ESTROGEN


Queenie

I think I’ve eaten twenty bags of sour cream and onion chips over the last three days. My skin feels tight from the salt. I almost wish I craved sweets, because I think it would be a lot better than the salt swelling that’s currently going on.

It’s good that King is on an away series, since my breath smells like a field of chewed-up green onions. And that’s about the only reason his being away is good. After our talk I felt better. Like things are going to be okay.

And then he got on the plane, and I stayed behind so I could clean up the mess that is my life and make some much-needed changes. I’ve started doing both of those things, beginning with finding my dad a replacement assistant who is technologically savvy. So far I’ve found six promising prospects, whose references I plan to check thoroughly.

The downside of the guys being away is that aside from some light paperwork, I don’t have a lot to occupy my time or my mind. So I went online. And fell down the horrible, disturbing rabbit hole that has become the biggest embarrassment of my life.

Also, Sissy is an absolute loon. But the way I’ve been smeared all over the worst of the worst tabloids and the horrible rumors all over the hockey sites and bunny forums are . . . mortifying.

And I’m supposed to meet King’s family next week. I’m not sure it’s a good idea anymore. I’m convinced they’re going to decide I’m not good enough for him.

And I sort of believe I’m not, which isn’t helpful.

Maybe Corey is right. Maybe I am a nightmare of a girlfriend. Maybe Kingston is only staying with me because he feels sorry for me and he doesn’t want to hurt my feelings. Half of me can’t wait for him to be home so I can shake the uneasy feeling that being away from him incites. The other half doesn’t want him to come home, because that will mean his parents and momster and brother are coming to visit, and I will have to meet them and impress them. After I’ve been painted as a home-wrecking, money-hungry puck bunny.

I feel like my current insecurities are fairly warranted.

The game doesn’t start for several hours. I should tackle some of the laundry that’s piled up over the past few weeks. But I don’t feel like it. I honestly don’t feel like doing much, other than eating chips and surfing the net, looking for the newest horrifying article about me.

I prop my feet up on the coffee table, and empty chip bags crunch under my heels and a couple fall to the floor, crumbs scattering on the carpet. I survey my bungalow and consider how the disarray very much matches me on the inside. I make sure I have my box of tissues before I flip open my laptop.