Beard Necessities (Winston Brothers, #7)(49)

He reared back, blinking at me like I was something new. But he still seemed to be at a loss for words.

“I see now,” I added conversationally, “that as far as childhoods go, mine wasn’t a good one. My foundation for what constitutes a healthy relationship was skewed.”

“You’re just seeing that now?” Billy blurted, seeming to choke on a stunned laugh, shaking his head and still looking at me like I was something new, and maybe something wonderful.

“No. I mean, I always knew.” I tutted, my cheeks heating with embarrassment, and I found myself laughing too since his laughter sounded like the friendly kind. “Shut up.” I rolled my eyes. “When it’s your own, it’s your normal. My childhood was my normal. And I was so grateful to Ben and his family for saving me from that, and they did. I have to give credit where credit is due. Sleeping inside, in a bed, without fear. Knowing every day that I’d have food, clean clothes, warmth, shelter. They did that, they saved me from my father. And Ben didn’t trick me into marrying him at fifteen.”

Billy’s brow furrowed, and he opened his mouth—probably to say something nasty about Ben—so I added, “HOWEVER! I shouldn’t have felt indebted to him so much that I felt like I had no choice but to marry him later on, or sleep with him when he wanted. And that is how I felt. I felt like I owed him, like his happiness mattered more than mine, like maybe I could love him like he wanted if only I tried hard enough and gave him more. I’d convinced myself I was broken and wrong, and if I could just love him, I’d be whole. It was stubborn and stupid of me, but I have to forgive myself for that. And I have to forgive myself for never loving him the way he wanted me to. So . . .” I straightened to my full height, looking everywhere but at Billy. “There you go.”

After a long moment, during which I sensed his eyes continue to examine me and I tried to own the words I’d just spoken rather than hide my face, he asked, “That’s what you were going to tell me last week? When I cut you off and told you to keep your distance?”

“Yes.” I deflated, sneaking a quick peek at him as my mouth curved in a partially sad, partially embarrassed smile. “But I get it. I do. We’ve been on this merry-go-round for a long time, you and I. And I understand your desire to step off. In fact, I encourage it. You should’ve moved on from my broken, pathetic ass a long, long time ago.” I chuckled.

He did not.

Again, another long moment passed, and with it the air of open conversation shifted, became something else. Something less simple. Something charged.

“Scarlet,” he said, my name more breath than voice. “What are you saying? You want me to move on?”

“I’m saying . . .” I crossed my arms, affixing my stare to the ground but determined to speak loud and clear. “I’m saying that I wanted to see if there was a way we could—we could get to know each other again. After Christmas, and you were so lovely to me, and I was so pitiful, I just got so tired of hating myself. Feeling terrible about myself all the time. I’d become numb to it, it was—was a habit. So I sought professional advice.”

“Therapy.”

“Yes. Therapy. And my therapist is helping me see that there was nothing I could do about the fact that I didn’t love Ben like he wanted. I was young, vulnerable—and I’m not excusing what you and I did, I’m not excusing it. Meeting in secret behind his back, I should never have done that. I was the one who was married, that was on me. But I had no road map and I was doing the best I could. And to beat myself up for the rest of my life about something I did, for decisions I made when I was running away from my abusive father, decisions made in fear, well, I’m not going to do that anymore.”

Like before, my words seemed to bounce off the walls and between us, but this time I felt my neck and cheeks flare red and hot. I’d revealed more than I’d intended, and now I didn’t feel at all safe.

Needing to say something, since he was saying nothing, instinct and self-preservation had me backpedaling. “But, if you’ve moved on, then—goodness—keep on walking. You deserve so much happiness. You’ve always deserved so much better than me. I’m still trying to figure things out for myself, I’m still a mess, so it’s probably best if we just stuck to your original plan of—of—”

He was moving. I looked up, tensing at his severe and determined stare. Not trusting myself to back away without taking a wrong step off the plank, I held still, waiting for him to come. My brain unable to detangle his intentions, his long fingers and coarse palms slid against my cheeks, his thumbs tilted my chin up, and his mouth lowered to just inches from mine.

His eyes held mine hostage. “I mean this with all my heart,” he said, the words gravelly and fierce.

And then he kissed me.





Chapter Eleven





Billy





"Now look, your grace," said Sancho, "what you see over there aren't giants, but windmills, and what seems to be arms are just their sails, that go around in the wind and turn the millstone."

"Obviously," replied Don Quijote, "you don't know much about adventures.”

Miguel de Cervantes, Don Quixote





Her eyes closed and her body immediately relaxed, pressing forward, seeking mine, surrendering.