Falling into You (Falling #1)(38)

“It’s…part of the trade.”

A secret, she means. “Then I’ll sleep on the floor outside your apartment. You’re not going to be alone tonight.”

“I’m fine, Colton.”

“Bullshit. You’re not fine.”

She shrugs. “No. But I’m fine.”

I laugh at that. “Look at me.”

She shakes her head no, chews her lip, and I want to take that lip in my mouth and suck it until the teeth marks are soothed away. I want to chew her lip for her. I want to taste her tongue. I want to run my hands under the silly, girly, childish, double-XL Lilo and Stitch shirt and feel her skin and her curves and her sweet softness.

I do none of this. I just stare at her, then touch her chin with my index finger, lift her head to meet my eyes. She closes her eyes, and I can see the moisture. She’s deep-breathing again, and I notice her hands are clutched around the opposing wrists, nails digging in deep, hard, scratching. Pain to replace pain. I use as much gentle force as I possess to pry her fingers out of her skin, turn them so they’re gripping my forearms.

I pull her against me, our arms barred vertically between us, and her fingernails dig into my arms. She lets go after a moment and just holds my forearms in her hands.

“It’s not the same. Causing you pain doesn’t help mine.” She whispers the words against my shoulder, the right one, the one with the Japanese dragon breathing fire on kanji.

“It wasn’t supposed to. It was just supposed to stop you from hurting yourself.”

“It helps—”

“No it doesn’t. It just pushes it away temporarily. Just like the booze.”

“But I need—”

“You need to let yourself feel. Feel it, own it. Then move on.”

“You make it sound so easy.” Bitterness drips from each syllable.

“It’s not. It’s the fucking hardest thing a person can do.” I smooth a damp ringlet out of her face and away from my mouth. “It’s the hardest fucking thing. It’s why we drink and do drugs and fight. It’s why I play music and build engines.”

She pulls away from me. “You build engines?”

I laugh. “Yeah. Music is a hobby. A passion. I rebuild engines and restore classic cars. That’s what pays the bills. Don’t get me wrong, I’m passionate about cars too, but it’s different.”

“Do you work for someone?”

“No, I own my own shop in Queens.”

“Really?” She sounds surprised, which I actually find a little insulting, but don’t say anything.

“Really.”

“Can I see your shop?” Her voice is bright and hopeful.

“Now?”

“Yes, now. I can’t be here. I keep seeing Dan. I keep…I keep feeling his hands on me, keep seeing him on the floor right there, bleeding.” She points to where he was laying. She’s quiet for a long moment, and I know what’s coming next. “Is he…is he dead?”

“No. Don’t worry about him anymore. He got what he deserved.”

“You hurt him really bad.”

“I should have killed him. I could have. If he’d…” I shake my head. “It’s done. Forget it.”

“I should have seen it coming.” The words don’t surprise me, but they piss me off.

I pull away and glare down at her. “Don’t you fucking dare, Nell Hawthorne. Don’t you dare put this on yourself. You should never have to see shit like this coming.”

She backs away, stunned and afraid by the intensity I know is radiating off me.

“Colton, I just meant he’s always shown—”

“Stop. Just stop right there. Granted, you should’ve never gotten involved with a douchetard him, but that’s no excuse for what he did.” I pull her back against me. She resists. “Are you afraid of me now?” I ask, to change the subject.

“A little. You were…scary. You just…you destroyed him. Even after he hit you. And I’ve seen him fight.”

I glance down at her in shock. “You mean on TV?”

She shakes her head. “No, the other fights. The underground ones. The ones that your friend was talking about. In Harlem.”

“You went to those fights?” I’m shocked. Stunned. Horrified. Those are brutal, vile, vicious fights. Angry, soulless men destroying each other. I should know.

“Yeah. I didn’t like it very much.”

“I’d hope not. They’re evil.” I try to keep my voice neutral.

Unsuccessfully, by the click of understanding I see cross her face. “You’ve fought in them.”

“Used to.”

“Why?” Her voice is tiny.

I shake my head. “That’s part of the trade, babe.”

She shudders. “Don’t call me babe.” Her voice is quiet but intense.

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine. It’s just what Dan—”

“I know. I heard.” I pull back so we’re looking into each other’s eyes. “Answer the question, though. Are you afraid of me?”

“I did answer. I said a little. I’m afraid of what you can do. I mean, I feel safe with you, though. I know you’d never hurt me.”