The Forever Girl (Wildstone, #6)(82)

“You know everything about me,” she went on. “Everything. But you hold back, Walker, even with the little stuff.”

True story. But he’d thought he’d been doing her and the others a favor. Who wanted to hear another sob story? No one. And he sure as hell never wanted the pity that would go along with it.

But apparently he hadn’t done any favors at all. The people who cared about him had shared everything, let him in, and in return, he’d built walls taller than . . . well, Maze’s. “You’re right,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“And . . . ?”

“And . . .” He drew a deep breath. “I was given up by my parents when I was two.”

She stilled, didn’t move a single muscle, like maybe if she did, he’d stop talking.

“I don’t know why, but I was left at a firehouse in Paso Robles.” He shrugged. “Like a bad pair of shoes. No one knew my name or even my birthday, or where I’d come from.”

He watched her eyes cloud over with fury. For him. “What happened?” she asked.

“They gave me a name—Walker, because I loved to be on my feet moving around. I ended up in the system, just like you.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t go in until I was a teenager. You were two.”

“I had some good homes,” he said. “Once I stayed with a family who owned and ran a café. We always had a ton of good food. It’s where I learned to cook.”

She sat straight up and stared at him in surprise. “Wait. You can cook? You buried your lede!”

He grinned. “I’m really good at it too, but I’d rather eat, so don’t tell Cat.”

She laughed. “You’re sneaky and manipulative and talented? I like it.”

“I know how to sew too.”

She gaped at him, looking shocked and hugely impressed. “Get out.”

“Serious. Once I lived with a family who made all their own clothes. I’d like to tell you I’m talented in that arena too, but I am most definitely not.” He held up his fingers. “I stuck myself so many times, I still don’t have much feeling in my fingertips.”

Taking his hands in hers and massaging them, she asked, “Who steered you toward the military and FBI?”

“The cop I told you about? With the good search programs? He caught me on his computer. Instead of kicking me out as he probably should have, he took me under his wing.” He smiled briefly, remembering. “Taught me how to not get caught. Suggested the military would be a great way to learn some respect for authority and a place where I’d learn to be a part of a unit. And he was right. I grew up a lot. As for the FBI . . .” He shrugged. “Felt right.”

She smiled. “You’re full of surprises.”

And, he knew, she related to a lot of what he’d grown up with. The uncertainty, moving from family to family, not sure where she fit in . . . He couldn’t believe he’d been so blind when it came to her. He never realized that the things that he’d shoved down deep inside and made so insignificant to him would have meant so much to her to know. How he’d gotten his name. Where he’d lived. His early experiences. And he wondered if he’d ever fucked up anything as much as he had his relationship with her.

He looked at her in the pale dawn light. Ran a finger along her temple, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, needing to touch her. He’d missed this. He’d missed her. “I’m sorry I haven’t shared more with you,” he said. “I’m going to change that.”

“Uh-huh.” She smiled. “You, Walker Scott, are going to become an open book?”

“With you.”

“Why?”

He had to laugh at the question. “Only you would question it.”

“Humor me.”

“Okay,” he said. “I like being with you.” He grinned. “In and out of bed.”

She stared at him for a beat, then dropped the eye contact and turned to stare at the water and the streaks of color across the sky. “Spending time together was never our problem,” she said. “For those few days in Vegas, I was so happy.”

“What’s stopping us from being that happy now?”

She looked at him as if he’d gone daft. “Besides the fact that this”—she gestured between them—“is over after tomorrow’s wedding?”

“And why is that again?”

“Because I’m leaving to go home to Santa Barbara, back to the grind. And you’re going back to the FBI three thousand miles away.” She paused. “Aren’t you?”

He drew a deep breath, needing to be honest but also not wanting to scare her off. Again. “It is where my life was only a week ago.”

Crickets literally chirped.

“Right,” Maze finally said, and tried to move off him.

But he held her in place. “Was,” he repeated.

She studied him for a moment. “You really think this could work?”

“Pretty sure we proved that earlier.” He smiled.

“You know what I mean.”

“I do. And yeah.” He ran his hand down her back, snugging her in closer to him. “I’ve always known it could work, Maze. But . . .”