Ten Tiny Breaths (Ten Tiny Breaths #1)(54)

What? Me torturing him? He’s the one with this stupid, “thou shalt go slow” crap!

Me: One little text hardly qualifies as torture.

Trent: It’s not just the one text.

Me: Well then come back here.

Trent: No, I told you we’re taking this slow.

Me: I think that ship sailed with your little stare down game the other morning. According to the very wise bible, we’re an old married couple.

I smirk with my bible comment. Aunt Darla would have a coronary if she knew how I was using it to my advantage. The smile is torn clean off my face when my phone chimes again.

Trent: You need help.

I stare at those three words for a long moment, gritting my teeth. It’s not a surprise to me that he says it. He’s said it before. Somehow though, seeing it in twelve point font feels different. Official. I don’t respond.

A minute later …

Trent: You’ve been through a terrible ordeal and you’ve bottled everything up. You’re going to explode one day.

Here we go. I rub my forehead with frustration. Persistent fool.

Me: What? You want the gory details about how I lost my parents, best friend AND boyfriend, all in one night? Does that kind of thing get you off?

That fire inside me rages again, the same one from three days ago when he forced me into that therapy session. I put the phone down and inhale deeply, trying to douse it before it takes control.

I can’t stop myself from reading the next text when the phone chimes.

I want you to trust me enough to tell me about it. Or someone, at least.

Me: This isn’t about trust! I’ve told you that already! My past is my past and I need to bury it where it belongs—In. The. Past.

Trent: You’re vulnerable and I’m taking advantage of you by letting things like what just happened, happen.

I groan with exasperation.

Me: Please, take advantage of me! I’m giving you permission!

Trent doesn’t answer. I sigh, deciding to treat his concerns seriously.

Me: I’m fine, Trent. Believe me. I’m better than I’ve been in a long time.

Trent: No. You just think you are. I think you’re suffering from a serious case of P.T.S.D.

I fling the phone against the wall that adjoins our apartment, seething. Metal and plastic sails through the air as the thing shatters.

Everyone wants to be my personal f**king shrink.

***

I’m astonished when Trent show up at Penny’s that night. More so, I can’t keep my mouth from hanging agape as I watch him sit down by the bar, just like he did before, acting like we hadn’t just had a nuclear-sized fight. I raise my chin a notch. I’m not going to apologize. No damn way.

A box with a red bow magically appears in front of him. He slides it forward, his dimples forcing a smile on my face whether I like it or not. Dammit! Of course I go over and open it. Who doesn’t love presents?

Inside is a brand new iPhone.

“Wasn’t hard to figure out what that loud bang was against my wall when you didn’t answer my next text,” Trent murmurs, an amused smirk on his face.

“Oh yeah?” I slide my tongue over my teeth, acting all cool and unaffected. Inside, I’m not. I’m so not unaffected by Trent right now. “What’d the text say?”

He shrugs, now feigning indifference as well. I know he’s faking it too. That twinkle in his eye is his only tell. “I guess you’ll never know.” He exhales deeply as he holds my stare. It’s like the afternoon tension doesn’t exist anymore, and I don’t see how that’s possible because I still feel it. He’s up to something. I can’t figure out what though.

“Just think, our afternoon could have gone a completely different direction had you not smashed your phone to smithereens,” he says, sliding a straw into his mouth. His eyes blaze with intentions.

Inside, it’s all I can do to stop myself from leaping over the bar and into Trent’s lap. That’s inside. Outside, I’m cool as a November chill. “What can I say? I have anger management issues.”

His mouth twists as if in thought. “You need to find a way to deal with those issues.”

“I have. It’s called pounding on a bag of sand.”

His brow arches playfully. “Clearly it’s not working well.”

I lean forward over the bar, resting my body on my elbows. “And what would you suggest I pound on instead?”

“Jeez! Would you two just give in already?” Storm calls out with mock exasperation, a martini shaker in her hand.

I hadn’t realized how loud we were. Glancing to my other side, I see Nate’s smirk, and I instantly flush. I don’t know why, but I do. I’m always flushing lately.

Trent doesn’t answer Storm or me, taking a long sip of his soda instead, and I delude myself into thinking that maybe he’s finally given up on pushing me to deal with things long since buried. Maybe this can work.

***

Over the next few weeks, Trent holds true to his word about making me smile. Unfortunately, he also holds true to his word about taking things slow. Only this time, he actually does. After those few short and hot slip ups, the true unrestrained Trent is chained and the one who occupies my time gives nothing more than guarded kisses and hand-holding.

It’s enough to drive me insane.

Each day, I hop onto Trent’s bike, wrap my arms around his chest, and I let him whisk me off. It always starts off with the gym, likely because he doesn’t want to see me smash my phone against the wall again. I’m finding now though that I don’t have as much desire and focus to run through my drills with him around. Those take attention and determination and, let’s face it, bottled up rage. Trent has a dousing effect on my rage. We end up goofing off and play fighting until we get dirty looks and decide to leave. By that point I’m usually so hot and bothered by Trent though that I’m okay with jumping into the shower. I keep hoping he’ll lose his way and stumble in there. He never does.