After We Fall (Take the Fall, #3)(37)

“I know some, too.”

“Like the taco truck.”

He nods. “Especially the taco truck.”

“Is that how you hurt your eye? Got in a fight for the last taco?”

“You got jokes, huh?” His full lips quirk, then he sets his beer down on the coffee table. On a coaster.

Don’t pay attention to that. Don’t even act like it happened.

But I can’t stop staring at his drink on the coaster. It’s so ridiculously considerate that I feel actual tears welling up in my eyes.

“Sometimes,” I admit, then redirect my attention to my meal.

“I got hurt at work because I wasn’t paying attention.”

“So a bad guy didn’t do that to you?” I ask, peering up at him.

“Wish it had been. Then I could have arrested him for assault.”

“I’m sure that would have helped your ego.”

His brows crease in obvious confusion.

“You know, like the time you hurt your knee?”

“Thanks for bringing it up,” he says wryly. “I’d like to talk to you about something that’s been on my mind.”

A sliver of unease runs through me, my formerly good mood starting to ebb away. “What’s that?”

“Us.” He tilts his head to one side for a moment. “Specifically, the night you were found.”

My mouth turns dry. The pizza on my plate is no longer appealing. “What about it?”

He picks up the hand closest to him, engulfing it with his much larger one. “I wanted you to know that you have nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“Easy for you to say,” I mumble.

“Actually, it’s not. It’s not easy at all to talk about that night, or how you looked…how I felt.” Setting his plate on the coffee table, he scoots closer to me and takes my plate away as well, then pulls me into his lap. I feel as stiff as a board at first, but Hunter doesn’t let that get in his way.

Instead, he begins to rub circles on my back, kneading out knots that have been there for years. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but I want to clear the air between us.”

“My air is just fine.”

He presses a kiss to my forehead. “I didn’t always want to be a cop.”

“What?”

“I didn’t always want to be a cop,” he repeats. “All the guys I work with, they have that in common. It’s something they’ve wanted forever, or it’s part of their family history. For me, though, cops brought nothing but trouble, or at least my dad made it seem that way.”

I lick my lips. “Why?”

“Because he was a very bad man who hated when he got caught doing very bad things.”

“Like hurting your mom?”

He nods. “Like that.”

“So why did you become a policeman?”

“Because I wanted to be the good guy for once. Growing up, I was a troublemaker. Always got into fights and cut school a lot. Held back once in elementary school and a second time in middle school because I was so far behind the other kids. It was…not easy being the stupid kid.”

Anger for the little boy he used to be replaces my embarrassment. “You were and are far from stupid. You couldn’t help what was done to you, or why you missed school.”

“I know that now.” He brings my hand to his mouth, kissing the knuckles. “Just like you couldn’t help what was done to you.”

“But I wasn’t a kid.” Biting my lower lip, I glance away. “I knew that what he was doing was wrong, but I felt guilty for wanting to leave. I thought I was giving up on him because he was suffering from PTSD. I thought I could change him, that somehow my love would change him, that somehow we could work through our problems. That it was okay when he got rough with me because he was jealous. He was always jealous, you know? Always accusing me of doing the things he did.” I’m rambling, not making any sense at all. “His family has more money than they can ever spend and when they cut him off, he stole every bit of mine to pay for hookers and drugs and gambling. I guess I should be happy he had stopped sleeping with me by then. Thanks, Penn, for not giving me an STD.”

A hollow laugh escapes me, and I look up at the ceiling to prevent the tears in my eyes from falling, but it does no good. They streak down my cheeks, dripping on my arms in hot splashes. “I am so messed up. What kind of idiot is happy over that? What kind of woman believes she can change a man who willingly hurts her?”

“A woman who is in love. A woman who was taught to believe the best in people, who doesn’t walk away at the first sign of trouble.” He exhales. “Don’t punish yourself for being a good person, angel.”

“I didn’t have to punish me.” But I’m lying. Yes, Penn hurt me, but I’ve hurt myself, too. I know that victim-blaming, even when I’m the one blaming myself, is wrong. Unfortunately, my former therapist said it will take a while for my thinking to change, possibly a situation that will force me to change my thinking.

I’m not looking forward to that at all.

“Evangeline, you can lie to yourself all you want, but don’t do it with me.”

“Why? Why is this…Why am I so important to you?” I shouldn’t ask him this, but I have to know.