Sweet Rome (Sweet Home, #1.5)(26)

She looked like a friggin’ angel.

Dropping to her knees beside me, her golden-brown eyes softened in sympathy. She set to cleaning up my cuts, but none of it really registered; my mind was lost in a thick fog.

“Does this hurt?” she stopped to ask, but I could only manage to shake my head.

She edged closer still, her small body snug between my legs, and she pressed a pink scrap of material to my lip. Still, I could only stare.

“Swill your mouth out, Rome. That blood can’t taste too good.” She handed me the bottle, and I did as she said, spitting the water onto the ground, the dried soil laced with red.

Then she surprised me, gently taking my hand and sitting beside me. As I stared at her small fingers wrapped around mine, I realized this girl was turning into everything I needed but never dreamed of being able to get. On the surface, she was my exact opposite, but deep down, she was getting me like no one ever had before.

Feeling her hands squeeze mine in support, I snapped out of my daze and croaked, “Hey, Mol.”

“Hey, you.”

“How much did you see?” I asked, dreading the answer.

Moving in closer, her arm brushing mine, and tucking her head into my neck, she replied, “Enough.”

Someone had finally witnessed my daddy in action, and, feeling like I was eight again, I dropped my head against the tree, feeling humiliated that she’d seen me like that, still stupidly a victim to my father.

“Who was the man in the Bentley?”

“My daddy,” I admitted after a few seconds of silence.

“Your father?” That shocked her, and those eyes tensed with anger, her body curving toward me protectively. That was definitely a first. I couldn’t speak at the gesture, a moment of happiness seizing my voice. I’d never had anyone comfort me before, never had anyone care enough to comfort me before. Being around Molly made me happy… Fuck… She actually made me happy.

I kept her hand tight in mine, not wanting to let this feeling go.

“You okay?” she asked again.

“No,” I confided, the tears threatening to fall.

“You want to talk about it?” I absolutely did not, so shook my head.

“Does he hit you a lot?”

I decided to just go with it. She’d seen more than anyone else ever had; no use in pretending otherwise. “Don’t get a chance much anymore. He was pissed with something I’d done. He called me to meet him and… Well, you saw the rest.”

Shifting in front of me, she asked, “What was so bad that he’d strike you like that?”

I wanted to reply with the truth—because I was a blight on their perfect lives, a reminder of something they’d rather forget—but I was never going go there, never ever going to reveal that, so I simply said, “Money, disappointment, not being the dutiful son. The usual. He’s never gone that far in public before, though. I’ve never seen him so pissed.”

“But you’re his son! How dare he treat you like that? What the hell have you done to deserve to be punched?”

I wasn’t going to go there.

Sitting back in frustration, but accepting that she wasn’t getting an answer, Molly changed the subject, asking about the Arkansas game. I confessed that I hadn’t been playing well.

“I’ve never had such a bad start to a season in my entire life. My senior year, the one in which I’ll enter the draft, and it’s all going to hell in a hand basket.”

“Why is it going so bad?” Her eyebrows were pulled down, her thick frames slipping a fraction down her nose.

Pushing them back up into position, I revealed, “Because I can’t complete even one of my passes. I’m letting the team and fans down. My parents won’t back the f*ck off over Shelly—you just witnessed my daddy’s insistence on that issue. She’s being a bigger leech than normal and I’m constantly fighting her off. My head is all over the place, I can’t sleep or get focused, and thinking about a certain English girl keeps me up every night. Every f*cking night. She’s plaguing my dreams.”

Needing to feel her touch, I laid her hand against my cheek, the contact calming me right down.

“Yeah, I know what that’s like.” Her answer was breathy, telling.

It was time I told her some home truths. “I thought about our last meeting nonstop while I was away.”

“Yeah. Me too. It’s been… different to have my head filled with a certain Bama hottie and not Dante, Descartes, or Kant.” I wanted to laugh at her cute as hell accent and thank the Lord that she’d been thinking about me too.

“You think I’m a hottie?” I asked jokingly, nudging her arm.

“You’re all right.” Her nose crinkled as she smiled and that blush crept up her cheeks. I’d gone from hating the world to feeling on top of it.

“Where were you going at this time of morning when you saw this hottie getting a beatdown?” I needed to move from this tree, and I sure as f*ck wasn’t going to class. I wanted to be wherever she was, and I pretty much always did what I wanted.

“Rome—” She went to say something, but I cut her off.

“Answer the damn question, Shakespeare.”

“The library. I have notes I need to write up for Professor Ross. She has an office there where I can work undisturbed. I saw… what happened with you and your daddy and thought you needed me more than the exciting world of academia does right now.”