Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 100367 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100367 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Me: She’s none of your fucking business.
Xander sends a laughing emoji, and I shove my phone in my pocket and wander around the house and past the side of the cabin to where Darby’s sitting by the roaring fire.
Without a word, I sit in the chair next to hers, and we silently watch the flames for a long minute.
She changed into sweatpants and my old T-shirt that she borrowed the other night, and it makes me feel good to know that she pulled it on.
“You’re never getting it back,” she says, surprising me.
“What?”
“The shirt. I like it. It’s mine now. Although, you might have to borrow it now and then to make it smell like you again.”
I shift so I’m facing her. “You like the way I smell, Duchess?”
“Yeah.” She doesn’t bother to try to deny it, and that’s sexy as fuck. “I do like it. You calm me, for reasons I don’t fully understand. I guess this fire is where I get vulnerable, and you should know in advance that I don’t usually do vulnerable.”
“Okay. Got it.” Without overthinking it, I reach over and take her hand, link my fingers with hers, and give them a little squeeze. “What happens at the fire, stays at the fire.”
Her lips quirk, and it makes me relax just a bit. She has marks on her cheeks from where the tears ran, and I want to pull her into my lap, wipe the tear tracks away, and soothe her.
But for now, I hold her hand and give her time.
“I don’t know why I got emotional.” Her voice is so soft, I have to strain to hear her over the crackle of the fire. “You’d think after all these years, I wouldn’t freak out anymore.”
She takes a deep breath and looks up at the stars, then turns her face to look at me.
“I had a shit childhood. I mean, bad, Tucker. The CliffsNotes version is, my dad killed my mom when I was a week away from turning ten. He abused the fuck out of all five of us our entire lives because he could, and he got away with it. Holden raised us. He loved us. He’s still who I want when things go sideways.”
I swallow hard and manage to stay still. I want to tug her to me and hold her tight, but that’s not what she needs. Not yet.
“So when I see a father like yours, sometimes it makes my heart hurt, and I can’t help but wonder, what would that have been like? To have a dad who doesn’t get off on making you hurt. Who doesn’t make it his life’s ambition to terrorize you?”
“Fuck, baby.”
“I’m really fine. Most of the time, I’m fine. Your family is . . . phenomenal. Really. There isn’t one bad vibe in that house, and I’m happy you have that.”
“Duchess—”
“Don’t get me wrong, I have it too. Holden and Millie, my sisters, their men, we have fun and laugh and love each other the way you do with your family. We’re close. But there’s always that leftover hurt that lives just under the surface. We’re all aware of it. We all feel it, and sometimes we even acknowledge it. Shit, I had lunch with Charlie today, and it was brought up in conversation, as if it’s just a normal part of life. Because for us, it is. Maybe that’s why I was a little raw tonight, I don’t know. I do know that some asshole pulled my baby sister’s hair, after she said no, and now I have to go to prison for murder because he doesn’t get to live after that.”
I feel my eyebrow climb, and she glances my way, lifts her shoulder.
“Dad tortured her by hurting her hair. Always. Until just before he died.”
“Christ.” I rub my free hand over my face, feeling so fucking helpless, wondering what the asshole did to Darby. I want to burn her childhood to the motherfucking ground. “I’ll help with the jerkoff that can’t take no for an answer.”
Her lips twitch. “I think you would.”
“I don’t say things I don’t mean.”
She sobers and takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry that I upset you. It really wasn’t anything that your family did. It’s all me.”
“Do you want to tell me any more, or do you want to table this for now?”
She bites her lip, a line forms between her eyebrows, and then she shakes her head. “No. I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Okay.”
I let go of her hand long enough to reach down and grab the frame of the chair and pull her closer to me. She gasps a little but doesn’t pull away, and when she’s close enough that our shoulders touch, I take her hand once more, kiss the back of it, and rest it on my thigh as I turn back to the fire.