17. Reed #3
“Of course I do,” I say with conviction. I abandon our breakfast before turning to give her my full attention. “You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever met. You’re fiercely independent and intelligent. You don’t need anyone, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t accept those who want to help.”
She gives a low, quiet chuckle. “Always so emotionally stable. You really were made in the perfect man factory.”
My lips quirk. “Thank you, I think?”
She sighs, her shoulders sagging as if the weight of her words is too heavy for one person to bear alone. “My parents were…abusive. They felt the only way to strengthen their children was through brute force. It was the only life my siblings, and I ever knew.”
I’m glad her father is dead. He deserved far worse, and I hope he suffered. Her mother is a different story. I know she’s still alive, but if the look on Thalia’s face is anything to go by, they’re no contact.
“Brooks knew this,” she continues heavily.
“I allowed myself to open up to him because he convinced me that he was somehow different—that he saw me and not the pretty face my mother claimed I was. Being the first speck of attention that didn’t belittle or make me feel insecure, I pursued him too.
At first, things were normal. We would go out on dates and see each other regularly.
I had no idea he was planning something so fucked up.
I still have nightmares about it to this day. ”
This pains her. I can see it in her body language and the despondency in her eyes. She’s fought with this for a long time, and I’m cracking that wound open again—refreshing it.
“You don’t have to tell me what he did,” I say quickly, becoming protective of her. It’s clear that whatever he did was messed up, and I refuse to shove her back into that horror. If she isn’t ready, then I won’t push.
Her lips quirk slightly, but it doesn’t erase the sadness inside her. “I will eventually, but not today. He really did a number on me. He and my mom.”
I shake my head in all parts of disgust and anger I feel for her situation. “They should be the ones who feel guilty for what they did to you. Don’t ever think that their actions were justifiable. You deserve to be angry.”
Her eyes saucer. “Coming from you, Mr. Emotional Stability? I didn’t think you could get angry.”
I chuckle. “It’s hard to get a rise out of me, but I know when someone deserves to be knocked off their pedestal.”
Her whole frame lightens in the blink of an eye. Her color returns to her cheeks as she gives me a small smile. “No one has ever really been angry for me besides my family…”
We fall into easier conversation as the morning goes by. I still have plenty of questions that need to be answered, but I know there’s more than enough time in the world to get to know the real Thalia.
I present her breakfast (only a little charred) with a grand motion. “The, hopefully, best omelette you’ve ever had.”
She smiles as she stabs a hefty portion and shoves it past her lips. The whole time she chews, I wait in anticipation before she finally nods.
“Okay, this is pretty good.”
“Victory,” I celebrate before scooting my stool close to hers, and we eat together. Our knees bump as we talk, and I can’t help every little subtle touch—my pinkie grazing the outside of her thigh, brushing her hair behind her ear as she eats, and the long lingering stares that I know she can feel.
She’s doing just the same—lightly placing her hand over my thigh, leaning towards me until her shoulder rests on my chest, and observing me through her peripheral vision when she thinks I’m not paying attention.
“What’s your plans for today?” I ask as I finish up my breakfast and take her empty plate to the sink.
She walks her fingers along the counter as she tilts her head. “Hmm, nothing you should be concerned about.”
I lift a brow. “Oh, yeah?”
“Mhm.”
I check my clock on the stove before cursing. I have a midday shift, but I don’t want our time to end. I scratch the back of my neck. “I work until—“
“I know,” she interrupts before bouncing down and padding over to me to wrap her arms around my neck. My hands go to her waist as she pulls me closer. “Meet back at your place at seven?”
My brain buffers.
She knows I get off at six…
Fuck, that’s a little hot. How does she even know my schedule? Shouldn’t I be freaking out over her knowing so much about my personal life?
Why do I find it so…intriguing?
“Yes, please,” I beg.
She nips at my bottom lip before our mouths crash in something passionate. Our kisses no longer feel like stolen time or something borrowed. They feel firm—connecting. As if we’ve finally come full circle and no longer have to worry about losing one another.
I kiss her harder, letting every ounce of emotion I’m feeling right now bleed into her as I cup her cheeks and circle my thumbs over her flesh. She melts against me, her body going pliant until I think we’re going to fuse together.
When we pull away, we’re both panting with glassy eyes.
“Definitely meet back here.” I order.
“For sure,” she agrees breathlessly.