Chapter 31
After a bout of morning sickness, I made coffee for Cozy and tea for me and then I marched across the hallway.
I knocked on the door and waited.
When no one came, I knocked louder.
The door suddenly opened, and my jaw dropped in surprise.
Roman stood in the doorway, wearing last night’s clothes, looking completely disheveled and half asleep.
“Evie,” he greeted. “Good morning.”
“Uh, hi, Roman,” I said awkwardly. “I didn’t know?—”
“Nothing happened.” He stood taller.
I raised my brows.
“Cozy invited me in for a nightcap and we kept talking and then it was suddenly three in the morning, and I didn’t want to drive, so I slept on the couch.”
“You don’t owe me an explanation,” I said with a smile.
“I don’t, do I?” He scratched his chin which was in need a of a shave. “You’re right, I guess I don’t.”
“You’re both adults. You can do what you want. Or not.” I peered around him. “Where’s Cozy?”
“Still sleeping,” he said, his cheeks flushing.
“You didn’t sleep on the couch,” I stated with a grin. “You little liar.”
“Nothing happened,” he insisted again. “We slept. That’s all.”
“Hmm. Well, okay.” I handed him a cup of coffee. “This was for Cozy. But if she’s not awake yet . . .”
Roman took the mug. “I’ll tell her. Ah, see you at work later.”
I grinned. “Yeah, see ya.”
He closed the door, and I went back to my apartment. I sipped on my tea and was nearly done with the cup when there was a knock on my door.
“Come in,” I called.
Cozy opened the door and entered. She was still in her pajamas and fuzzy socks, but she was also holding the mug of coffee I’d given Roman.
“Hi ya,” I greeted with a smile.
“Hi,” she said, raising the mug. “Can I get a refill? Roman drank mine.”
“Have at it.” I waved her toward the pot.
She shuffled over to the coffee pot and filled her cup. “Say it.”
“I’m saying nothing.”
“Nothing happened,” she stated.
“That’s what he said.”
“Okay, something happened,” she admitted. She went to my fridge and pulled out a carton of cream. “We talked. A lot.”
“Okay.”
“About everything.”
“Everything, like, what does that entail? Did you tell him about your past?”
“What? No!” Cream splashed into her coffee mug.
“Then you didn’t really talk about everything,” I said.
“Does Savage know about your past?” she countered.
“We’re not talking about me.”
“Ah, so he doesn’t.”
“He knows I was married. And he knows it wasn’t a happy marriage.”
“But there’s more, right?” Cozy asked. “With women like you and me, there’s always more.”
“No,” I lied. “There’s no more. He died. I started over.”
“Uh-huh . . . right.” She looked at me. “Does he know about your parents?”
I squirmed. “I don’t like talking about my past.”
“Obviously. I don’t either. What if we . . .”
“Yes?”
“Make a pact,” she said. “A ghost-sister pact or whatever. You can tell me things, and I can tell you things, and we keep each other’s secrets.”
I couldn’t tell her the truth about my marriage or my parents. It would open up a can of worms that could never be contained.
“Okay.” I nodded. “But you can’t judge me.”
“As long as you promise not to judge me.”
“Deal,” I promised.
“You go first,” she said.
I took a deep breath and told her how I’d met Savage and the illegal fighting ring.
Her mouth dropped open. “Wow.”
“Yeah.”
“And you believe him? That he walked away.”
I nodded. “Yeah, I do believe him.”
“Why?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, he just said he walked away and that was that?”
“Well, sure. Why would he lie to me? It’s not like he can hide the truth. He tells other people he bare-knuckle boxes at the club’s gym. But he told me the truth. I have no reason not to trust him.”
“Even after your bad marriage? You trust Savage to tell you the truth?”
“I do,” I said quietly. “He’s nothing like my husband. He might enjoy fighting, but with me, he’s been nothing but gentle. Tender.”
“You haven’t been together very long,” she murmured.
“The other shoe could drop, you mean?”
She nodded.
I shrugged. “I don’t know, Cozy. Randall—my husband—was not a good man. He wasn’t able to hide his temper for long.”
“How old were you when you got married?”
“Seventeen.”
“ Seventeen! ”
I mentally smacked myself. I’d gotten so comfortable with Cozy I hadn’t been guarding everything I’d said. “I meant eighteen,” I said stiffly, trying to course correct.
“No.” She shook her head and met my eyes. “You slipped. You got married at seventeen? How is that even possible?”
I took a deep breath. “I told you my parents were really religious, right?”
She nodded.
“Well, my husband was religious too. And so they gave their parental consent for me to get married at seventeen.”
“Seventeen,” she murmured. “When I was seventeen, I was sneaking out of my bedroom window and running with the bad boys.”
“And your ex was a bad boy, wasn’t he?” I asked, desperately wanting to get the spotlight off me.
“A bad boy who was actually a really bad man. He was into drugs. I stayed when it was just pills and coke.” She swallowed. “I left when I found out it had turned into needles and unprotected sex with hookers.”
“Oh, Cozy.” I reached across the couch and grabbed her hand.
She gave mine a squeeze. “I was lucky. I could’ve gotten HIV or Hep. But thank God the tests came back clean. I made a promise to myself. That I wouldn’t play fast and loose ever again.”
“And you didn’t tell Roman because it’s a heavy topic.”
“I didn’t tell Roman because I’d have to tell him that I haven’t finished piecing my life back together yet. And even when I do, I’m not going to put myself in that kind of situation ever again.”
I frowned. “And that means, what exactly?”
“Marriage,” she blurted out. “I’m not having sex again until it’s with my husband. And I know how he’ll react when he finds that out.”
“You think he’ll bail,” I said.
“Why wouldn’t he bail?” she asked. “What man would wait?”
“A ring is no guarantee that a man will treat you right either,” I said gently.
“So that’s it then? I’m fucked? And not in a good way?” She looked desolate.
“No.” I shook my head. “But we do have to judge each man individually. On their own merit. On their own actions. Don’t make the choice for Roman. Tell him the truth and let him decide if he can live with it.”
She arched a brow. “So you’re pushing me to be honest with Roman and let him choose how he deals with the truth, but you won’t tell Savage about your past? Why not? I mean, you’re certainly not telling me everything. I know you’re only giving me little pieces of your story. Are you scared that Savage won’t love you anymore if he knows the truth?”
“My past is ugly.”
“So is mine. But you’re Savage’s Old Lady. Your situation is different.”
“Maybe.” I shrugged. “But you want something real with Roman, right? So he deserves the truth.”
“So does Savage.”
Maybe she was right. Maybe I needed to come clean and tell him everything. The idea of doing that made bile stew in my belly.
But if I wanted to build a life with Savage, something that lasted, he deserved to know every part of me. Every wretched dark part of me.