Page 49 of A Wreck, You Make Me (Bad Boys of Bardstown #3)

Nine years. I avoided him for nine years, until he found me on his engagement night.

I want to tell him that but again, I refrain.

Instead, I blurt out, “I w-wanted to tell you.” An unknown emotion passes through his features that I want to read so badly but I can’t.

So, I just keep forging ahead. “Especially when you wanted me to be… your distraction. It was one of the reasons why I kept saying no because I didn’t…

You didn’t know and I… It felt like cheating, like I was…

I was betraying you and that night I wanted to tell you but then I thought you’d hate me and?—”

“Well, you don’t have to worry about that anymore, do you?”

No, I guess not. He already hates me. So what I thought would happen already did.

I blush here, fiercely and blatantly, and I want to look away from him but I don’t.

It’s the least I can do after hiding the truth for so long, not hide from him anymore.

“So I just… I want you to know I’m sorry.

I know it’s such a small word for everything I hid and for so long too.

And I understand why you feel the way you do and… ”

I take a deep breath to calm myself, but then flinch because I hear something.

A crunch, and I look down to see his hand fisted around the empty bottle and that in his anger, he’s crushed it, the plastic, smashed it beyond recognition.

And my chest hurts so badly because that’s my heart, isn’t it?

It feels like it. Like he crushed my heart with his mean fingers, and not a plastic bottle. And well, I deserve it.

Swallowing, I look up and into his glittering pitch black eyes.

“But despite all that, your family opened their arms for me and my sister. You opened your home for us. You… welcomed Snow into your home and I…” I blink back tears.

“No one has ever done that for her, see. Ever. No one has ever showed her that she’s accepted and will be looked after.

You painted her room. You bought her books and all her favorite foods.

You… You made a home for her and she looks so happy. ”

“I didn’t.”

“What?”

He watches me a beat, as if debating something, before finally saying, “She’s happy because you’re here.

” Then, he explains, “I asked her before the surgery if she’d like to move in here, and she said she’d only do it if you came.

So, it’s not me. It’s you. You made this a home for her. I just added the finishing touches.”

He's gone blurry because of the tears welling up in my eyes, but I can’t do anything about it.

I can’t do anything about the way my heart both clenches and swells at his kind words.

He may have spoken them in a reluctant tone but I appreciate him making the effort. Especially given the circumstances.

But before I can thank him, something else occurs to me. “Before the surgery.”

“What?”

“You said,” I lick my lips, “you asked her before the surgery.”

“So?”

“But I thought it was Conrad. He asked me after the surgery and…” My heart thuds in my chest. “It was you. It was all you.”

I should’ve known. I already knew he went to talk to Snow about her favorite things, so why wouldn’t it be his idea to move into this house— his house, by the way because he bought it off Conrad—in the first place?

I mean, there’s even a new dishwasher in the kitchen.

All of this has his name written all over it.

He does things like that. Small things, big things.

Things that make everyone’s life easy. Things like installing the security cameras and putting in an alarm system at the house to protect us from my mother.

In fact, it was one of the points Conrad made that day, about us moving in.

So basically, everything was his idea and his family helped.

“Did you… Did you put Snow on your insurance?” Clenching his jaw is his only response and I get my answer, so I keep going, “So you did then. And the hospital change? That was your idea too, right?” Another clench and I get my confirmation.

“Why did you get tested first though? Out of all of them. Callie said?—”

“I don’t care what Callie said,” he cuts me off on a snap. “What the fuck is your point?”

Before I can stop myself, I blurt out, “You changed my life.”

He flinches. Visibly. Before everything on his body goes tight, his bare muscles standing taut, as if he hates I’m doing this. I’m being all emotional and feel-y. But I have to. I’ve been waiting for a long time to say this. Five weeks to be exact. Since the night everything got wrecked.

“You made it better,” I say, my voice hoarse.

“Despite everything, you… You paid off my debt. You made me quit my job. You gave me choices. You didn’t have to.

You had every reason to just… leave me there.

Leave me where you found me, but you didn’t.

You chose to help me. And that’s on top of everything else you made me realize and?—”

“Made you realize what?”

“That I’m worth taking care of,” I tell him frankly. “I-I told you that. That n-night.”

His nostrils flare again, and his muscled chest moves with a long, audible breath.

Then, “First, your mother is a piece of shit.” I wince but he keeps going, “I want you to know that. Your biological dad, he’s a piece of shit too.

It’s not your fault your father left. That’s what you said, didn’t you? ”

Yes, because after I’ve had time to think about it all, I’m starting to realize maybe it was my fault.

If I hadn’t said anything, maybe dad would still be here.

Jeremy would never have become a permanent fixture in our lives.

Maybe my mother wouldn’t be so dysfunctional and hateful.

I can’t remember how she was before Dad left but I think she didn’t hate me so much.

“B-but I told my dad about the affair,” I tell him, my heart pounding in my chest. “I was angry at my m-mom and I?—”

“How old were you?”

“Five.”

Anger flashes through his features. “I stand corrected. She is a piece of shit and so is your dad.”

“But—”

“Did you make your mother cheat?” he asks and biting my lip, I shake my head.

“No, you didn’t. She did that all on her own.

If you hadn’t said anything, someone else would have.

Or your dad would’ve found out in some other way.

But he would’ve found out. So no, it’s not your fault.

You were fucking five. She shouldn’t have put that on you but she did because she was looking to blame someone other than herself for fucking up her life. Do you understand?”

I swallow, my eyes wide. I didn’t think of it in that way.

“Tell me you understand that,” he insists then, his voice low.

“Yes,” I say instantly.

“And if she ever comes around, you’re going to tell me.”

“I will.”

He nods with satisfaction and my belly flutters.

Before I can dwell on that, he continues, “As for your father, he would’ve left one way or another.

Because he wanted to leave. You don’t fucking divorce your cheating wife and then never see your kid for the rest of your life.

Unless you really don’t want to. Unless you wanted to leave for a long time.

And you know it has nothing to do with you either, right?

It’s not your fault. Some men are just born bastards who don’t know how to handle responsibility. ”

Yeah, like his father left. He did because he wanted to. I know my mother had a hand in it but maybe he was looking for an excuse too. And before I can stop myself, I whisper, “Like your… father.”

His anger is palpable now and I press my spine into the wall, fisting my hands. I know I shouldn’t have brought it up. He never likes it when I bring up things and while I could have before, now I absolutely have no right. But before I can backtrack, he replies, in a low tone, “Yeah.”

And I breathe out in relief.

“Why did he call you that night?” he asks next.

He means the night when he found my phone and therefore, my secret.

Swallowing thickly, I reply, “I-I guess, to ask me for money. He never really calls me or talks to me or whatever. But my mother had been calling me about borrowing money and…” When I see his eyes narrow, I quickly clarify, “But I won’t give her any money, not anymore.

And as I said, I’ll tell you if and when she c-comes around. ”

My answer doesn’t really put him at ease because his eyes are still narrowed and something thrums under his skin that I’ve never seen before. It gets my heart racing as he asks, “Did my father ever?—”

“No,” I say immediately. I don’t even let him finish the question because I already know what he’s asking. He’s asking if his father ever hurt me and he didn’t. Not that way. He never laid a violent hand on me.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” I say.

“Because if you’re fucking lying again?—”

“I’m not.”

I mean, not technically. Because yes, he didn’t hurt me but it’s not as if he didn’t try or want to. But I’m not going to go there. It’s in the past. Nothing happened. Nothing will ever happen. I’m safe now. I’m truly and absolutely safe. Safer than ever. Snow too.

He watches me a beat before exhaling long and hard.

Like he can finally breathe again. And it’s so hard to just stand here and not go to him.

To not touch him, hug him. To tell him I’m okay and everything is okay.

That he doesn’t need to worry about me all that much.

He’s already doing so many things. Plus I don’t even think I deserve it after everything.

I don’t get to say anything because he growls at me, picking up a thread I forgot about until now, “And second, if I made you realize you’re worth taking care of, then why the fuck are you saying no to college?”