Page 24

GIDEON

“ T ell me about your childhood… and adulthood. Tell me everything.”

The question catches me by surprise and causes me to choke on a bite of my sandwich. Her brows pinch with concern as she claps me on my back.

After chugging some water, my words come out as a rasped wheeze.

“Nothin’ worth telling.”

Tension knots in my gut. Fuck me, would this woman be so fucking sweet to me if she knew the truth?

Winnow quirks a brow at me as an unimpressed look takes over her features. “Lies.”

I’d tell most people to fuck off, but this woman isn’t most people, and she gives me an unfamiliar eagerness to reveal every goddamn nook and cranny of my weary soul.

Drawing in a deep breath, my mind quickly works through a risk assessment.

If this woman is truly the kind, loving, considerate, level-headed woman she presents herself to be, she’d have every reason to run for the fucking hills if I tell her the truth about bludgeoning my own step-dad to death and the shit-storm from hell that is my ex-girlfriend.

I want Winnow.

In perpe-fuckin’-tuity.

And I’d sooner be the prime suspect in my own god damn murder investigation than let my step-father’s or Seraphine’s toxicity fuckin’ poison my chance at happiness with this angel of a woman.

So, while I will do my best to be honest about the good and the bad—although, who are we kidding here, up until this ranch, it was so bad it was rotten—if I need to omit a few things, well then so-fucking-be-it.

“Never met my dad. Step-dad was a piece of garbage. My mother passed away when I was nineteen, which is when I joined the military, so I didn’t end up homeless, and it ended up being the best thing for me until it wasn’t.

Killed a load of people—some of whom were innocent and just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Haunts me to this day. Trying to resettle back into civilian life after surviving a war was a fucking nightmare.

Which is when I stopped drinking… Proved to be an ineffective and thoroughly debilitating coping mechanism. ”

Instinctively, my gaze drops because I can’t help but anticipate a look of judgment to enter her gaze, and I’m not fucking ready for it.

Drawing in a deep breath, I brave lifting my eyes to take in her reaction, and will my heart to turn into cement–certain I’ll find a look of horror or revulsion.

For the one thousand questions sure to follow.

For her walls to come up and what tiny modicum of intimacy and trust we’ve been building to dissolve like a sandcastle on a seashore beneath the bludgeoning wave that is merely the half-truth of my past.

Winnow’s brows are tense as something like, dare I say, empathy shines in her eyes as she studies me. “That… all sounds fucking horrible, and I’m heartbroken you had to suffer through that.”

Silence descends between us. Trying to force away the slight tremor in my hands, I set my elbows on the counter and hold my fists as I quietly employ the box breathing technique for the seven-thousandth time.

Winnow seems to discern that I’m attempting to self-soothe because she lets me do my thing, instead of filling the silence with questions that I don’t wanna answer. When my breathing returns to normal, her hand slides over my leg, just above the knee, and squeezes.

This is what solidarity feels like.

The realization hits me square in the fucking chest.

It’s amazing how such a simple gesture like being an infallible, nonjudgmental presence can be so powerful. And while I’ve experienced it with my brothers in arms… It’s not something I’ve ever remotely experienced with the women I’ve been with.

My chest squeezes tightly with a myriad of emotions: surprise, gratitude, affection, and most of all, some inner knowing.

This woman is for me.

Who gives a fuck that it’s barely been two days.

My soul recognizes her the way the earth recognizes the quake before it breaks—silent, certain, and powerful enough to rewrite everything in its path.

Winnow proceeds to take my fucking breath away when her delicate hand curls around my much larger, rougher one and brings my palm to her mouth.

She presses a firm but all-too-quick kiss to it before settling my hand on her thigh…

as if she senses my tumultuous emotions and chooses to be my life raft, so I don’t fucking drown.

It emboldens me to power through to reveal at least a portion of what happened with Seraphine. Lest she one day stumble upon one of her deluded love letters.

“I should also mention that a few years before I retired from the military, some years ago, I ended a relationship with a woman who wasn’t terribly gracious about me ending it. To put it mildly.”

Winnow’s brow hardens. “In what way? And why’d you end it, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“In a nutshell, I caught her cheating on me, and when I ended it, she wasn’t keen on taking no for an answer. I haven’t seen her since, but I still receive letters from her every now and then.”

Memories of Seraphine surge to the forefront of my mind.

“How often do you get the letters? What do they say? Do you respond?”

“Once every couple of months, maybe. I haven’t opened one in years, I just throw them away, but I reckon about a year and a half ago is the last time I skimmed one of them.

It was the same as the first ones she sent.

She just talks about herself. Pretends like nothing happened.

Tells me what’s going on in her life. How great her life is and how much she’s changed… ”

The concern on Winnow’s face is like an anvil on my chest.

“And do you still feel anything at all for her? Wish that things would have gone differently?”

The answer I give does not even begin to express my vehemence, but it is completely honest nonetheless.

“Not even remotely. My only regret is that I didn’t leave sooner, but it was a valuable lesson.

All the warning signs were there, and I was too stubborn, and perhaps naive, to accept them for what they were.

Since then, I’ve learned to always ask myself, ‘What is this teaching me?’ .

That particular situation taught me to set boundaries, standards, and that when people reveal who they are in all the things they do and don’t do— let them— and don’t make excuses for them. ”

Winnow gradually nods as though seeing me through new eyes, and it makes my gut churn.

“What made you stay in the first place if it was so bad, though?”

I blow out a heavy breath. “An unwarranted sense of obligation and loyalty.”

“Obligation?”

Fuck, it’s been a long time since I talked about this to anyone.

Winnow’s brows climb higher and higher as I explain the circumstances in which I met Seraphine.

Instead of offering me empty platitudes, she reaches and gives my palm a squeeze.

The expression on her face, clear: I’m not going anywhere.

Silence descends between us as Winnow’s thumb idly strokes the back of my hand. When she doesn’t pry and no look of judgement or misunderstanding comes over her face, I feel like a tremendous weight has been lifted, even if I still have some truth left to tell her.

One day.

“What about your childhood and parents and stuff?”

For some reason, she looks surprised I’ve even asked. Her brows lift, mouth opening and closing soundlessly before she draws a deep breath and chews her cheek as her gaze drifts.

“They were good parents. Both are dead.”

Aw fuck.

“How’d they die, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“They were killed… in a home invasion.”

Holy fuck.

My body shifts toward her. I’m at a loss for words, and saying ‘sorry’ isn’t nearly sufficient. I give her leg a squeeze with the hand she placed on her thigh.

“Jesus Christ, sweetheart…”

She clears her throat and looks down at her food as though it might rescue her from whatever buried memories this conversation is exhuming.

“It was a long time ago.”

“How old were you? And where were you when it happened?”

Her expression is as blank as her voice. Like I’ve asked her about the weather. “Twenty. I was there.”

Yet again, I’m forced to swallow back this foreign emotion welling up inside me. I shouldn’t ask… I know I shouldn’t. But I wanna know every last detail about this woman and her past.

At the tension carving every feature on my face, Winnow forces a smile on hers. “I’m ok, now. Don’t worry.”

“You saw it happen?”

She nods, eyes falling back to her mostly empty plate. Winnow takes her last bite, and I can see by the look in her face that after this conversation, the food probably tastes like ash.

“Did they hurt you?’

Eyes glued to the table, her throat works, and she gives another nod.

The image of her nude form in my bed last night and the patchwork of scars on her back fills my mind. I wanna coax more information out of her—namely so I can fucking murder whoever did this to her.

“I’m sorry. I know that’s a lot.”

My heart is pounding so loudly I can hear it echo in my ears, but I manage to gentle my words.

My blood feels like it’s boiling over with rage, but I’m intimately familiar with violent trauma…

and I know that if I try to make her talk about it, there could be detrimental repercussions.

If she wants to tell me, she will, one day, when I’ve earned the privilege of becoming a confidant for her.

“Angel, I wanna know these things. I wanna know everything there is to know about you.”

And the words are out—a tiny fragment of my heart and its intentions—before I can think better of them.

“I wanna be good to you, Winnow. In whatever way you’ll allow me.”

Her chewing slows before she swallows. The sound is thick and audible, and when her gaze finally slides to mine, it’s glistening again with tears.

The sight inspires me to make a silent vow to put smiles on this woman’s face, every single day, and that whatever tears she gives me are ones filled with joy, laughter, or healing catharsis.

A corner of her mouth curls in a watery grin.

“The feeling is mutual.”

Will you still feel that way when I reveal all of myself to you?

Guilt is a boulder in the pit of my stomach.

I send a silent prayer to any God that will listen, if there is such a thing, for this woman to love me despite my past, my shame, and my faults…

Only time will tell, and I’m going to spend every moment of it, for as long as Winnow will have me, proving to her that there isn’t a fire or flood I wouldn’t walk through, nor blood I wouldn’t spill, to be what she needs.