Page 16 of Whirlwind (Seattle Blades #4)

T yson doesn’t say anything to that. Instead, he wraps the blanket tighter around me, picks me up with an impossible ease, and settles us both on the couch. Me, cradled like a wounded animal on his lap.

Normally, that would bother me. Being seen as delicate, or a thing to wrap in cotton fluff. I am a capable woman. Yet, I’m liking his care. The touch meant to ease my frayed edges; I could get used to it.

A terrifying thought.

Comfort wasn’t offered to me as a child.

Being a single parent, my father didn’t adopt any maternal instincts.

Hell, he didn’t have any fatherly ones, either.

My grandmother did her best, but if she showed too much affection toward me, my father scolded her.

I never knew my grandfather, but I have the sense he was a cold man who berated her.

My father learned from him and took up the mantle when my grandfather passed.

Even when freed from being a battered wife, she couldn’t stop being a battered woman.

It always struck me as sad, but when I got away from it, I swore I’d put an end to the generational trauma of the Ashcroft family.

Although I like the way Tyson rubs his chin against the crown of my head, and the tingle of calm it sends through me, the thoughts still swirl.

Can I trust him with my vulnerability? Is this a mistake?

If it is, it shouldn’t feel this nice. That would be a cruel trick of the world. But it wouldn’t be the only one—after all, the best-tasting foods are the worst for you.

Is that what Tyson is? My bacon-topped maple bar? My turtle cheesecake? My rocky road ice cream?

I laugh out loud, and his arms tighten around me.

“What are you thinking?”

“That you might be what gives me cellulite,” I say, burying my face in his chest. He can’t hide his bemusement when he asks me to explain.

“Oddly, I’m more comfortable with you than I am with most people.

I like when you touch me. I want you to.

I even crave it—sort of like I crave chocolate when I’m on my period. ”

“Oh. So I’m like a sugar rush, or comfort food.”

“I guess so. Does that freak you out?”

“Not at all.”

“It does me,” I admit.

“I’m guessing you haven’t had many people you could count on,” he says after a pause. “Whatever happens between us, I will be that for you. You don’t owe me anything in return—you don’t have to be or do anything for me. You understand?”

“No, but I’m trying to,” I answer. “You’re right, I didn’t have anyone I could count on to always put my best interests first. Not until I became friends with Willa. I don’t trust easily. I’ve never had reason to think I could.”

“I’ll prove that you can trust me, and I’ll understand while you learn to. Deal?”

“Deal. And I’ll try not to evade every tough topic.”

“Take your time with it,” he says, pulling the blanket up from where it’s slipped off my shoulder. “Are you comfortable?”

“Yes, you make a cozy chair.” He’s warm, too—his body heat seeping through my thin pajamas. I like it more than I can say, his strong frame pressing against me. He makes a humming sound, but I suspect there are a lot of thoughts running through his head.

“You can ask me things. I might not answer everything, but I’ll try. It may be easier than spilling my story, anyway.”

My toes twitch; I curl and uncurl them. It’s a weird nervous habit. I clench my fists, too, but my toes are easier to hide from other people. Not that I’m trying to hide from Tyson right now—it’s just that I’m not in the practice of talking about my life in Maine.

“Did it happen more than once?”

“Yes. There were two other times,” I say, the words coming easier than I expected. Usually, when I think about it, I feel ashamed. Somehow, that’s not what I’m feeling right now.

“I’m trying really hard to keep levelheaded, right now. You be sure to let me know if my tension gets to be too much for you,” he says, and I nod for him to continue. “You hadn’t been with anyone before?”

“Never even been kissed,” I say with a sigh. “Boys I went to school with were either scared of me, or I feared them. I was too awkward for the jocks, too smart for the stoners, too cute for the brainiacs.”

“And those three times?”

“No. I was already skittish around men—my situation with Derik only made it worse.”

“Hey.” He turns my face toward his with a finger under my chin. “Your situation was rape. If you didn’t want it, it was forced.”

“I know,” I say. “I didn’t for a long time.

Because I didn’t struggle or scream, I thought it was my fault it happened.

Or that by not saying no, I was somehow asking for it.

It took me a long time to understand that I was coerced into doing something I absolutely didn’t want to do.

But sometimes it’s still hard to forgive myself. ”

“There’s nothing for you to be forgiven for, Kit. It’s not rape because a woman struggles—or because she screams. It’s because she didn’t want it.”

“I know. I do, I promise I do. But intrusive thoughts are hard to battle, you know?”

He makes the same humming noise as before. It rumbles through his chest, against my cheek.

“You smell good. How do you smell good after being on a plane all day? I swear I smell like French onion soup after every flight.”

“The planes we fly are a lot cleaner, I guess,” he says with a laugh.

“Must be nice.”

“It doesn’t suck,” he says. “Have you ever…and tell me if this is out of bounds, I don’t want to make this weird, but since you’ve never dated…do you feel…”

“Do I desire,” I interrupt. “Do I have a sex drive?”

“Yeah. It feels like important information to have. I don’t want to assume or rush. Or worse.”

“I like sex, Tyson,” I say, my toes clenched so tightly. “I’ve just only ever had it with myself. Not because I haven’t found men attractive over the years. But because I’ve never felt at ease enough with any of the ones I did.”

One of my former coworkers used to ask me out on a semi-regular basis.

He was good-looking but too nice. Almost fake nice, like he was trying to cover a personality flaw.

It was probably just my overactive imagination, but I’d rather trust my instincts to a fault than be horribly wrong about someone. Again.

That’s what’s been starkly different with Tyson. My creep radar hasn’t gone off with him—not once.

I believe you meet certain people in life and instantly connect in some way.

It happened with Willa. When we both reached for the same tea at the coffee shop, I knew by her easy laugh that she was someone I could feel lighter around after a stressful day.

You could call it soulmates or kindred spirits, though I don’t know how much I believe in that sort of thing.

With Tyson, I think I knew the day he helped me install my security system—when he spent the entire day with me and didn’t balk at my sudden subject changes or erratic habits.

“Noted,” he says. “Does your father know what happened?”

“He does. And that’s something I want to be able to share with you,” I say. “Not tonight, though. That story needs to wait for a day when I’m not feeling so worn out.”

“Okay,” he says. “Where’s Nightmare?”

“I put him in his crate before I came over. It was his bedtime; I’m sure he’s knocked out.”

“Is your house locked up?”

“Yeah, why?” I pop my head off his chest to look up at him.

“Can you stay? Not for sex,” he adds quickly. “I’d like to hold you, though. Be close. I’m not sure I can sleep tonight if I can’t keep eyes on you.”

“Do you sleep with your eyes open?”

“No.” He laughs.

“It’s a valid question. You could be one of the twenty percent who do.”

“I’m not.”

“Thank fuck for that. How creepy would it be to roll over and have a snoring man staring at you?”

“I don’t snore, either,” he protests.

“Look at you ticking off green flag after green flag,” I tease.

“Lack of snoring is a green flag?”

“I don’t know, but it’s certainly not a red one.

” I shift on his lap, turning to face him more fully.

My breasts brush against his chest, and I notice the twitch of his dick at the same time I notice his slight grimace.

He probably doesn’t want to be turned on by me—not after what I’ve shared with him.

Tyson Murphy, a big, bad hockey player, is a gentleman, it seems. It makes me like him even more.

“So? Will you stay? Or we could stay at your house, if that’s more comfortable for you,” he offers, and now it’s my face with a frown.

“No. My bed wasn’t a safe space after Derik. I…I don’t know if I could sleep with you there with me.”

“Okay,” he says, brushing some hair from my forehead and pressing a quick kiss there. “Can I walk you home, at least?”

“No. That’s not what I want,” I say, leaning closer another inch. “I want to try and stay here. No promises, though.”

“I’m not asking for promises, Kit. Just communication, remember? If you can’t handle it, you wake me up and I’ll walk you home. No questions asked. It’s a lot to ask of you. Fuck, I haven’t even taken you out on a date and I’m already asking you to stay over.”

“You’ve taken me out to eat a couple of times.”

“Those weren’t dates, Kit. That was just me feeding you.”

“Isn’t that what dates are, though?”

“No,” he says with a frown. “Whoever taught women to expect bare minimums was an asshole. Why are you laughing?”

“You’re a feminist. I kinda fucking love that.”

“My mom is going to love you,” he says, weaving an arm around my waist so he can pick me up as he stands. “Do you want a dry shirt to sleep in?”

“I thought you jock types offered your sweaters.” I wrap my arms around his neck, and it feels natural. Coming over here tonight, I thought I’d be tripping up over letting him in and sharing my past with him. Instead, I’ve only been tripping over how easy it is to be myself.

Proof that sometimes facing your biggest fears pays off, I guess.