Page 28 of Mending Hearts

“We chatted over a caffeinated beverage, not body shots at a strip club.” He eyed me for a beat. “Strip club is tomorrow night. No decent ones in Nashville.”

I gaped at him. “You—”

“I’m kidding. I’m kidding.” He held up his hands.

“I don’t find it funny.”

“Clearly.”

“Don’t try to make me feel like I don’t have a sense of humor.” Anger sparked in my gut. “I can take a joke, and I get them, too. You know what else I get? Men. Most of them don’t look for an invitation before trying to stick their dick in. My mother doesn’t have a problem sending out the invites to the party inherpants.”

The smile died on Tyler’s lips, and he sat forward, all amusement gone. “That’s been your experience? That men don’t want or need an invitation?”

For a long time, I believed there was only one kind of man. A man who took what he wanted, no matter what. But I learned to recognize those men and could avoid most of them now.

“If that surprises you, you haven’t been paying attention to the world.” I scoffed.

“That happened to you?” He rubbed his face and stared at his hands. “Someone treated you like that?” When he looked up, his eyes were hard with suppressed anger.

“Not anymore.” But even that wasn’t true. Last week, at the end of a talk show performance, the male host had squeezed my ass as the cameras rolled and he joked with the live studio audience. My options had been to make a scene on camera or let him get away with it. Afterwards, I’d fumed to Taryn and Rebecca, and told Laura I wouldn’t be going on his talk show again anytime soon.

“So, it has happened to you,” Tyler said.

“My mom says it happens to every woman, but not every woman talks about it.” I’d forgotten that conversation. We had it after I told her about Kenny. Laura had said those words as though my situation was something to be accepted instead of fought against. She had fought today, but only for me, for my safety, not for anyone else. My mind kept swinging back to the others.

“As far as I know, it’s never happened to my sisters.” His hands dangled between his knees.

“So, what? You think there’s some kind of neon sign over my head? Over the heads of women like me telling assholes to take a chance? We won’t mind.” I stared at him. The truth was that I wondered the same thing. Was there something about me that made men realize they could get away with it? Did I somehow offer encouragement? Were the other girls like me in some way? “But your sisters have some sort of invisible…auraof protection?”

“That’s not what I said.” He shook his head. “Not what I meant, either. You and Laura have a strained relationship or—I don’t know—a complicated one. But I don’t get why she’d accept that kind of treatment for herself, and Ireallydon’t understand why she’d let it happen to you. You’re both worth more.”

I didn’t let his words digest before latching onto a few of them. “So, you think some womenshouldbe treated that way?”

“No. No woman should be treated that way.” He huffed out a breath.

“But you just said my mom and I are worth more. Worth more than who?”

“Not who.” A ghost of a smile drifted across his face. “Worth, in this sense, isn’t a competition. I mean self-worth, realizingyouare worthy of better treatment.”

“Yeah, well, my mom says I’m hard work. Not easy to be around. Maybe I’m too much work. Maybe this is the best it gets.”

A beat of silence sat between us. “People don’t have to be easy to be worth investing in. Sometimes, the people you have to work for, the relationships you earn, are more important than whether the journey was easy. I don’t believe that whatever you’ve had before is the best you can do. Not even close.”

My heart swelled at his words. Men called me all sorts of things: a tease, a slut, too open, not open enough, frigid. None of them ever turned the negative into a positive, made me feel like I could be myself, my real self, that I might be worthy of more. Men had always sought what I could give them, never considered what they could give me. A confession rose, and I let it float to the top of my consciousness.

“The first time it happened, I was thirteen.” I couldn’t look at him. The words tumbled out before I had a chance to stop them. “I was drinking at a friend’s house. When I came home, my mom’s boyfriend was in the living room, waiting up. Not my mom. Just her boyfriend.” Tyler’s feet appeared mere inches from mine, and I glanced up. When did he leave the couch?

“Did he hurt you?” His voice was rough, and his breath teased the tendrils of my hair loosened from my braid.

“Don’t they all?” My heart hammered in my chest. “Everybody always wants a piece of me.” Tyler did, too. He wanted the cluster of cells multiplying inside me.

“Did the producer you went to see hurt you?” His fingers were gentle as they skimmed my cheek, tucking the stray strands behind my ear.

“Yes,” I whispered. I’d never admitted the truth to anyone except my mom. Even then, I’d been high on drugs when I finally spilled that secret. “Not today. Years ago. He can’t hurt me anymore.” His eyes were filled with so much concern that I wanted to melt into him. I inched forward and slid my arms around his middle, and he drew me tight against him, sighing into my hair. “Can we be friends, Tyler? Real friends?” His heart thumped against my ear.

He cleared his throat. “That’s what you want?”

“I like the way you treat me, even when I don’t deserve it.”

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