Page 64 of Wild For You

She peers up at me, her eyes glazed over. That’s when I notice the small bruise hidden beneath her hairline.

“You went to the hospital.” She nods in response to my statement. “Did you need stitches?”

“Luckily, no.” At my questioning glance, she continues. “And there’s no swelling.”

“I wish I could have driven you,” I say grimly. “I wish I could do a lot of things.”

I don’t mean to sound like I’m pitying myself because I’m not. But strangely, I want to be able to do normal things for her.

“You will some day.”

Our eyes connect over the table and something heavy passes between us. “You still believe in me?” I ask.

“Of course,” Erin says softly. “I know it sounds impossible right now, but you will walk, eventually.” Her fingers clasp around my hand, squeezing it. “Did you mean what you said earlier? About starting therapy?” Her voice is still soft, but there is an edge to it.

As though she’s doubting me.

“It depends. Will you forgive me and have dinner with me tonight?”

She smiles. The flickering candles catch in her blue eyes, making them shimmer like sapphires. “There’s nothing to forgive you for, Cash. Words are often spoken in haste. You don’t mean them when you’re hurting. They may sting like hell, but then you forget about them. Thankfully, actions speak louder. This—” she points at the table “—is nice. I choose to believe you when you say you want my help. Coming from the guy who would have kicked me out of his house if he could, I guess this is a nice gesture.”

“I didn’t cook because I felt bad,” I say, watching her reaction as I decide to be upfront with her. “I want to make a fresh start with you. You didn’t deserve the hard time I gave you.” I raise my glass. “Here’s to you. Thank you for sticking around when you could have given up on me.”

***

My dinnerwith Erin couldn’t have gone any better. We talked about Josh, the weather, Chicago. I asked her what her favorite color was (Alizarin crimson—I had to Google it to find out it’s a version of pink), her favorite food (fried chicken), and all the places she’s traveled. Her job’s taken her to a few places, but as it turned out she’s never been abroad. We talked about her plans, her dreams.

We stayed away from topics involving the past and relationships, mostly because she seemed keen on evading them. I would have wanted her to open up to me, but she remained cagey.

The thing is, when I looked into her background, I also stumbled across the police report.

I know why she can be as hard as a nail. Asking her about it isn’t an option, though. Not until she trusts me enough to tell me about it.

Until then, I’ll keep her little secret like it was my own.

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