Page 98 of Beyond the Stroke

Tripp once controlled so much of my life, it’s been years since we were together, and I’m tired of letting him still have an impact on me this way.

“My ex. We met in college and my family loved him. That should have been the first sign, but back then I was still the perfect, obedient daughter.”

Rory’s jaw tenses. “Did he?—”

I shake my head. “No, he wasn’t abusive. He was all about appearances, just like my parents. He told me what to wear, how to act.”

I swallow, holding the tears back.

“What else, Wildflower?” Rory strokes his thumb over my tattoo.

“It’s stupid.” It’s what Tripp used to say to me when I’d try to explain how I was feeling. I hate that I still use that word when I don’t know how to explain how I feel.

“Nothing about how you feel is stupid,” Rory assures me.

The way he’s looking at me right now makes me believe that.

“He didn’t want me. You know?”

A rush of breath flows from Rory’s mouth and he immediately shakes his head.

“I don’t understand how that’s possible.”

I roll my eyes, remembering how serious Tripp was about everything. Everything except me.

“He had this thing about his hair.” I half-laugh, recalling Tripp’s incessant need for perfection. Not a hair out of place.

“What was that?” Rory prompts.

“He hated when I touched it. Even when I tried being affectionate, he’d scold me like a child. It sounds silly, but afterall those years with my ex, I struggle with showing affection. I just shut down and keep my distance, too afraid I’ll make the wrong move.”

“Summer, that’s fucked up.”

I shrug, not sure how else to respond. I’m already feeling like I’ve revealed too much. I’ve let Rory peek at my insecurity and I wish I could take it all back.

Rory stands from where he’s been sitting on the couch and moves in front of me.

I glance up at him. He’s massive. Those broad shoulders and long, muscular arms of his appearing almost wing-like. At least that’s what Scarlett had planted in my head when she’d sent me a picture of Rory at a competition comparing him side by side to a character in the romantasy series she’s currently reading. I’m not a fantasy reader, but I’m starting to understand the appeal of someone who is otherworldly. That’s how Rory seems to be. Perfectly sculpted from stone.

He drops to his knees, settling in at my feet.

“What—” I start, but in the next moment, his intentions are clear when his hands gently wrap around my wrists before slowly guiding them to the sides of his head.

The moment my fingertips touch his hair; I’m startled by how intimate it feels.

My eyes find his and he nods in reassurance before giving me that devastatingly handsome smile of his.

“Get in there, Wildflower. Mess it up real good.”

When I don’t move, Rory guides my hands through his hair and gives them a shake, causing the sides of his hair to stick out.

A surprised laugh escapes from my throat. And a piece of the armor I’ve secured around my heart weakens at his gesture.

“You look wild.”

“Good. Now show me what you can do.”

It’s hair. On his head. Yet dipping my fingers into Rory’s thick strands sends a wave of pleasure coursing through my body that I haven’t felt in a long time. It’s more than just contact. It’s connection.

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