Page 71 of The Tattered Gloves
“Awkward last night between us, and I ended up going to bed early. But I’d mentioned it to her when we were making dinner, and she seemed excited to help. We just didn’t get into details.”
That lifted his spirits slightly, and I watched as his eyes met mine.
“Okay, that’s a start I guess. Did you bring back the notes, so I could go over them while we’re closed?”
“Crap, no,” I answered. “I forgot.”
Grabbing the receipts he’d been entering, he stalked off without a word toward the back.
Great.
Unsure of what to do, I followed him. Logically, it wasn’t the best decision, but I did need to drop off my bag, and he happened to be going in the same direction.
I also hated the idea of him being mad at me on Christmas Eve.
Or at all for that matter.
“I’m sorry!” I finally said as I caught up to him in the stockroom. “Things at home were—”
“Awkward. You said that.”
Frustration built in my chest. “Look, you don’t understand what it’s like… what happened.”
His wild green eyes met mine. “I don’t understand? Jesus, Willow! Haven’t you heard a word I’ve said? Do you really think you’re the only one around here who has issues? The only one who wishes they could put gloves on and remove themselves from the world? To wish away emotions and feelings?”
“That’s not why I—”
“Really? You don’t keep those things on to push people away?”
I opened my mouth to respond, to argue, but nothing came out. Because he was right. That was exactly why I wore the gloves.
“Stop acting like you’re the only person in the world who has shitty parents. Because, believe me, you’re not.”
“I know,” I answered softly.
“So then, why do you keep treating me like an outsider? I’ve told you plenty about my messed up little family, but what I know about you could barely fill the bottom of a mason jar.” There was a note of sadness in his voice as he looked at me with those desperate eyes.
“You won’t like me once you find out,” I said.
“I won’t know you — the real you — until you learn to trust me,” he answered.
I swallowed the lump in my throat and nodded. He proceeded to push several boxes out of the way, making a spot for us on the floor. The bell on the door in the front would alert us if anyone entered the store, but for now, we’d enjoy the solitude.
I took a deep breath.
Knowing something and saying it out loud were two entirely different things.
“You know when you’re little and your parents go off to work?”
He nodded.
“You’re not really sure what they do. Maybe you have an idea, like,My daddy works with computers or airplanes, but technically, you have no idea that mommy or daddy really builds websites for the government or makes engines for a specific kind of aircraft.
“For me, growing up? Once I hit a certain age, I knew exactly what my mom did for a living. She never bothered hiding it from me. Never tried to shield it to preserve a sort of childhood innocence for me. In her eyes, the more I understood, the better off I was.”
Sam watched me, leaning forward, as he listened to every word.
I guessed there was no sugarcoating it.
