Page 30 of The Lies We Tell
A tear trickles down her cheek. A single straight line.
Breaks my heart more than any flood of tears.
I take her gadgets from her, place them on the table, then tug her into my arms. Placing my hand on the back of her head, I hold her head to my chest while she cries.
Sobs rattle through her body.
I stroke her hair, kissing the top of her head occasionally. My other hand holds her tightly against me, and I bite down on the obvious reaction to her warmth and curves. She fists my T-shirt, her knuckles white.
There is fear and comfort in the grasp.
As her tears subside, there’s recurring hitch in her breath as she tries to calm.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, and I feel the heat of her words through the cotton of my shirt.
“Never apologize for the ways you experience and express your trauma, Briar. That’s rule one.” I tip her chin with my thumb and forefinger so she can look at me. I wish I could let myself drown in those brown eyes of hers. Just for a moment, I want to be more than her friend. “Rule two, anyone who tries to dismiss it, tells you to get over it, tells you it’s time to move on, tells you you’re overreacting ... they aren’t worth your time. You got me?”
Briar nods. “I bet you’re wishing you weren’t in that parking lot that night, aren’t you?” A hint of color is returning to her cheeks. “It’s been a lot of work having me around.”
With her eyes fixed on me, I struggle to consolidate the thoughts I’m having, but I try. “Throughout the rest of my life, there’ll probably never be a better example of me being in the right place at the right time.”
She steps up onto her toes and presses her lips to mine. It’s soft. Sweet. Utterly perfect.
God, how I want to lean into it. To kiss her like this is normal. Like we aren’t relegated to using fake names for each other. I’ve told her an ocean of lies while trying to show her who I really am. If only I weren’t in danger every day, danger that might follow her if I were to get involved with her.
Instead, I cup her cheeks and pull away before placing a chaste kiss on her forehead. “Let’s get the rest of this place cleaned up.”
I let go of her and walk back to the lock I put on the floor. She doesn’t move. I hear no footsteps. I’m guessing she’s looking at me, wondering what the hell she did wrong. The answer is it was all me. I’ll set her straight before I leave. Because if I turn around and look at her now, with that look of total vulnerability on her tearstained face, I’m gonna fall so fucking hard, my ass won’t know which way is up.
And I try to remind myself of the things I’ve learned while being an Iron Outlaw. I like the kind of sex Briar doesn’t deserve. And I like lots of it. What kind of asshole would I be to unleash that kind of shit on a woman who went through such a traumatic experience?
A weighty silence falls over us as we go about our tasks.
We both know that kiss could have been more.
My dick knows it best of all, and I’m grateful I’m facing away from her as I work until the boner I’m sporting disappears.
By the time I’m done with the lock, she’s finished in the bedroom. There is a pile of bedding by the door.
And she manages to whip through the tiny corner kitchen in the time it takes me to fit the window locks.
The rest is done by the time I’ve wired the camera into the corner of her living room, pointed at her front door. It covers enough area that she could check there is no one in her apartment before even getting in the elevator.
It’s been hours, but we’ve barely spoken, apart from the occasional polite pleasantry.
I pack up. “Want me to come with you to get that phone?” I ask. Perhaps it’s best that I leave sooner or later, before I allow myself to do something stupid. Like sit her on that desk and let my tongue get busy wherever she’ll let me put it.
“You’ve done more than enough. I can take it from here,” she says. Her tone is clipped, but she crosses her arms across her chest, not in an act of anger or defiance, but as if she’s hugging herself.
Like she’s holding herself together so she doesn’t fall apart.
I step towards her to hug her but then stop myself.
If Spark is looking out for Iris, I get it. Because I feel the same way about Briar. It’s hard to walk away.
“You sure you’re okay?” I ask, rather than share any of my thoughts with her.
She nods. “Fine. I need to get back to my normal life, right?”
