Page 71 of Before Eve
“Someone else?”
An image of Noah Riley fills my head. “No. Almost, but no.”
“When did the physical abuse start?”
“I was ten,” I admit, feeling even more burden lift.
West’s expression hardens in both anguish and concern. “How often did this happen to you?”
“A lot.”
“I…I don’t know what to say.”
Sweat breaks out all over my skin, making me more cold than hot. “It’s okay. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
He sighs and takes my hand, and the small gesture makes my thoughts tumble. “You haven’t made me uncomfortable. Don’t ever think that.” He presses a kiss to my open palm. “Have you always dealt with this alone? Has anybody ever helped you?”
“Brynn helped me—”escape. But I don’t tell him that part, either. Or the fact that my name is fake. Or that I’m only sixteen. Or who my father really is.
“What about your mother?”
“She committed suicide. I’m the one who found her body. It was the morning after my tenth birthday. It was her that he used to beat, then it became me.”
“Oh, shit. Eve…” West moves to sit beside me on the bed. Gently, he hugs me.
I want to tell him so much more. It feels incredible to share.You cannot tell anybody who you are…
“Know I’m here.” West pulls back from the hug. “Always.”
I turn toward him, loving the closeness that feels comfortable and non-intimidating. He brushes a kiss to the inside of my wrist and then places my hand over his heart. The whole thing feels so darn good and loving.
“You’re nothing like I imagined you’d be,” I softly tell him.
“How did you imagine I’d be?”
“I don’t know. The typical sex, drugs, and rock n’ roll, I guess.”
“Sex, drugs, and rock n’ roll, huh? Well, no drugs for me but lots of music and sex.”
My skin goes warm at the sex part.
He presses a kiss to my cheek. “I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you, too.”
He caresses my earlobe between his thumb and forefinger. “You are something else.”
We stay that way, our foreheads touching, taking each other in. Finally, he lifts his head and looks at me. How does he think I seem sitting here? I hope not pathetic. The last thing I ever want to be again is pathetic. Strong and independent. That’s what I want to be.
He lies back on the bed and opens his arms, and I hesitate, though I’m not sure why.
Amusement plays across the space. “No big deal, Eve. Just be with me.”
Recent memories flood in—getting lost with each other; kissing at the soundboard; snuggling on the roof in New York City; playing the guitar while he sang; stretched out on top of me at the beach; pressing into me—
“What is it?” he asks.
“I’ve had some thoughts, somesexthoughts,” I blurt out, then press my lips together. I can’t believe I just said that.
