She smiled. “I am. I know it probably seems stupid, but I feel like I should throw this out there. I like you more than I probably should for someone who just met you.” She bit the inside of her cheek and looked down at my chest as she continued. “Don’t not reply to me again,” she said, shaking her head as if talking to herself. “I told you before that I don’t play games. If this is going to work, then we both need to be on the same page.”
She looked up to meet my gaze once again and placed a hand on her chest. “This is me. I’m an open person until something makes me want to close myself off. I will always be honest with you. So if this isn’t what you truly want, then you need to tell me. I know you feel what we share. I’m not going to say it’s one of those ‘once in a lifetime’ connections, but this is real to me.”
I knew it was, and that was one of the things that scared me. I’d told her a few times that I wanted her to always be honest with me, and since things were about to be blasted in the open, it was time for me to be honest with her. I didn’t want her to put herself out there when she didn’t even know what kind of man I truly was.
Adjusting myself on the couch, she pulled away from me. Her leg brushed against my stitches, causing her to turn and look down.
“Oh, my God,” she gasped, leaving her mouth open with a concerned look on her face. “What happened?”
Fuck. I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t want to have to explain this, too, but I guess if I’m going to put it all out there, I might as well.
“Hang on,” I said as I pulled up my sweats and rose from the couch.
I headed into the half bath that was located by the kitchen and retrieved a cloth to clean her, wetting it with warm water first. Then I walked back into the room where Emma was standing, fully dressed with her hands crossed at her chest.
I sighed at my effort to clean her up and tossed the rag on the table.
“Sit,” I commanded, pointing to the couch. I couldn’t have her standing while I tried to think of what to say. It was too distracting.
“No, I’ll stand.”
“Emma,” I stated sternly. “Please, just sit.”
She furrowed her brow but did as I asked.
“Before you start declaring that you want to be with me, there are some things you need to know. Things that will ultimately alter your perception of me.
She looked at me in confusion, but kept quiet as I talked and paced around the room.
“In the next week or so, things are going to get crazy. More than likely, I will either lose my job or I will be quitting.”
I saw her move out of the corner of my eye and held up my hand to quiet any questions she had. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, needing a minute to get out the words.
“There are things I’ve done in my past that I’m not proud of, things John was involved in, as well. Things that changed my life the moment I killed my mother.”
“What?” Emma exclaimed, interrupting me. “What do you mean you killed your mother?” she asked, frantic. I turned to see that she’d stood up with a wide-eyed expression.
“Emma, please sit and let me get this out.”
She furrowed her brow and slowly sat back down. I took a deep breath and explained.
“When I was seven, my mother found out about the dealings John was doing on the side, which I’ll also explain in a minute,” I said, to appease her. “That night, she threatened to leave and take me, but John wasn’t going to let her. I didn’t want to stay with him. She was my everything. So, without thinking, I ran for her just as she was about to walk down the stairs and I tripped, knocking her down the stairs, killing her.”
She jolted back in shock and brought her hand up to her mouth, but her expression quickly turned into sympathy, an emotion I hated to see.
“Mason,” she started, but I held up my hand to stop her. I didn’t want to hear that it wasn’t my fault.
It was my fault.
“That day,” I went on, as I continued to pace the room, “was the day I lost the only person who mattered to me. The only person who loved me.”
I furrowed my brow and listened to my own words. Words I’d written just a few days before while sitting in my office.
“John wasn’t a horrible dad growing up, not until the day I turned seventeen.”
I stopped pacing and stared at the floor. I couldn’t look at her as I talked. I knew if I looked at her any more than I already had, I’d drop it altogether and let her find out along with everyone else.
“What happened?” she asked with intrigue in her voice.
I closed my eyes, remembering that day vividly.
Sophia writhing on the bed.
The binds.
The blindfold.
My sick arousal.
Her fear.
“John presented me with a girl that day,” I started as I stopped pacing in front of a painting to regard all the intricate lines. I stood there quietly as I looked over every color and detail, thinking about that night until Emma spoke, breaking me from the past.
“He presented you with a girl?” she questioned, not understanding what I was trying to say.
I turned and looked at her for a brief moment then glanced away, nodding as I continued to pace.