"Meia," he said. I felt his hand on the side of my head, stroking my hair. "I don't want you to hate me."
"I might be too fucked up," I said, tears springing to my eyes, as if of their own accord. I blinked, willing them away, hating this weak part of me that had suddenly appeared. "I've been - since I was thirteen. I don't know anything else."
Hammer pulled back from me, his hands still on my arms, and a look of realization, then anger, crossed his face.
I've done it, I thought, closing my eyes. He's walking away. He doesn't want to be with someone as damaged as I am.
And then I realized he hadn't moved an inch, his hands still warm on me. "Jesus. Fuck, Meia," he said. "Thirteen. I can't-Christ, I've been going on and on about the shit that's happened to me, all of my loss. Meanwhile you're - fuck, I'm a selfish asshole."
"I don't know what to do...with this," I said, my voice hoarse. "I don't know how to do any of this. I'm not...normal." He hadn't moved, his feet rooted where he stood, and I wondered if he was going to leave. Surely he would.
"I don't want to hurt you, Meia," he said softly. "But I do I want all of you."
He was telling the truth. I could feel it, from the depths of me. He was not the kind of man who would hurt me. He would do anything to keep me from being hurt. It was the kind of person he was. "I know," I said. "I'm afraid I'll hurt you."
He didn't say anything, just looked at me for a long moment, and then I felt him pick me up and carry me, like I was nothing in his arms, toward the bedroom. I felt my heels slip off my feet as he carried me, landing on the floor with a quiet thump.
He laid me on the bed, slipping into the bed beside me, facing me on his side, his body elongated the length of mine. "Now," he said, his finger trailing my collarbone, sending shivers through my body. "I'm tired of waiting. You are going to tell me everything, and you're going to do it now."
Christ, this goddamned girl was going to be the death of me. I wanted to fuck her and protect her all at the same time. I couldn't get my head straight with her. She was right; I'd been stalking her. Shit, I'd become obsessive about it. I couldn't take that she was with Aston, couldn't deal with the fact that this man was obviously beating her. Hell, let's be real here - I couldn't stand the fact that anyone else was touching her, let alone hitting her.
I couldn't explain why I felt the way I did. I just knew it made me furious to think about it. I couldn't tolerate her being with anyone else. She was mine - I knew it, more than I knew anything else.
I looked at her, willing my gaze to somehow break through all of the layers of protection she had built up around her to hide from everything. I would fucking tear through it like paper. I saw her open her mouth, and I knew by the look on her face she was about to tell me no, give me some excuse about why she couldn't tell me. I wasn't going to let the shame of whatever was in her past-hell, her present-keep her from opening herself to me.
"I'm not asking, Meia," I said. "You're here, lying in bed with me. Tell me all of it."
Her mouth opened, and the story began to spill out. "My son," she said. "It's all about my son. He'll be killed if I leave Aston."
I was silent, waiting, as she told me that Aston had taken her son, ripped him away from her, and kidnapped him to keep her bound to him. To keep her obedient and silent. I felt rage, the kind of rage that gets you like a punch to the gut, at the thought of what Aston was doing to her. I’d thought my shit was bad, had felt so fucking sorry for myself because I thought I’d lost MacKenzie, and here Meia was, her son fucking stolen from her.
I was a goddamned asshole. I’d given up, let go of MacKenzie instead of fighting for her. I’d let her go back to Puerto Rico, convinced that I was a shitty father and that was all there was to it. I’d let myself believe I couldn’t be better than that. And here was Meia, doing everything in her fucking power to fight for her son. Sacrificing herself for him.
I unfurled my fingers, clenched into a fist at my side, and touched her face, a calming gesture, but I think I needed calmed more than she did.
Meia didn't meet my gaze. Instead, she pulled herself up to a sitting position, moved her back against the bed, and tucked her knees up to her chest. She wrapped her arms around her legs the way a small child would. If I hadn't had the impulse to protect her before, there's no way I couldn't now, looking at her. She seemed fragile, tiny, curled up there in a ball.
"There's more than that, Hammer," she said. "Aston's not some abusive boyfriend or husband. It's not that simple." She was silent for a long time as she ran her fingers over a locker that hung from her neck, rubbed it over and over like a talisman or something.
“Is that your son in the locket?” I asked, nodding toward the piece of jewelry.