But I didn’t answer.
“Olivia,” he said again, louder this time.
“It’s fine,” I said, and now my walls were back up. “I heard you loud and clear.”
“Olivia, stop.” He reached out and took my hand and he whirled me around, pulling me toward him until my bare breasts were flush against his chest. “You said it yourself, Olivia,” he whispered.
I loved the way he said my name, making it sound exotic and wonderful on his lips, like I was the only one in the world with that name. “What?” I asked, confused. “What did I say, Colt?”
He pulled me toward him even tighter, his hand on the small of my back, and I could feel his nails digging into my skin, almost like he was afraid I was going to get away.
“You said I was wasting my life working at the club.”
“What?” I asked, confused. “No, I didn’t.” And then I remembered that I had, or at least a version of that. I think you’re better than that.
“You did.” He looked away from me then, but not before I could see the pain reflected in his eyes. “But what you were wrong about, Olivia, is when you said I was too good for that place. I’m not too good for it. And that is why I’m not the right man for you.”
His nails pressed deeper into my skin, and I could feel the desperation rushing through him, like he was terrified that whatever he was about to say would make me run. But I’d never wanted to stay in one place more in my entire life than I did right then, with him.
“Why would you say that?” I whispered. “Why would you say that about yourself?”
He shook his head and my breath hitched as I waited for him to answer. “It doesn’t matter.” He released me then and sat down on the side of the bed, put his head in his hands and rubbed his temples.
I went and sat next to him. “It matters to me.”
He stayed silent, broody, and I was afraid if I didn’t get him talking soon, he would shut down completely.
“Colt,” I said. “Please, what… I just want to understand.”
I reached out and took his hand, intertwining my fingers with his. He flinched and tried to move away, but I kept my hand on his, not letting him. I knew all about pushing people away and I knew that sometimes those were the times you wanted and needed to connect the most.
Colt took a deep breath and I felt his fingers tighten around mine. When he began to talk, his voice was deep and controlled. “My dad, he bought Loose Cannons before I was even born, with money he borrowed. He had to go down to the bank and beg for a loan. It was his dream, though, to own a restaurant. And it was a restaurant, back in the day.” He paused and I could see the pain on his face, more intense than it had been even just a few minutes ago. “But then my parents died. Half of the restaurant was left to me, when I turned twenty-three, and half was left to my uncle.”
“And what? Your uncle turned it into a strip club?”
“No, Olivia, he turned it into a fucking prostitution ring and a drug den.” I could hear the anger in his voice as he spoke, and I sucked in a breath. “I knew it was wrong, even when I was growing up, you know? Even when I was a teenager, I knew it was… not right, what they were doing. But if I brought it up or tried to push back, they beat me.”
“Your uncle?”
“My uncle. His friends. Whoever.”
I closed my eyes and let his words wash over me. I wasn’t going to say I was sorry that happened to him, because words like that were hollow and shallow and meant nothing. I hated when people told me they were sorry about what had happened to me, like they had something to do with it. All they really meant was that they were glad it hadn’t happened to them.
“So now you know,” he said. “Now you know that those things the FBI agent said were true, that there are drugs and prostitution and probably all kinds of other shit going. And that, Olivia, is why you should stay the hell away from me.”
“Why?” I swallowed and then I said the thing people always said to me, the thing that was the hardest to believe. “You were a kid, Colt, it wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have stopped it.”
“I could have tried harder.”
“And got beat more?” I shook my head. “No. You were a child, a teenager, what happened to your dad’s club…it’s not your fault. It’s no one’s fault but your uncle’s.”
“Anyway,” Colt said, and his eyes were glassy now as he stared at the floor. “Call that FBI agent, Olivia. Tell him you’ll work with him.”
“Colt,” I said, and my voice cracked.
He turned to look at me. “What?” The pain in his eyes was so raw, so dark, so aching. I’d never seen anything like it, and I’d seen more than my share of pain in my life.