His lashes flashed open. “No. God, no. You didn’t. Nothing was your fault.”
Dropping his towel, he knelt down in front of me. Against my will, I looked at his chest only to see he’d replaced his hickey with a huge red welt where he’d tried to scrub it off.
“I’m sorry.” He lunged sideways for his shirt.
Once he pulled it on, I reached out, grabbed two handfuls of cloth, and leaned toward him.
He tugged me off the commode and into his arms, where he held me in his lap on the floor of the bathroom.
“It’s okay,” he kept murmuring. “I swear to you, Reese. It wasn’t that bad. I didn’t even finish. As soon as she was done, I—”
“I don’t want details,” I screeched, horrified.
But, really. I hated Mrs. Garrison. Not only had she manipulated him into doing what she wanted; she’d messed with his head, toyed with his body, and prevented him from the only gratification he might’ve actually gotten from tonight.
I know, that was really messed up thinking. But I felt messed up.
“I’m sorry.” His face drained of color. When he tried to shift backward, I only sobbed harder and curled my fingers around handfuls of his soft cotton shirt to hug him tighter. Breathing in heavy drudges of the dryer-sheet-scented cloth, I clung to him, unable to stop bawling.
“It’s going to be okay.” He kissed my hair and stroked matted tangles free from the damp tresses.
I barked out an incredulous laugh. “Okay? I am so far from okay right now, I don’t even remember what okay feels like.”
He pressed his face against my neck. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am. I can’t…I can’t…Why the hell did you stay? You shouldn’t have stayed to see this.”
“I don’t know. I couldn’t leave.” I clutched him a little tighter. “Don’t make me leave.”
“Never.” He drew his knuckles down my cheek. “Tell me what to do. I’ll do it. I swear. Just tell me how to make this better.”
“It’s already done.” I rested against him, limp and defeated. The only thing left to do now was for me to adjust and accept. Since not doing so didn’t seem to be an option without losing him completely, I closed my eyes and burrowed close.
I had stuck around to help keep him together, but there we were, and he was the one preventing me from falling apart. The irony wasn’t lost on me.
He tucked his face into my hair and sniffled. “I thought I loved you enough that my feelings could protect you,” he confessed, his voice ragged and hoarse. “I thought I could keep you from being hurt. Damn it, I was so sure I could spit in her face and end it for good. I was so stupid and cocky. And you got hurt because of it.”
“No.” I smoothed my hand down his arm. “You did protect me. You kept her from contacting Jeremy. You saved me.”
He sniffed again and kissed my hair. “Come on.” Holding me tight in his arms, he stood and carried me from the bathroom to his bedroom. He laid me in the center of the mattress and pulled out the sheet and blanket from under me before drawing them up to my chest.
After a quick peck on my forehead, he crawled in beside me.
We faced each other on the mattress without touching. He hadn’t turned the lamp on, but I could see his face clearly from the light glowing in from the hallway.
“It wasn’t always so bad,” he murmured. “When I first started, it was kind of cool. I mean, beautiful, rich, fancy women were paying attention to me, stuffing hundred-dollar bills in my clothes. I was getting laid three or four times a week. It gave me a confidence I never had before. But it got old real fast and by the time I realized those woman didn’t respect me—I wasn’t even a person to them—it was too late. I had this reputation, I was their puppet, and I felt stuck.”
Reaching out with a soft smile, he tucked a piece of my hair behind my ear. “I can’t regret it, though. If I’d never accepted her offer that afternoon, I wouldn’t have started my clientele at the country club. I never would’ve made enough money to feel like I could go to college. And I never would’ve met you.”
I sniffed and wiped my face. “I don’t think I’m worth it.”
He laughed softly, his expression indulgent with tenderness. “Trust me. You’re more than worth it.” With a kiss on my nose, he sighed. “Okay, so I spilled my soul to you. Your turn.”
I didn’t know what to say. My soul felt empty of stories.
Mason’s fingers lightly traced the scar on the back of my neck. “Will you tell me about this?”
With a shudder, I closed my eyes. “She pretty much covered it all. There’s not much left to tell.”
“I want to hear it anyway. I want to hear it from you.”
So I told him, and afterward, he pulled me close. “I’ll do whatever I can to keep him from hurting you again.”
“I know.” It’s what I feared most.