Busted

He rested his chin on her shoulder and stroked a hand up and down her arm. She was so tense, he thought she’d break. So rigid, his own muscles ached in sympathy.

“Egbert called the police. Reported Marisol and everybody else—from what I’ve heard, he tried to make it clear he thought the problem was Marisol, but . . . they didn’t care.” She shrugged and eased away. “They started watching us. There was an investigation—it lasted for months. I’d pulled out. One of the last guys I’d gone out with, I was almost certain he was a cop and when he started pushing me for extra services, I shut him down, and that night I called Sharon, told her I was done. No more. Not long after that, a few of the girls—including my cousin—were arrested.”

“I . . .” She stopped and swiped the back of her hand over her mouth. She shot him a look. “It turns out that guy who’d made me so nervous was a cop. I saw him during the trial. He was the same guy who ended up arresting my cousin. She got caught up in that because of me.”

“No.” He moved behind her and pressed his lips to her shoulder. “She made her choices. We’re all responsible for the ones we make. You can’t take her choices on yourself.”

She turned to him then, pressing her face to his chest as silent tears spilled free.

*   *   *

If she could, Ressa would have let herself lean on him.

But she’d just proven to herself how badly she could fuck things up. Especially when it mattered.

Her head ached as she finally pulled away from him.

“I’m sorry,” she said again. “What I said . . .”

“Stop.”

His voice was weary.

The tension that filled every muscle of his body told just how much damage her careless words had done. The man had lost his wife. He was raising his child on his own. Regardless of the privileged life he’d had, he’d known more than a little heartache, more than a little loss.

“What am I supposed to do?” she asked, miserable. His gaze cut to hers and it was the hardest thing ever not to look away. “I said things to you that I didn’t mean and you won’t even let me apologize . . .”

“I don’t need apologies.” Trey just shook his head. “I came here to see you, to be with you. You’re hurting. If you think I can’t see that, then—”

Swearing, she shoved the heels of her hands against her eyes. “Don’t be nice! You let me be a bitch to you, you won’t let me apologize, and now . . .” She sputtered, reaching for the words. “After everything I’ve told you, you stand there and be nice! Don’t do that.”

“Fuck, what the hell do you want me to do?” Some sign of frustration came through in his voice.

She still didn’t dare look at him.

It seemed that everything she did today was wrong, though. And her head was too messed up to handle this right.

What am I doing?

Part of her was screeching that.

But the calmer part of her, the one that was still somewhat in control, realized this was the only thing to do. “I . . .” Her voice cracked. “I think maybe you should leave.”

*   *   *

Even before she said the words, Trey already knew.

Slowly, he crossed the floor to her, studying her face.

She was still, her eyes, for once, completely unreadable and her face was a blank mask.

But when he stopped in front of her, her entire body seemed to vibrate as though she had to struggle not to let any sign of anything she felt escape. He wanted to pull her up against him. No matter what she said, he didn’t think she’d fight him.

Neither of them wanted to be apart from each other. But he suspected both of them needed it.

Just like he thought she was right; maybe both of them needed distance. If he touched her, everything rushing through him was going to come to the fore, and thought would melt away, lost under the need to touch. To comfort. So he kept his hands at his sides, as much as he hated it.

“I’ll go,” he said softly. “But first, let me tell you this. If you try to push me away because of this, then make sure you understand . . . you are the one doing the pushing. Not me. And I won’t go away easily.”

Her gaze jerked away from his.

Now he reached up and cupped her cheek. “But I can’t make this work on my own, either. If you don’t want to be with me, then you don’t.”

Dark brown eyes shot to meet his.

“I can already see that you’re worried,” he murmured, stroking his thumb over her lip. “It doesn’t change anything for me. Does it change things for you?”

“Fuck, yes,” she whispered.

And he felt the cut of it, deep inside.

He was bleeding, and he didn’t think she even knew.

“You can’t stand there and tell me that the idea of it doesn’t bother you.” She reached up and tugged his hand away. “You know what will happen if any of this gets out? You don’t even know half of all that went down. There’s more—a lot more. I’m co

“Bother me?” He studied her, wondering just how much time she’d spent thinking about this. And here he was thinking he had most of the baggage. Looking away, he blew out a breath. “The idea of it pisses me off on the same level that that kind of gossip has always pissed me off. Some scumbag, sorry excuse of a reporter will push in on people’s privacy and as long as there are people who want to know . . .” He stopped and shrugged.

Maybe if more people knew what it was like to have photographers hovering at your shoulder as you buried your wife, to have insinuations that you’d somehow caused her death . . . or to have lies smeared about like they’d done with Abby and her father’s suicide, how that had only added to her already wrecked childhood, yeah, maybe they’d get it. Maybe they’d ease back. But this was just a part of his life. “Look, this is nothing I’m not already dealing with on some level. They’ll find another way to jab at me, or Zach, or Seb. Hell, they even poke at Zane and Travis from time to time. We’ve lived with this our whole lives. I can deal.”

Ressa just closed her eyes. Then she moved in close to him and dropped her head against his chest. He let himself hold her. Took in every nuance, every breath, every scent . . . and then, after a moment, he stepped back.

“The question is . . . can you?”

A shudder fell over her eyes. Then she backed away.

“I just don’t know.”

Chapter Twenty-four

The sexy car in his driveway normally would have made him smile. But at two a.m., this was the last thing he wanted to deal with.

Especially after he’d left Ressa back in her house, her words hung between them like a poisoned kiss—I just don’t know.

He’d pulled her to him, unwilling to believe that, unwilling to accept it.

She’d let him.

Then she’d kissed him and murmured, “You should go. We both need to think. We probably should have had this talk long before now anyway.”

Yeah. He guessed maybe they should have—before he went and fell halfway in love with her.

The last thing he wanted to do was go, think. But what was he supposed to say? I have been thinking . . . I think I’m falling in love with you?

That wasn’t going to make things any easier. Any better. Both of them needed to breathe, and she needed to work through all of this.

What a complete mess.

His brothers spend years dragging their feet before they actually make a move, and here he was, almost stupid about a woman he’d known weeks.

Again.

It had hit him this hard the first time . . . and he’d never expected it to happen again, but here he was, and he was faced with the prospect that she might be ready to pull out before they even got started.