When We Met

I didn’t mean to cry, but I couldn’t stop the wetness that gathered in my eyes and streaked like a deluge of relief down my face. I’d cried so much these last months, but this was just a rush of emotion, all this sweet joy that was mixed up with all my fear.

I nodded through a soggy smile. “I want to be,” I whispered breathlessly.

God, I wanted to be.

His.

Satisfaction danced all over his beautiful face, before Darryn branded me with a searing, close-mouthed kiss.

It stole my breath.

He chuckled a little, pecked my lips again and ran his fingers through my hair. “You are perfect.”

“Hardly.” But I couldn’t help but smile, and that smile only grew as he slowly rose, crawling over me and onto my bed, taking me with him.

Laying us down, he tucked me into his side. The warm breath from his mouth seeped out at my temple when he exhaled and splayed his big hand wide across my belly.

Those butterflies swayed in a lazy dance.

Never in my life had I felt so secure.

“Tell me about where you went tonight,” he said, nudging the side of my face with his nose.

I frowned, but really, I already knew. He’d been there. I’d thought I felt him following me, but I could never catch a glimpse of him among the roiling throng of bodies that had flocked along the busy sidewalk during rush hour.

I should have been angry. Offended that he would be so bold as to follow me.

But again, it made me feel special. Like I meant something to him, the way he wanted to mean something to me. And he did. God, he did. That scared me, too.

“I—I—I . . .”

He gave me a squeeze of reassurance. “Hey, it’s okay. You can trust me.”

I swallowed and found my voice, but I had to press my face into his chest to make the words form, and even when they did, they were barely more than a breath. “Have you . . . did you notice I sometimes stutter?”

He hooked his finger under my chin and pulled my face up, forcing me to look at him. A quirk of his brow told me he had indeed. “Yeah, and it’s really fucking cute.”

Sadness shook my head, because I knew he really didn’t understand. “It’s not cute, Darryn.” I licked my lips. “For years my parents tried to have a baby. They’d given up, and then there was me. They were older when they finally had me, and of course they became super protective. When I was four, my mom had to go back to work, but they didn’t want to put me in day care. They thought the best solution would be for me to stay with our neighbor next door, a woman they’d known for several years.”

When my voice got choppy, Darryn pulled me closer, like he knew I was having a difficult time getting this out.

“They wanted me close to home, where my mom knew I was safe. But I wasn’t safe,” I whispered, the words sounding like my darkest secret.

Gentle fingers brushed up and down my arms, silently encouraging me to go on.

“I really don’t remember everything that happened. . . . I just see these little blips . . . pictures that flash through my mind that are hazy and unclear. The woman . . . sh-sh-she was just . . . cruel-hearted. She liked it when I was scared and when I’d cry. She’d make me sit in the dark closet all day and when I’d cry she’d smack me around. What I remember best is the anxiety I felt every time my mom dropped me off at her house. And how she threatened me not to tell my mom and dad.”

Darryn pulled back, leaving a fraction of space between us as we lay on our sides. He just stared across at me, everything in his gaze protective. “I’m not sure I want to hear this story,” he admitted, sadness coloring his tone, though he smiled a sympathetic smile. He brushed his thumb along my jaw. “But I need to . . . just don’t blame me if I run out your door and have to kick someone’s ass.”

I laughed quietly, a sound that I hoped somehow told him that I was okay, that this woman hadn’t scarred my heart even if she had scarred something in the deepest recesses of my mind. “N-n-no . . . my parents already took care of that. It didn’t take long for them to realize what was going on in that woman’s house because I started acting so differently. But that was the problem . . . I just . . . stopped talking.”

Lines creased Darryn’s brow as his eyes narrowed, like he was slowly catching on.

“The therapist said it was because of the trauma and s-s-something was triggered in my brain that wouldn’t allow me t-t-to talk.” Attempting a joke, I lightened my voice, hating that my tongue was so tied. “Guess her threats to hurt me if I told worked just fine. Apparently if you get a

Darryn just frowned. “Not fu

Okay, so maybe not, but I hated the thought of this boy who’d chased me down as if I was something special, something he couldn’t be without, instead looking at me with pity.

“M-my parents . . . they got me into therapy, both to help with my emotional trauma and to help me to begin to talk. But once I started talking again, I stuttered. Badly.” I shrugged, embarrassed but somehow still at ease with baring myself to him. “In some ways, the worst part was watching my parents worry about me. They loved me so much.”

Softness pulled at his lips. “How could they not?”

Palpitations rocked my heart. This boy-man-god and his glorious body had even sweeter words, words that teased me with what sounded like a promise. I was done for.

I pressed my hand flat to his chest, just because I wanted to feel him, to co

He kissed my forehead, and I snuggled farther into him, resting my head in the crook of his arm. “It was a big deal for me to come to Michigan. My parents were terrified they wouldn’t be close to keep an eye on me. But I knew I had to make a change or I’d always be dependent on them. The first year here, I barely spoke to anyone, just watched and observed and went to my classes, but my confidence slowly grew. Then when I moved in here, Indy became my first real friend. It’s been so good for me.”

Remorse left me with a heavy sigh. “But that doesn’t mean I haven’t let people take advantage of me. I always see the best in people. T-trust them when they don’t deserve it. That’s why I’m scared,” I emphasized, twining our fingers together with our free hands, praying he could understand where all my reservations stemmed from.

Because I hadn’t had a bad life. I’d just had circumstances that made me different.

“And the center today?” he asked, lifting our hands up between us, studying the contrast of our skin in the dim light of my room, mine almost white against his golden tan.

A wide smile took over my face. “Those are my kids . . . they all have hearing or speech disorders of one kind or another. It’s a support group I run . . . more fun for them than anything, a safe place where they all feel they belong. But it’s my internship, too, part of my schoolwork for my degree.”

“Your degree?”

“Speech pathologist,” I said, almost shy. “For children. I just want to help them. . . . I overcame so much when I was little, and some really wonderful people helped me. Now I want to help other kids the same way.” I drew my shoulder up to my ear in a self-conscious shrug. “It fits, don’t you think?”