Angel of Redemption (35 page)

I
hear what he
’
s
saying, but I don
’
t
understand it. I can
’
t reconcile what he thinks of himself with everything he
’
s told me. He was a kid who fell in
love with the wrong girl. He tried to save her. He tried to protect her. He
made bad decisions, but he
’
s not a bad person. Why on earth would he think he
’
s poisonous?

Again,
my gaze shifts, this time lower. Right across his hipbone are words, but I can
’
t make them out. They sit at the tip
of where his scarring appears to end.

“
What does it say?
”

Dean
shifts and clears his throat uncomfortably.
“
Indulgeo Mihi
.
”

“
What does it mean?
”
I grind my teeth together when I realize I
’
ve voiced my thought out loud. Dean
doesn
’
t
answer at first. I blink slowly and then glance up toward his face. He
definitely heard me; his eyes are blazing with some unknown emotion. Or
possibly several.

“
Forgive me,
”
he rasps.

I
brush my thumb over the script and feel him bristle. I close my eyes and let my
touch drift to the scarring. It travels all the way up his side. I find myself
mesmerized by the feel of it.

“
Forgive you for what?
”
I ask gently, my hand beginning to wander upward along the
scarring. I
’
m
startled when his hand shoots out and grips my fingers, squeezing slightly.

“
Don
’
t!
”

“
I
’
m sorry!
”
I cry, snatching my hand back as quickly as I can and
taking a step backward. Dean pulls his shirt on over his head, yanking it down
and effectively ending our moment.
“
I
’
m sorry,
”
I whisper again.

“
It
’
s fine,
”
he says, but it
’
s obviously not. He turns away and returns to the kitchen.
I follow behind him.
“
Do you want some coffee?
”

“
Dean?
”
I rest my hand on his now-clothed back.
“
I
’
m sorry. I wasn
’
t trying to be intrusive. Don
’
t be mad at me, please,
”
I beg.

“
I
’
m not mad, Kayla. Most of the women I spend the night with
are fascinated by them,
”
he says bluntly.

I
flinch a little. Ouch. Clearly, I pushed him too far.

“
It
’
s not the tattoos that fascinate me, Dean,
”
I respond sharply.
“
But thanks for letting me know where I
stand.
”
I want to storm away, but I have no place to go
—
this
is his apartment.

His
hands are resting flat on the countertop. He shakes his head.
“
That
’
s not what I was doing.
”

“
Really? You didn
’
t just lump me into the group of women you
’
ve fucked?
”

“
No!
”
he shouts, turning around.
“
I wasn
’
t. You
’
re nothing like them. That
’
s the problem.
”

“
Oh my God,
”
I laugh humorlessly.
“
You know what? I
’
m just going to call a cab.
”
I turn to leave. I need to get
dressed. I feel too vulnerable standing here the way I am. I need to get away
from this man whose mood swings frustrate me to no end. I only take two steps before
I
’
m abruptly pulled backward.

“
Stop. Please, just stop.
”
His breath is on my ear, his arm
around my waist, and my back is flush against his chest.

“
Let me go,
”
I beg. I can
’
t be this close to him. It makes me want more. And he
’
s made it quite clear that more isn
’
t an option.

“
I will, just don
’
t
…
That didn
’
t come out right, Kayla. I didn
’
t mean it like that. You know I
’
m shit with words.
”

“
That hurt,
”
I whimper.

“
I know,
”
he admits.
“
It was meant to.
”

“
What?
”
I squawk, struggling to break free. His arm tightens,
though, and I
’
m
no match for his strength. I can feel his heart thumping against my back. He
’
s breathing heavily. When I lower my
head, I realize that the shirt I
’
m wearing has ridden up because of the way he grabbed me.
My legs are completely exposed, as is my underwear. His pinky and ring finger
are pressing against my pubic bone. Maybe I should have kept the sweatpants on.

Dean
’
s hand grips the shirt tightly, and
there
’
s
no way for him to hide what
’
s happening to him as he hardens against me. Feeling a
sudden neediness between my legs, I push my hips backward into him. His hand
slips a little lower
—
right there. All he
’
d have to do is
—

“
Fuck!
”
he growls. His hips pull away from my backside, and he
abruptly lets me go. I stand, frozen to the spot, afraid to turn around. When I
finally do, he
’
s
not facing me anymore. He
’
s staring at the coffeepot.

We
don
’
t
speak for what feels like forever. I don
’
t
know what to say. That was really awkward. I knew I turned him on at the
restaurant after he saved me from Brody, but that felt different
—
maybe because we didn
’
t
really know each other then, and we weren
’
t
friends? My mind is going crazy trying to figure out where we stand.

“
I
’
m
sorry,
”
he finally mumbles, breaking the
silence.

“
It
’
s
okay,
”
I answer automatically. But it
’
s not.
“
What
’
s going on, Dean?
”

His
eyes dart to me and then back to the brewing coffee.

“
Nothing. It
’
s just
…
My past isn
’
t easy to talk about.
”

“
That
’
s
not what I mean, and you know it. What
’
s
going on between us? I don
’
t understand.
”

He
shakes his head.
“
I
like you. But
…
I
’
m trying to be a good friend. I just don
’
t know how. I
’
m
not good at it.
”

“
Yes, you are,
”
I protest.
“
You
’
ve
been there for me every time I
’
ve needed you over the last few weeks.
You
’
ve listened to my blathering and
blubbering. That
’
s a good friend in my book.
”

“
I
’
m
not,
”
he growls.
“
I have a fucked-up past and serious mental health issues.
”

I
raise my eyebrows.
“
And I don
’
t? None of us have perfect lives, Dean. I
’
ve gone from one fucked-up
relationship to the next. My mother, my father, my stepfather, every boyfriend
I
’
ve ever had
…
Brody.
”
Dean
’
s fists ball up at the mention of my
abusive ex-whatever-the-hell-he-was.
“
We are who we are because of what we
’
ve gone through. You are able to help
those boys because of your experiences. You
’
re not still out there fucking around
and making shitty decisions. You
’
re helping people. You were a kid. Why are you so hard on
yourself?
”

Silence
again. In my periphery, I can see him considering what to say next.

“
I got into a car accident when I was sixteen,
”
he breathes. I swallow and shove my thumbnail into my mouth
so I don
’
t
ask a million questions.
“
People
…
got hurt. It was all my fault.
”
His face looks so pained, I can feel it. I think about the
scars covering his body.

“
It was bad?
”
I practically whisper. I know it must have been. Scars
like his don
’
t
come from a fender bender.

Dean
clenches his jaw.
“
Yeah. It was bad.
”

The
coffeepot beeps, letting us know it
’
s ready. Dean pulls two cups out of a cabinet and fills
them.
“
Did
you sleep okay?
”
he asks, handing me a cup. And that
’
s the end of it. I
’
m
disappointed, but not surprised.

“
Yes, thank you. You didn
’
t have to give up your bed, though.
”

“
Yes, I did. You wouldn
’
t have wanted me in there, I would have stolen all the
blankets.
”
We stare at each other before he moves
away. It has not escaped my attention that he completely avoided my question
about the sexual encounter we just had, but I
’
m
not going to go there at the moment. There
’
s
a reason he doesn
’
t want to address it, and I have to
respect that
…
for now.

“
So, um. I live alone and, well, I
’
m a bachelor.
”
He glances at me sheepishly.

“
Okay
…
”
I draw the word out, wondering where
he
’
s
going with this.

“
I wasn
’
t
really expecting company.
”
He reaches into another cabinet and
holds up a box of Pop-Tarts, shrugging.
“
It
’
s all I have for breakfast. Unless you wanna go out.
”

I
let out a high-pitched laugh and cover my mouth with my hand.
“
I haven
’
t had a Pop-Tart since college.
”
He starts to put them away, but I stop him.
“
Wait, give
‘
em here. How about I make you
breakfast? Where
’
s
your toaster?
”
He hands me the box and points to a
silver toaster next to the microwave. It
’
s kind of gross looking, but I
’
m not going to tell him that. I rip
open the foil packet and slide two tarts into the toaster slots.
“
Do you like them warm, hot, or burnt?
”