Show Me How (It's Kind Of Personal Book 2) (14 page)

“You what?” She laughs and pushes me a little.

I rest my forehead on hers and stare into her eyes while I pull out. A silent gasp leaves both our mouths at the loss, and I press a soft kiss to her lips. Kat runs out of the bathroom the second I open the door to grab a washcloth. I clean Mary up, throw the towel on the floor, and crawl under the covers with her.

“I was so surprised that I didn’t even notice the comforter. But I’m glad you did because there are some nasty, nasty things that go on in these rooms.”

“Yeah?” I pull her closer, her back to my front, and wrap her in my arms as tight as I can without hurting her. “Like what?”

“Hmm. Once I walked in on some type of orgy. It was the weirdest thing because they had on masks, so when I opened the door, six superheroes whipped their heads in my direction.” She laughs before continuing. “Since that day, I always make sure to crack the door and yell before I walk all the way in. And another time, I had to clean up some kind of ceremony or ritual thing. There were candles and sand and jewels all over the place. It was such a mess. I could go on forever.”

Here we go again with the small talk. My fault since I started it, but I can’t fucking deal with it anymore. “Mary?”

“Brandon?” She mocks.

“What are we doing?”

“We’re lying in bed.”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it.”

Her answering silence is so frustrating. The past few months I was beginning to think things were getting better. That she was coming around, but it’s almost like she’s been in a cult or something. Her mind is so set on staying at this motel, and it scares me that she’s never going to leave. Or worse, there’s a different reason why she won’t leave.

“Look at me, babe,” I whisper.

She slowly turns and I prop myself up on an elbow. “You’ve gotta talk to me. Tell me what’s going on inside that head of yours.”

Her throat and lips move, but she doesn’t talk. Only looks into my eyes, unsure.

“Don’t be scared around me. You can tell me anything. I just want to understand.”

She chews on her bottom lip and shakes her head. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Something. Anything other than ‘I’m not ready.’ Give me a reason. I get that it’s fast. In the big scheme of things, four months isn’t that long.”

Her brows draw together and I can tell a pissed off Mary is about to emerge.

“Exactly. So why are you pushing?”

“I’m not pushing. I try to talk to you, but you don’t answer. You avoid everything. My parents have invited you over at least a dozen times. You practically grew up in their house. I’ve tried to get you to come to my place. How many times have you let me take you out to eat? Three?”

“I go out,” she snaps. “I even went out with Charlotte a couple of times.”

“I know. And that makes me happy. But I’m talking about me. You. Us. How long are we going to do this?” I motion around the room.

“Do what? Live?” She hops off the bed and rummages through the pile of clothes and yanks on her shirt. “This is my life.”

“No, it’s not. It was your life.”

“Oh really,” she scoffs. “And do tell, what is my life now, Mr. King of Every Fucking Thing?”

“Your life is with me. In my bed. Like it should have been for the past twelve fucking years.” I throw the covers off, pull my underwear on, and stand directly in front of her, chest heaving from anger. She is so fucking stubborn. Instead of talking to me so we can figure out how to help her, she shuts down and acts like a bitch.

“No, it’s not. You don’t get to come back and tell me what to do. That’s not how this,” she motions between us, “is going to work.”

“You’re not giving me a choice.”

“Yes, I am. I’m not forcing you to be here. You’re the one who comes back.”

“Because I fucking love you!” I yell. “Because I’ve been a miserable bastard without you. Because every time I come here, I pray to fucking God that
maybe
it’ll be the day you finally open up.”

She jerks her jeans on and grabs her bra and shoes.

“Don’t throw love in my face, Brandon. You know damn well that I love you, too. Just because you’re back doesn’t mean I should drop everything and be at your beck and call.”

“I’m not saying you should. All I’m saying is you should talk to me so we can move on.”

Her arms open and the items drop to the floor. “What if I don’t want to move on? Huh? You ever think of that? Did it ever sink in through your ginormous skull that I’m fine right where I am?”

Holy Christ. The bullshit falling out of her mouth is so strong I can smell it. “Ahh!” I run my hands over my head and take a deep breath. “Should I have my mom give you the name of one of her co-workers to talk to? Because if you honestly believe you’re fine, you’re delusional.”

She runs over and pushes me. Her hands slap me every time they make contact. “Fuck you, Brandon!” Then she pounds on my chest with closed fists, hair flying all over the place. “I’m not delusional. There’s nothing wrong with me!”

I grab her wrists, pin them to her sides, and lean down so I can see her face. “I didn’t say there was something wrong with you. But, baby, you can’t tell me this is what you want to do with the rest of your life. You wanted to be a teacher.”

“Yeah, when I was twelve. Did it ever occur to you that I don’t know what I want to do because this is all I know?” She pulls out of my grip and wipes her eyes.
Fuck me.
“Maybe I’m fucking scared. Maybe I’m embarrassed. Maybe I don’t want to give everything to you because once you realize the thrill of the chase is gone you won’t want me anymore. Maybe I’m not the same girl you used to love.”

I try to cut her off, but she glares at me through glossy eyes and holds up her hand. I shut my mouth.

“Or maybe, just maybe, when I say I’m not ready, I actually mean it. You have no idea the things I used to dream about. The thoughts that would run through my head. I’d lay in my crappy room night after night, plugging my ears to keep out the noises—fights in the parking lot, people having sex, police sirens, even gunshots. I’d lay there and pretend I was somewhere else with you. Worried I made the wrong decision. So angry with myself for leaving. Wishing my parents weren’t such wretched, awful human beings.” Her breath shakes as she sucks it in and out between sentences. “I was unbelievably tormented staying away from you. Feeling suffocated in the prison I lived in, even though it was the only place I felt safe. Hating everything about myself and wondering what the point in living anymore was when I had absolutely fucking nothing.”

Tears are rolling down her face, and it makes my chest throb in pain. Her words cut deep and jagged, tearing through my skin and burning my blood.

“I’m here now. You have me. You always have. Let me be there, Mary. Trust me again.”

“I don’t know how. You’re right, though, I am delusional because this is all I know. But I’m not ready.”

“Let me help you. We’ll take it as slow as you need as long as you talk to me. All I want is for you to be happy and us to finally be together. I promise I won’t leave you. We’ll get through it. I’m scared too, Mary. But what we had, and what I still feel, what I know you feel, is worth fighting for. We’re worth fucking fighting for.”

She nods her head takes a couple of deep breaths. “I need you to show me how.”

“I can do that.” I smile and wipe her tears with my thumbs.

“I’ve been too scared to fight,” she whispers.

“You’re not alone anymore. I’ll fight enough for the both of us.”

* * *

I’m lying in the same bed Mary and I made love in a few hours ago, holding her in my arms, staring at the ceiling. After our argument and her concession, we got under the covers for the night. I hated yelling at her, but enough time had passed without her actually talking to me. Fighting for us is nothing new. We used to play pranks on each other and argue all the time before, but it was never as heated as that. She’s never been so upset that she cried or hit me. Her tiny fists didn’t hurt, but her tears broke me.

I run my hands along the curve of her hip, memorizing how soft and smooth her skin feels. I love this woman so fucking much. Since she’s been back in my life, I finally feel like a person again and not an empty shell wandering around aimlessly. I almost forgot what that felt like.

My head bobs and my eyes become heavy, so I give her a lingering kiss on her cheek and rest my head on the pillow. Just as I’m about to fall asleep, my phone rings, and I reach over and grab it out of my jeans before it wakes up Mary.

Kelsey’s name flashes on the caller ID.

“Yeah?”

“Hey, Brandon. Where’s Kat?”

“She’s with me.”

“Oh.”

“Why?”

“Well, I came over to feed her and she wasn’t here.”

What the fuck?
“I never told you to feed her.”

“Well . . .” Her throat clears. “You weren’t home and I thought—”

“You thought you’d break into my apartment?”

“I didn’t break in. You gave me a key,” she snaps.

“That’s not the point, Kels.”

“I’m sorry. Geeze. I thought maybe you were busy with a case or something. I was just trying to help.”

Damn. Now I feel like a dick. Occupational hazard—I always think the worst of people since I know what so many are capable of. I’ve been so busy that I never even got a chance to ask her about that morning I found her in my apartment. It was a while ago though, and nothing else has happened, so I chalk it up to me being paranoid.

“Shit. Sorry. I’m staying with Mary tonight.”

“Aw. That’s sweet.”

I mentioned to her that I’ve recently reconnected with Mary.

“So, I’ve got Kat. She’s probably going to stay with me for a while here, but if anything changes, I’ll let you know.”

“Okay. Sounds good.”

I disconnect and lay back down. When Mary stirs, I pull her close again and drift off to sleep.

* * *

Six weeks of living in a motel, and I’m ready to punch something. Preferably walls. Both figuratively and literally. Living in this box makes me feel like I’m in a prison. And the walls Mary’s still got built make me want to break them down now more than ever.

Nothing has changed with Mary except she’s ventured to my parents for supper a few times. I’ve become friendly with Betty and have decided today is the day that I talk to her about Mary’s future in this godforsaken place.

The trash that comes in and out on a daily basis is also at the top of my list of reasons she needs to leave. This is no place for a woman to live on her own. Kat has taken up a permanent residence at Mary’s, and I pretty much use the room next to hers for a closet. I can hear everything as if I were standing outside. She was right when she said she had to cover her ears at night to drown out the noise. Mary’s had to talk me down from arresting people, telling me that if everyone knew I was staying here and busting heads, it would ruin business for Betty.

So instead, I made a few phone calls. Patrols have picked up and fewer hookers residing here than before.

My woman deserves better than this shit hole, but I promised her that I wouldn’t push. So I’m not. She’s living her life almost exactly the same way she was before I came back into it, except now she has me to sleep with. But I’m done. So fucking done with this place. I’m fed up with not sleeping in my own bed and pissed off that Mary is still so closed off.

Betty is sitting at the desk when I walk up. Mary’s in the laundry room, so I have some time.

“Hey.” I lean on the counter. “Got a minute?”

She puts down her book and smiles. “I’ve always got time for you, hot stuff.”

If I weren’t on a mission, I would probably laugh at her comment. “I want to get Mary out of here and I need your help.” I’m not sugarcoating shit; this has got to fucking end.

“I know,” she sighs.

“So I need you to fire her.”

Her face gets red and she looks around. “Come here.” She motions for me to lean in. “You smell good.”

“Uh. Thanks.”

“Do you know how long I’ve owned this place?”

“No, I don’t.”

“A long time. Almost forty years.”

“That is a long time,” I agree and try to appear patient, but I don’t have time for small talk. Work is kicking my ass, and between that and everything going on with Mary, all I want to do is go home. But I can’t, so the alternative is to go back to the room, take a hot ass shower in an itty bitty stall, sit on a worn ass mattress, and watch crappy TV.

“And I’ve been thinking about selling for a while now.”

“Okay.”

“So I put it on the market the day after she told me that you were back in her life.”

I try not to let the shock register too hard. “That’s good. Have you had any interest?”

She leans back and the chair squeaks, then she crosses her arms over her chest. “I know Mary deserves better than the life she has. She’s a sweet girl and I love her like she was my own. Maybe I did the wrong thing by keeping her here and hiding her secrets.”

I shake my head. “No. You didn’t. Life is full of choices, and you made the one you thought was right. You kept her safe and secure. It’s what she wanted, and honestly, if you hadn’t taken her in, she could be somewhere much worse right now.” I clench my jaw at the thought of what else could have happened to Mary if Betty hadn’t taken her in. I’ve seen too many homicides of women who had nobody to help them when times got tough.

“Thanks for that.” She pats my hand and squeezes it. “How on Earth did you get muscles in your hand? They’re so strong.”

That’s not awkward.
I pull my hand away and shove it in my pocket. “Thanks?”

“No. Thank you. Anyways, the moral of my story is that I’ve got a potential buyer.”

“Really?”

“Yes. And if everything goes according to plan, I could rid myself of this place in two months.”

I groan at the thought of being stuck here for another two months but try to focus on the bigger picture. “Have you told Mary?”

“No, not yet. I want to make sure everything is a hundred percent before I break it to her. I’ve wanted to sell for a long time, but I wasn’t sure what would happen to her. Now that she has you, I know she’ll be okay, so I’m more than ready to be done.”