Enough(52)

Exhausted from the fear and adrenaline, I woodenly followed him back to the trailer, barely able to move, let alone understand his behavior. He led me to the bathroom and gently pushed my shoulders until I sat.

He rinsed a cloth in the sink and handed it to me. “Put your face in it.”

Cold relief spread through me. Another cool cloth massaged my legs, dirty and blood streaked from my panicked flight.

He spoke as he worked. “Red, I’d never hurt you.” More washing. “Too damn rough with you, too stupid to know when to stop. Hell...made you run from me. I scared you. Always screw shit up.”

Why did he say that? I shook my addled brain.

“Sorry.”

Tears pricked my eyes.

He somehow blamed himself for this. “I’m bad for you, should never have come close to you.” And finally “fucking worthless.”

The uneasy twisting of my reality stopped, allowing me to focus. With my brain finally firing, understanding hit me, fueled by a hot blaze of angry indignation. I refused to let him think this was about him another moment. I would set this right even if it meant spilling my ugly past.

I let the cloth fall to the floor and grasped his face, forcing him to meet my gaze. “This isn’t about you.”

He grimaced like he didn’t believe me.

“I had a nightmare about my past and that caused the panic.” I sighed, surrendering to the inevitable. “I’ll dress and tell you everything. You are not to blame.”





Chapter Fifteen: Dare

I woke to a terror-filled scream. Heart beating double-time, I sat up to see Red running from my bed and out of my house. What the fuck?

I jumped into jeans and took off after her. On my front step, I paused to watch her run naked across my lawn and into the tall grass. Panic drove her every step, I could see it in her jerky movements. I moved toward her, worried about what had caused her to flee. What had I done?

Closing the distance, I heard her throwing up in the grass. Her hair full of grass seed, she shivered despite the heat of the day. Then I saw her legs, rivulets of blood ran down her calves in a hundred tiny streams—grass cuts.

I coaxed her back to the trailer, silently cataloging what could have happened to cause her to panic. Had I missed something last night? Maybe one of the bikers cornered her? Laid hands on her? I would kill them, but if that was it, why wouldn’t she have told me last night.

No, it had to be the way I’d pushed her. We’d been together less than a month and all I’d done was push her limits, ask things of her decent people didn’t do. Last night was it, I bet, the thing that pushed her into that panic.

We made it to the bathroom and I handed her a cloth, afraid to get too close and trigger another panic attack—I knew too well what those were.

She pressed her face into that cloth so I wet another cloth and worked on her. “Red, I’d never hurt you. I’m too damn rough with you, too stupid to know when to stop. Hell...made you run from me. I scared you. Always fuck shit up.”

She didn’t move, and I knew I’d been right. Why did I ever touch her? I turned everything I touched to shit.

“Sorry.” I pushed out the words I needed to say. “I’m bad for you, should never have come close to you. You’re goodness and I’m fucking worthless.”

The cloth covering her face fell to the floor and she held onto my cheeks. “This isn’t about you.”

What else could she say? But I knew the truth, I’d screwed up a perfectly good woman just being with her. Hell, who would want me if not even my family could stand me. The only people who’d ever accepted me were my brothers in the club, but none of them but Jericho knew my shame.

“I had a nightmare about my past and that caused the panic.” She sounded so exhausted, defeated even. “I’ll dress and tell you everything. You are not to blame.”

I didn’t believe her, not really, and even if it was her past, I’d caused her to panic and remember that shit. Avoiding her gaze, I nodded and left her alone. It’d been years since I’d had a panic attack, but if something brought me back to my days in hell, I’d run and never look back. I couldn’t forgive myself for doing that to Red. I’d never met a tougher, stronger woman—not that she was one of those who demanded you recognize her toughness. Her strength was quiet, hidden under all that softness. To see her so low in my hands, I wished I could beat myself black and blue.

I heard her quiet steps behind me. She passed me on the front steps but I didn’t look up.

“Why do you think it’s your fault?” Her words were quiet.

“It happened in my bed. You ran away from me.” It was obviously my fault. Women didn’t run from a man unless he’d hurt her.