She placed her hand flat on his chest. Just the one hand and nothing more, but still his muscles went rigid underneath. "Like?"
"I don't know," he said, his tone gruff, but his gaze vulnerable. "Like honesty. Like certainty. Like forever."
Cora's heart beat harder. After thinking about Bosco all day, she'd been contemplating two of those herself. But honesty . . . honesty had her thinking about-and considering for the first time-the possibility of finally, finally sharing more of herself. Sharing all of herself. Including those parts she'd been trying so damn hard to hide. Given what Kim had done, it didn't surprise Cora that Slider would value the truth, and that meant she owed him hers. At least, she did if he was someone she wanted in her life . . .
And, God, she did.
She swallowed hard. "There's no such thing as certainty, Slider. But forever definitely exists for every single one of us. Love doesn't end because someone dies. It stays with us in memories and stories and smells and sounds that are connected to other times and places. Just because those things are painful doesn't mean forever doesn't exist."
Under her hand, his heart beat harder. He leaned closer, and now she could feel the heat of him. "And honesty?"
Cora's fight-or-flight response threatened to engage. The room spun a little and her chest went tight. No matter how much she wanted to give him what he wanted-her honesty-it was still hard to let go of a secret she'd never told another soul. One she knew Slider wanted to know. And now he was asking. She didn't have any advice for him on wanting honesty, but maybe . . . maybe she could show it to him. "My hair was longer when Haven and I first ran away from Georgia. Down to the middle of my back."
He frowned, and his gaze flicked to her shoulder-length waves. "Didn't know that."
"Our third night on the road, I borrowed a pair of scissors from a girl at the cash register at a truck stop and went into the bathroom and chopped it off to my shoulders." The words spilled out in a rush, because adrenaline was making her jumpy, nervous, restless. She glanced at the open doorway, but the boys were holed up in their rooms.
"Go on," he said, as if he understood something important was happening.
"You see . . ." Forcing out the words was drawing her back there, back into that dark room. "That . . . that was how . . ."
"Cora-"
She fisted her hand in the cotton of his black T-shirt. "Don't. I'm giving you this." She met his tortured gaze. "I need to."
A single nod. "Tell me."
"My long hair . . . that was how he grabbed me."
For being so pale, Slider's eyes were absolutely on fire. Questions swam in his gaze. His muscles braced with the need to act. His jaw was tight with restraint.
And, God, she appreciated that. She appreciated it so much. Cora could tell he was holding back from reacting, from talking, from trying to make it better so she could get this out.
Now that she was talking, she couldn't stop the words, and they spilled free almost mechanically, faster and faster. "I got away from him when he woke me up on the couch. Then he chased me and backed me into my room, but when I turned to run through to my bathroom, he caught me by the ponytail. Pushed me facedown onto my bed. Got on top of me and pulled down my pajamas. His breath sm-smelled of b-beer . . ."
A tear she hadn't even been aware of spilled over onto her cheek, then another. She was trembling. And hot. Sweat trickled down her back. The scent of beer was suffocating in her nose. The memory of it smelled as real as if a bottle was in her hand.
"After, I came up with a plan for both me and Haven, and we ran away in the middle of the night three days later."
"Who, Cora?" Slider asked, his voice like it had been scoured with sandpaper.
She lifted her gaze to his. "M-my f-father."
It was his eyes going glassy that made her crack. Just cracked her wide open. Long-suppressed agony ripped out of her.
"Can I hold you now?" he asked, even as she curled against him. "Please, sweetheart, can I hold you?"
All she could do was nod, and then his arms were around her so damn tightly that he was all that held her together. He swept her into his arms and cradled her against his chest as he carried her . . . somewhere. He kicked a door shut with one foot, and then he was sinking down and holding her to him even though she was a sobbing wreck.
And though memories threatened to pull her down like weights in dark waters, Cora Campbell felt safer than she'd ever felt in her whole damn life.
Right there in Slider's arms.
Fucking hell. Jesus fucking hell.
Slider couldn't help the tenor of the refrain running through his head. Given what little he'd known, suspected, and deduced, it was what he expected. And also a million times worse than his worst imagining.
Her father. Her fucking father.
It made him want to retch. And rage. And tear the motherfucking world apart with his bare hands.
But his hands were full of her. And Slider realized that was the only place that mattered.
Because Cora mattered. Because, goddamnit, he was falling in love with her. Despite his rules and his fears and his insecurities. He was falling in love with Cora Campbell.
But that didn't matter just then, either. The only thing that did was her and how she was feeling.
So Slider held her until she cried herself dry, and then he held her some more. He stroked the damp waves of her hair off her face. And kissed her forehead. And silently whispered, I'm sorry, and It wasn't your fault, and You never deserved that, and I'll never let anything hurt you like that again.
He said it again, just to be sure she heard him. "I swear it. I'll never let anything hurt you like that again." Slider wasn't sure of the entire universe of what he was promising just then, but that didn't keep him from promising this.
Finally, her tears quieted, and her muscles went limp, and he wondered if she was asleep but didn't want to ask and chance waking her. So he let himself relax against the soft back of the overstuffed family room couch, and he drifted off, too.
It was her voice that woke him some hours later. The clock read after midnight, which explained the stillness of the house around them.
"Slider?"
"Yeah, sweetheart. I'm here."
Her fingers traced along the edge of his cut. "I wonder if I did enough, fought hard enough, said no loud enough. You know? Part of me wants to analyze the whole night bit by bit, but the bigger part of me is too terrified to do so and maybe find that it was partly my fault-"
"It wasn't, Cora," he said, his voice cracking from sleep. And emotion. "It wasn't your fault at all. He was your father, the single person on the whole fucking planet whose number one job was protecting and providing for you. Not one thing about what happened to you was your fault." He leaned over until he could make eye contact. And, aw hell, the tears had made her eyes as bright as emeralds. "Do you hear me?"
She nodded. "Still . . . do you think less of me?"
"Look at this face. Look into these eyes. And never, ever doubt that you're looking at your biggest fan, your staunchest defender, and the man who will always hold you up and have your back."
She swallowed, hard, her eyes searching his. So he let her see it. The emotion. The confusion. Him. He let her see it all.
"I don't know how I'm going to do this."
"Do what?" Of course, healing from this was going to take some time. And he'd help her with that however he could. And forgiving herself, well, even when there was nothing to forgive, it was possible to beat yourself up till the end of time. Slider knew that too damn well, didn't he? As for getting justice-or revenge-the Ravens had already taken care of that when they'd killed her degenerate drunk of a father at their racetrack the night Haven's father attacked the club.
But none of that was what she meant. Instead, she surprised the hell out of him-not with what she revealed, exactly, because he had an inkling. But instead she surprised him with her courage. "Pretend that I don't have feelings for you," she said.
If she hadn't owned him already, she did as of that very moment. Emotion thick in his throat, he tried to tell her. "I've been such a fucking wreck, Cora."
"I know. I didn't admit that to try to make you say anything back."
He cupped her face in his hand, because he sure as shit was going to respond to that. "I'm a wreck, and I'd convinced myself that I always would be. But lately, I've been trying. I've been better. Hopeful, for the first time in years." Admitting that should've been freeing, and it was. But, maybe ridiculously, it was also scary as fuck. Because when you'd become wed to a certain narrative of your life, letting go of it threatened to crumble the ground beneath your feet, leaving you with no idea where you'd be left standing when the dust settled.