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You knew all this before you jumped in. You knew this thing between you and her could never happen – even if she wanted you. Even if she didn’t have an almost boyfriend.
You don’t belong in a relationship. You’re an ex-con. You have a rap sheet. You don’t deserve her and aren?
??t what she needs.
I shake my head as she sits on the rickety chair by the door to put on her shoes. Slim ankles, fine hands, slender fingers tightening the old-fashioned straps. Low heels, a flash of silver, and then a curl of dark hair falling over her eyes.
Beautiful.
“Don’t look,” she whispers.
“Why?” She’s right, I shouldn’t, but I can’t stop – looking, wanting her.
“My feet. They’re ugly. Blistered and callused from the pointes I use.” She winces. “Used.”
“You look fine to me,” I whisper.
Her eyes flash to me, vulnerable and confused. Then she sighs and gets up, her expression closing off, going distant. “Asher texted me to say Rafe will be here soon.”
“Okay.”
Something feels off, but I don’t know what. Is she still upset?
“Will you be all right?” she asks.
Yeah, I will be. I need to say something, keep her here just a while longer so that I can gather my scattered wits and apologize.
But she’s gone long before I can, before I draw enough air to speak, and by then it’s too fucking late.
Story of my life.
***
Rafe is all business when he arrives. He makes me get up and shower, and frowns when I limp on my way to the bathroom.
“Fucking leg still bothering you? Damn, man, are you going to PT and doing the exercises I showed you? You should be better by now.”
“I’m fine,” I snap, out of sorts since Manon left, a sourness in my mouth that has nothing to do with the concussion and more to do with her absence from my side. The fact I upset her. And the nightmare.
I think back at it. Haven’t had so many of those this past year. Not until now. Christ, that call, the knowledge my mom is alive, rattled me real good.
“Seth, dammit. Watch it.”
His words register a second after pain shoots up my hip from having hit the handle of the open door.
Ow, fuck. Just what I need.
“Jesus, man.” Rafe guides me to the toilet, slams the seat closed and pushes me down on top. “What’s going on? Spit it out.”
“Nothing’s fucking wrong.”
“I said, spit it out,” Rafe leans over me, crowding me in with his large frame, “or I’ll call Zane, and you know how he gets. He’ll be here in five minutes to chew you out over the fact you didn’t tell us your leg still hurts. And then there’s the accident you didn’t think to mention, and the funk you’re walking around in.”
Fuck me. “I’m telling you, I’m fine.”
“Let me see.” And before I can protest and shove him away, he’s pushing up my sweat pants leg, baring my knee brace. His eyes widen. “A brace? When the hell did this happen? Last I knew the break was higher up—”
I do shove him before he catches on, but yeah, you guessed it—too late again.
