“You tell them you grew up in an abusive household, your younger brother fell victim to the generational curse you tried to break, and when you left, you ended up in an abusive relationship with Gordon, a drug dealer your brother was indebted to. That’s why he stole your money. All my guys need isa motive and names. You give them that and Red Snake will get this sorted.”
She jerked out of my hold. “Is that how you see everything I just told you?” Her chest was heaving and the air around us thickened.
“Talk to me,” I said. “Walk me through what’s going through your head.”
I could tell she was struggling to find words, to articulate what she was feeling, but whatever was swirling in her eyes was blinked away. Then she said, “No one at the bookstore can know.”
“Margo—”
“Carrie can never know,” she rasped.
“Why?”
“What do you mean why?” she snapped, the walls that she’d let down for me shooting back up, locking in place. “I don’t want her to know. Is that not a good enough reason?”
There was something deeper there, but I didn’t want to push her. Not after the day she’d had.
“And that’s okay, but you’re going to need to give Grayson a valid reason why he needs to keep this from his woman.” My arms crossed again so I wouldn’t touch her. I was so fucking proud of her for opening up to me, giving me a piece of her soul that she thought was broken. And it was, but given the opportunity, I was ready to spend the rest of my days helping her heal.
But until that happened, I had to keep my distance, maintain the lie that would keep her safe, and not push her.
“Are you going to stand here and tell me that Grayson tells Carrie about all of his clients?” she quipped. “Do you tell all your partners about your work?”
No.
I’d only had one true partner since starting Red Snake with Gray, and she didn’t get access to that, no matter how much she begged.
“Temper, I have no fucking idea what Grayson tells her, but when said client is his fiancée’s best friend, the chances of him telling her are high,” I replied calmly.
She was pissed. “I don’t want people knowing about my past. I didn’t even want to tell you, but you kicked my fucking door down a few hours ago, and I figured I didn’t have a choice.”
She always had a choice. Those green eyes were glaring at me now, darkening with annoyance.
I tried to soften the blow. “You have nothing to be ashamed of.”
“Really? Because everything I just told you is nothing to be proud of,” she quipped. Before I could get a word out, she added, “And then you compartmentalized it—my entire fucking life—into a paragraph.”
The fuck?My jaw tightened. “Is that right?”
She threw her hand out. “I just laid my insides out for you on the table and you—Mr. Perfect Superman—took one look at it and—”
“And what?” I challenged, tilting my head to the side, my eyes narrowing. “I didn’t compartmentalize anything you just told me, Temper. I gave you an option, something to tell my guys that would be easier for you so you didn’t have to lay your guts out for them. I watched you, and for the rest of my days, I will hold on to every word you just gave me. I know how hard that was for you, and you did it, not only for yourself, but for me. I asked you for mercy, and fuck me, baby, you gave it to me. I don’t want you to relive that pain again tomorrow at the office. I gave you an option, Margo. That’s all I did. To keep what you just gave me between us,” I clipped.
My eyes dropped, watching her mouth open and close a few times.
“You—you—”
“Margo, what you’ve been through—what you experienced—is nothing to joke about or blow over,” I continued, my shoulders tight. “I’m fucking pissed that you would think that.”
Our gazes locked and we held on for some time, the clock in her kitchen slowly ticking as time passed us by.
“I’m going to bed,” she finally declared, breaking our stare and giving me her back.
“Right,” I muttered, pulling my eyes from her and grinding my teeth.
She left me with that, and I got to work making the couch up. I didn’t need the sheets, but I knew Margo well enough that if I didn’t use them, she might smack me with a frying pan. I pulled off my shirt, tossing it onto the arm of the couch before pulling back the covers, knowing damn well I wasn’t going to sleep.
Not after what she’d given me.