Fuck, I hate this.
I hate how Sylvester still has the power to take away my peace. The worst part is that I don’t even know if he was here. It could be nothing or it could be anything.
No matter what, this feeling of foreboding isn’t something I can shake off. I’ve been trying since the moment I saw the handle on the back door fall to the ground.
“Right,” I try to sound strong, but my voice comes out far weaker than I would like it too.
When Turner pulls me into his chest, I rest my head right over where his heart is beating. It helps to sooth some of the frayed feeling I can’t seem to shake.
“I’ve got you, Graycie,” I feel his words reverberate through his chest as his hand runs up and down my back.
“I know,” even though I whisper the words, I know he can hear them.
His hand stills for a moment and I can feel what’s coming. But it’s time for me to step up and get in front of it.
“I’m sorry I didn’t wake you up this morning or tell you I wanted to go to work ahead of time. I was starting to feel trapped in the clubhouse and I needed to get out. I was hoping something normal would help me get rid of the restless feeling,” I admit.
He makes a humming sound, and I can feel the tension in his body. “I was so fucking scared when Dad called, and I realized you weren’t in bed next to me,” I can hear the vestiges of the fear in his voice, the panic. “It took me a moment to even realize what he was telling me because I couldn’t focus with not knowing where you were. Then when I realized he was with you, at the bakery, I ran to Ryker’s door and started banging. Everything else was a blur until I could get my eyes on you.”
“I’m sorry I scared you.” I don’t know what else to say. “I’m lucky Warden was in the kitchen and offered to go with me. I realize now how stupid I was being. I just,” I sigh, “I needed a break from being the victim, and feeling like my scars were on display all the time.”
“No one looks at you and sees a victim,” his voice is solid, firm, like he believes his words without second guessing them. I wish I could be so sure. “No one sees your scars as a weakness.”
I press my forehead against his chest, part of me wishing I could get closer and the rest of me wishing I could just disappear and not deal with any of the shit swirling around me. Haven’t I dealt with enough?
You knew Sylvester was never going to let you go without a fight.
“Maybe,” it’s the only concession I can give, “but I see them as a weakness. They’re my reminder, my shame.”
Turner’s hands dive into my hair, tugging the strands until he’s looking into my eyes. “Playboy could try and cover them.”
My jaw drops as I process his words. Cover them? What is he talking about? “I don’t understand,” I whisper.
“Playboy runs Ridge Tattoos,” he explains.
“You think he could cover them with tattoos?” It’s something I’ve never considered since I don’t have any tattoos already. I never considered inking something into my skin permanently. I’m shaking my head as much as I can with the way he’s holding me and argue, “Some are really raised. I don’t think he’d be able to cover them.”
“I don’t know,” he tells me honestly, “but if you’re curious about it, I know he’d be willing to do a consultation.”
The scoff slips out before I can stop it. “I don’t know about that,” my words are hard as I think about the way he treated Lara.
Turner’s gray eyes bore into mine. “I don’t know what is going on with him or why he was giving Lara so much shit. He’s not usually like that. He might be a fuck-boy, but he’s not disrespectful.”
I gnaw on my bottom lip as I consider his words. It’s not like I know what is going on with him, I hardly know the man. Still, Lara doesn’t deserve his shitty attitude.
“I’ll think about it,” I offer because it’s the only thing I can do.
What would I even get? What if he can’t cover all the scars? Will it hurt?
I shake off the questions because I’m not going to be able to answer any of them right now. And I need to stay focused.
“Do you have a lot more stuff here?” Turner asks the question as he looks around the small space.
“No,” I answer him, “I didn’t come here with much. The place was furnished when I moved in. It’s mostly just clothes that I’ve gotten while I’ve been here.” I shrug one shoulder, my words casual, “I was nervous about getting too much or really setting down roots.”
“I get it, Graycie-girl,” he murmurs, “but now you have a reason to set down roots here.” His eyes sweep over the space again. “Go ahead and pack everything you have left here.”
My eyebrows shoot up to my hairline, my voice coming out high and incredulous, “Excuse me? Pack up the rest of my stuff? Why would I do that?”