“Maybe…” Lee offered, his voice lighter. “…or maybe it’s in their genes. You seem pretty tough. It could be you inherited it.”
Wren huffed a laugh. “All signs point tono." If strength were in the genes, Laurie would have been able to clean herself up. She would have survived. She would have been able to carry her own guilt and actually take care of someone else.
But she wasn’t strong enough.
“I disagree.”
Wren made a face he couldn’t see. “Not to be rude or anything, but what would you know about it?”
She heard him dip the paddle back into the water, and the kayak resumed its smooth gliding. “I seem to remember a girl in a hospital bed with an exploding ovary who — moments before passing out, mind you — rated her pain as a seven when it was at least a nine. Maybe even a ten.”
Wren twisted in her seat and stared at him. “Holy shit. You remember that?”
The left side of his mouth lifted. “Hell, yes. I remember telling myself you were tough. And you are,” he said. “You’re a survivor.”
The blood drained from her face, and Wren turned away, hoping Lee hadn’t noticed. She bent her knees, rested her elbows against them, and cradled her head.
Survivor?She’d never identified with that term.
How can I be a survivor if a piece of my soul is dead?
CHAPTER TWENTY
HE’D SAID SOMETHINGwrong.
Lee wasn’t sure what, but the instant before she slumped forward, Wren’s face had held a look of devastation.
The last ten minutes had taught him so much about her. She was stronger than he’d ever imagined. And, yet, she was a hundred times more fragile. He wanted to crush her against him. He wanted to cradle her in his arms.
How had she survived the childhood she’d described? An addicted mother who’d dosed herself to death? Who didn’t bother to hide her drug abuse from her child? Who used her to get high?
And where was her father?
Lee found himself growing angry at a sick woman who’d been dead for almost twenty years and a man he knew nothing about.
He shook his head to clear it. By Wren’s own account, she’d had the safety net in her grandparents. Clearly, they’d loved and cared for her. Her grandmother still did. However Wren had made it through, Lee was just glad she had.
Still, this wasn’t an easy subject for her. Lee wanted to know more, but that could wait. He was supposed to be showing her a good time, not making her relive her nightmares.
“You haven’t eaten your lunch,” he ventured, setting down his paddle and picking up the chicken thigh in his lap.
Wren lifted her head. “Well, Victor’s very interested in it.”
Lee peered over her shoulder to find that Victor had gotten to his feet. The dog watched Wren in anticipation, his tail wagging.
“Is he bothering you? I can take him back here if he is,” Lee offered, but he was secretly glad the dog had given them something else to talk about.
“Oh, no. I love Victor. He’d never be a bother,” she said, her voice dipping sweetly over the words.
Lee wondered if he’d ever stop being jealous of his own dog.
“Can I feed him something?” she asked.
“Not the grapes. Those are poisonous for dogs—”
“Shit, really?” Wren looked over her shoulder, eyes wide. “Why didn’t you tell me? What if I’d dropped one, and he’d eaten it?”
Lee frowned. “Well, did you?”