BooksBarbecue
Back This Woman Save as PDF
Chapters (44)
  1. Cover
  2. Praise For Jodi Ellen Malpas
  3. Dedication
  4. Prologue
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. 22
  27. 23
  28. 24
  29. 25
  30. 26
  31. 27
  32. 28
  33. 29
  34. 30
  35. 31
  36. 32
  37. 33
  38. 34
  39. 35
  40. 36
  41. 37
  42. 38
  43. About Jodi Ellen Malpas
  44. Also by Jodi Ellen Malpas

“I love being here too.” Her fingertip meets the silver edge of my scar and draws a line from one end to the other.

I watch her trace the jagged mark, her pretty nail looking so perfect against the ugly, imperfect mark. “Good,” I whisper. “So you’ll stay?”

“Yes.” She swallows. “Tell me how you got this.”

It’s an effort not to shut her down with a straight no. And yet another opportunity passes me by. Or, more accurately, I run away from it, taking her hand and squeezing, my scar tingling terribly. “Ava,” I say softly. “I really don’t like talking about it.” I feel her tense, and I know I’ve just increased her curiosity tenfold.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs quietly.

I curse myself and kiss her hand. She’s sorry. She shouldn’t be. She’s making everything better. “Please, don’t be. It’s not something that’s important to the here and now.” My mouth is talking, words coming, all wrong words. “Dragging up my past serves no purpose other than to remind me of it.”

“What did you mean when you said that things are easier to bear when I’m here?” she asks, lifting her head from my chest to get me in her sights. I can’t bear the sympathy on her face. She could never comprehend the level of darkness I’m trying to leave behind. Trying to escape. And desperately trying not to poison her with.

She’s waiting patiently for me to answer, but I can’t, and my inability to spit out the words makes me so fucking angry with myself. “It means I like having you around,” I say sharply, pushing her back into my chest and letting my head fall back.

She sweetly rests her lips on my flesh and pain sears me. Pain for her. And if she hurts, I’ll hurt. This is a lose-lose situation.

For both of us.

35

An hour later, she’s asleep in my arms, breathing consistently and calmly. Her blissful oblivion is a stark contrast to the panic within me. I’m welded to the couch, unable to move, and I’ve been staring at the same spot on the ceiling for so long my eyes are dry. I’m certain if I could bring myself to peek at the woman in my arms, I’d find a blemish on her thigh where I’ve been stroking in circles for the past hour.

She stirs, murmurs some sleepy, quiet words, and I finally rip my stare from the ceiling, my chin pushing into my chest to see her face. The peace I find slices another piece off my heart. I’m content with her here in my arms, and yet in complete turmoil. And she has no idea.