Show Me How
Page 32

The depth of his apology stunned me, but it didn’t change what I saw. What I’d felt and let myself believe . . . how he’d lied to me and forgotten about me. My head shook, but he continued.
“I fucked up, I know. I have never been more aware of anything in my life than how much I’ve messed up with you. I got stuck at the garage tonight, I swear to God.”
“I’m sure you can understand why I don’t believe you,” I bit out, and hated that my eyes burned with unshed tears.
Deacon Carver hadn’t deserved my tears then, and he most certainly didn’t deserve them now. Not when he could see them, not when he could get a glimpse into how much he’d hurt me.
“Give me a chance to make it up to you.”
“No!” I huffed sadly and shook my head furiously. “You told me exactly what you thought of me. You forced me to stand there so you could apologize and somehow got me to agree to let you make it up to me. And then you made me look like an idiot because I so stupidly let myself believe for one second that you might actually care about someone other than yourself! Because I believed that you would actually show.”
“Charlie, I do, and I meant to,” he ground out. “I nev—”
“No, you don’t get to try to tell me how you intended to be there for me after you finished screwing someone else.”
His large hands tightened around my shoulders, not uncomfortably, but like he was pleading with me through his touch alone.
But I wasn’t finished.
Deacon should know better by now. If I thought about something long enough, if I imagined how a conversation would go in my mind enough times, once I finally started talking about it I wouldn’t stop until I said every last word.
“And now look where we are . . . with you forcing me to stand still so you can apologize and ask me to give you another chance.” I forced a laugh from my chest, but it sounded wet from my tears. “How many times can you make me look like an idiot before it stops being some sick, hilarious joke to you?”
He flinched as though I’d slapped him across the face. “You think I find this funny? You think this is a joke to me?”
“What else could it be?”
My breath came out on a rush when my back suddenly hit a wall. Deacon’s body was flush against mine, pinning me in place, his face was a breath from mine.
And, God, I hated him for making me want to beg him to close that distance.
Every rough breath brushed my chest against his.
Every touch incited something inside me I had been so sure I would never feel again.
His hands moved slowly across my shoulders, the tips of his fingers barely grazed against the slope of my throat until his large hands were cradling my neck and his thumbs were brushing along my jaw.
His eyes followed the movements of his hand, as if he was memorizing the path they took, the curve of my neck.
My heart beat wildly in my chest, begging to be freed.
Begging to be seen by this man.
“Tell me, Charlie Girl,” he said roughly as his nose brushed against mine. “This . . . does this feel like a joke? Because the hell you’ve been putting me through for the past two weeks sure as fuck hasn’t felt like one.”
I blinked up into those eyes, those eyes that were once so cold and unforgiving but now held a heat unlike anything I’d ever seen before.
“That I’ve put you through?” I whispered in disbelief.
One of his hands moved up so his thumb could brush across my cheek, but I was so captivated by his stare and the feel of his hands on me and his body pressed against me that I couldn’t find it in me to be embarrassed that he’d wiped a tear away.
“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he admitted gruffly. “I can’t stop seeing you even when I try to force the thought of you away. I can’t stop wanting you, needing you. All I’ve thought about since Knox’s wedding is feeling you like this again.” His body pressed harder against mine, emphasizing his words. “To go through all of that day in and day out with a girl I know I should never have, with a girl I’ve forced to hate me, has been the purest form of hell.”
His words were ecstasy and agony all at once.
A girl I know I should never have. Deacon’s words swirled around and around in my mind until they were all I knew.
So similar to ones Ben had said so many years ago before he’d destroyed my heart, and yet so different coming from the man holding me.
My heart and my mind and my body were screaming so many different things I couldn’t think straight. I wanted to hate him and kiss him and slap him and beg him to say it all again so I would know I hadn’t imagined it.
My head shook faintly. “You . . . no. The girl. I saw her . . .”
Deacon flinched and his eyes shut. When he looked at me again, he looked like he was in pain. “I said I tried to force away the thought of you.”
“You disgust me,” I breathed.
It was all coming back to me.
Ben telling me he loved me even though he knew he shouldn’t. Taking my virginity and promising me a future with him, then asking Grey to marry him two days later because he was afraid to lose the years he’d had with her. Calling me a mistake because he wasn’t in love with me.
Watching as he pushed the thought of me, of us, away because he was scared.
And now Deacon forgetting about me because he was having sex with some nameless girl—all because he was trying to force the thought of me away.
I didn’t understand what it was about me that made guys want to drown out the thought of me with another woman, but it hurt.
God, it hurt.
“That’s nothing I don’t already know, Charlie Girl.”
My head shook harder. “You’re disgusting. Let me go and get out of my house,” I said through gritted teeth as another tear fell, and then another. No matter how hard I tried to keep them away, I couldn’t stop them.
I hurt.
I wanted to be wanted, wholly and unconditionally. Just once.
“Christ, Charlie, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he whispered soothingly, and wiped at my cheeks. “I’m sorry, please stop crying.”
“Leave.” I pressed against his chest, but he didn’t move away. “Let go of me!”
Deacon’s hands immediately left my face and landed on the wall on either side of my head, but his body didn’t leave mine. Instead, he dipped in closer until his lips were at my ear, just like the day before, and said, “I’m an asshole. I’ve lived the last—God, I don’t know how long, just waiting for the next girl, and the next. Names and faces didn’t matter, just as long as they were gone as fast as they got there. You want me to go, then I’m gone. But I know I won’t get this chance again, so just listen.