“Mmmm,” she mused, looking at the job she was doing as if it wasn’t anything at all when I could feel her toiling with something big. “He is somethin’ to look at, isn’t he? Little scary, actually.”
She cut a glance my way, watching for my reaction. Ready to catch my true feelings. The woman had always been able to read me like an open book. One that had pictures painted in just to be sure you actually picked up on the meaning. Hell, I was pretty sure that book even had cliff notes.
“I’m a little scared of the way he makes me feel, honestly.”
She gave a tight nod, as if she totally got it. “So . . . are you two a thing?”
“No,” I mumbled, snapping the end of a bean and tossing it into the colander.
She laughed a light, knowing sound. “Well, there may not be any labels you have placed on each other, but you definitely are something. I felt you two coming on like a sonic boom. Think I felt the rumble of it an hour before you hit town.”
“No, Mama. I think we might be too complicated for each other. Too messed up. Besides, we don’t exactly match, do we? I think I might be a little simple for him.”
She pushed out a small sigh. “Too simple? I don’t think so, sweet girl. But there is no doubt that man is carrying around a burden. You can see it written all over him. Holds his shoulders too high to keep the weight from crushing him.”
I blinked through the confusion. “He’s a fortress, Mama.”
She bumped her hip into mine. “One you wanna climb.”
“Mama,” I chastised.
She laughed. “What? You’re a grown woman, and that is one fine looking man.”
“Mama,” I hissed quickly again, though I was laughing a little, too.
“I might be old, but I’m not blind.”
“You’re not old.”
“You’re the blind one,” she told me softly, as softly as she was looking at me. She reached out and touched my cheek. “And I see the burden you’re carrying, too, Em.” She grimaced. “I hate that Nile hurt you. I nearly chased that boy out of town with a stick when I found out what he’d done.”
My head slowly shook. “It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not.”
I fumbled a smile, and she frowned. “What is it, sweet girl? It’s more, isn’t it? There’s something there that wasn’t there before. Something that’s dimming those trusting eyes, and I hate to see that.”
I scrambled around for an explanation, for something to give her because I didn’t want to give her a lie. If she knew about Richard, about what I’d done to protect him, what it’d done to me, she would be devastated.
But I knew if I was goin’ to take a stand, neither of those things would remain a secret for long.
Dread curled through my body.
A bridge I was going to have to burn was coming up fast.
Would I be brave enough to light the match?
My tongue darted out to wet my dried lips as I struggled for the right words. “All my life growing up, you told me that life is full of choices. Ones we don’t always want to have to make but we’re forced into. That sometimes life takes us directions we never planned on goin’.”
“It’s never too late to turn back.”
“But what if we get there and there’s no way of leaving? What if we have a dead-end coming up, and there is no way to stop before we collide with it?”
Worry sped across her features, and she set her hand on my cheek. “You can trust me with anything, Emily. You know that, don’t you?”
I pressed her hand closer. “I do. But there are some things we have to stand up and do for ourselves.”
“I will always be here if you need me. But the one thing I want you to remember is if you’re in the middle of something, dealing with a stronghold in your life? Know you have the power to crush it. Make the choice never to go back. Or if you are stuck? In a place you can’t leave no matter what? You make that place your own. Conquer the cruelty. Own the oppression.” Her voice deepened with emphasis. “You, Emily Ramsey, are stronger than you think.”
I started to respond, but I fumbled, words dying on my tongue when I felt the presence invade.
A quiet power that infiltrated the room.
I glanced up to find Royce standing in the kitchen entryway, shifting in discomfort, roughing one of those inked hands through his black hair.
God, the man was staggering.
Stunning where he stood.
He’d changed into ripped jeans and an old band tee, his attire so different than what I’d grown accustomed to seeing him wear, though it somehow seemed to fit him perfectly.
He looked like he’d been plucked from a stage. A rocker who played hard and fast and a little wicked. Or maybe like one of those tatted Instagram boys with a gazillion followers, tossing one of those sinful, brooding smiles at the camera.