Page 87 of Best Kind of Trouble
Anger is never confusing. It doesn’t make you feel helpless. It demands.
“Youshouldbe angry,” I tell her, the words coming out like sandpaper. “I’m fucking angry.”
She surprises me by smiling. “Why?”
“No one gets to treat you that way. Especially not them.”
I’ve been watching her for weeks. Trying to come up with ways to make this brewery work for her sake as much as mine. Because she’s the kind of woman who makes a man want to believe.
“Put them on,” I say, handing the gloves to her.
I watch as she does, her hands still trembling.
“That woman at your parents’ house. You said she cut your hair?”
She pulls the gloves on. She should look ridiculous in that ruined green dress and the boxing gloves, but she doesn’t. She’s a vision. A fucking goddess. An angel.
Mine, a voice in my head whispers. And I practically claw the back of my head to shut it up.
Briar meets my gaze, and I’m grateful to see the spark of determination in her eyes.
“The boy she had a crush on liked me.”
“Of course he fucking did. Who would settle for her if they thought they might have a shot with you?”
She gives me a trembling smile. “I’ve always kept my hair long. I like it this way. It makes me feel…” She shrugs. “It’s stupid.”
“It makes you feel safe.” I let my fingers trace the length of one of the locks. “Nothing stupid about wanting to feel safe.”
She turns to me with a gleam in her eyes. “How did you know?”
“Takes one to know one, Princess. Now, what did that cunt do to you?”
“You sound like Hannah.”
“We were raised by the same asshole. There was no hope for either of us.”
“You met my father,” she says softly, the words knifing through me.
“Yes, that was my displeasure. Now, what did she do to you? You might as well tell me now. If you don’t, I’m going to take it upon myself to find out.”
She glances down, and without thinking, I reach over and tip her chin up—tension flash-frying me when our eyes meet.
She’s quiet for a moment, and I don’t think she’s going to confide in me. None of my business, really, so I should back the fuck off. But for once in my life, I want to know something I’ve got no right knowing.
She parts her lips. “She…” Pain fills her eyes, and I stroke her chin with my fingers. “She and her friends…they had this dumb club. They invited me to join them, and I was so excited, even though she’d always been kind of mean to me. Melly said I had to meet them in this old cabin in the woods…” She takes a break, working up to it. “They tied me to a chair and chopped my hair off. All of it. It wasn’t this long back then, but it was way past my shoulders. There were…” She swallows, her eyes full of tears. “There were some patches that were practically bald in the back. They left me out there in the cabin, and no one found me until the next morning.”
“I see,” I say, already calculating what I could do to ruin this woman’s life. I’d never hurt her physically, but there are many ways you can ruin a person. Sure, the assault happened years ago, but it’s obvious Melly feels as much remorse over what she did as I feel about hitting the owner of Mountain Morning. “And I suppose they warned you not to tell anyone.”
Briar nods, her chin moving in my hand, which is still cupping it. “I said I’d decided to cut my hair. My parents and the teachers thought…they thought I’d had some kind of episode. Melly got all of the other kids to call me Batshit Briar.”
“And you still didn’t tell.”
“No one…”
“You don’t think anyone would have done anything,” I say woodenly, feeling like I probably should have turned pyro and set that mansion on fire after all.
The look on her face says it all.
