Page 33 of Beg for You

“You’re not…okay,” he said, obviously still struggling with his speech.

“I am,” I said and turned away, trying to pull out of his hold when another tear slid down my face. He wouldn’t let me. I shot to my feet when another one fell. I needed to get out of there. Humiliation burned my cheeks as I grabbed for my shirt.

Cal’s hand came down on my shoulder, solid and warm, then he tugged me against him. “You’re not leaving, Princess,” he said against the top of my head. “Not like this.”

“I’m fine, Cal.” Another sob escaped. What the hell was wrong with me?

“You need to let me clean…and dress what we’ve done.”

I nodded reluctantly, standing still as he quickly and efficiently did what he needed to.

As soon as he was done, I tried to get away.

He made a rough sound a lot like a growl and stopped me, and after shoving my arms in my shirt, not bothering with my bra, he tucked me back into his side and ushered me out of the room. “Let’s go.”

I gripped the front of my shirt together with trembling hands so I didn’t flash my boobs. “Where are we—”

“Cal,” Dane called after us. “You got time for a walk-in?”

“No,” Cal grunted back. “They can make an…appointment.”

Then he was leading me up some stairs that I stumbled over, while struggling to see through my tears. We got to the top, and he shoved the door open and flicked on a light. Then I was lifted, and he carried me to what I could only assume was a couch, because I was still having trouble seeing, and sat us on it.

He shoved my face into this throat and kissed my temple. “You wanna cry, Princess, you cry.”

I shook my head. “No, I…I…” I crumpled.

Burying my face deeper, I clung to the front of his T-shirt and let go. There was no choice, no holding it in. My life was a mess, and I had no idea what to do. My father wouldn’t stop texting and calling. Spencer wouldn’t leave me alone.

And if I said no, if I refused to do what my father wanted, not only would it kill my grandmother but it would be the end of a relationship between my father and me. If it didn’t destroy it, it would just be another way I’d let him down, and he would never let me forget it. Just like Chris’s death.

I wanted time to stop. I wanted to stay here, on this couch, with Cal. Where I didn’t have to face reality. Where I felt free and alive for the first time since the accident. I cried against his massive chest until the tears ran out.

Finally, I lifted my head and looked up at him.

He cupped my face in those huge rough-skinned hands and swiped away the moisture from my cheeks with his thumbs. His eyes were pained. “You done crying, babe?”

I nodded and forced a watery smile. “I think I’m all cried out.”

“You wanna tell me what that was about?”

I bit my lip and he growled again, pulling it free.

“Don’t,” he muttered. “You’ll hurt yourself again.”

“Maybe you should kiss it better?”

One of his hands lightly fisted my hair and his eyes seemed to darken. “After you tell me why you were crying.”

It was obvious this wasn’t just about the pain of my tattoo, and I got the feeling he wasn’t going to let it drop. “I was thinking about Chris, my brother. How much I missed him. How I wish he was here to see me restart our breeding program at the ranch. That the tattoo would hopefully help erase the awful images I have of my brother’s last moments and remind me of a better time…” My eyes welled with tears again and I swallowed the lump in my throat. “That, combined with the pain…and I…I guess I felt a little fragile.” I motioned to myself, the mess my face must have been. “I’m sorry for all this. I never cry…I…”

His mouth touched mine, just a soft brush of lips.

“What are you doing?” I whispered against his mouth.

“Kissing it better,” he said then kissed me gently again.

“Oh.”