Page 51 of Embracing the Beat
“He didn’t know. They were always together when I thought she was out with girlfriends. Always went back to his place, but she never stayed the night. She always came home.”
“Jesus, West.” I throw my arms around him, giving him the strongest hug I can manage.
His arms curl around me, the heat of his hands branding me through my shirt.
“I’m so sorry.” My voice is muffled against the cotton stretching across his chest.
We stay wrapped together for several moments before he clears his throat and steps back, gesturing for us to keep walking.
“When I heard those girls talking earlier, when I read what I did online, I—I don’t know. Thinking you were with someone when we slept together, pregnant with his baby—”
All the pieces click into place for me. I may not agree with how he questioned me earlier, but at least I understand why.
“It brought it all back,” I murmur.
If I thought I had trust issues, they pale in comparison to the betrayal West has lived through.
“I guess so. I didn’t even stop to think about why I felt the way I did. My only thought was to talk to you.”
“Because you thought I was like Ashley.” Bitterness coats my words. I didn’t do anything wrong. I’m not only paying for my supposed crimes, but hers as well.
This time he stops, his fingers wrapping around my bicep to halt my progress.
“No. You’re nothing like her.”
“Then why did you come home so upset?” Anger and hurt mix equally inside me. He can’t say I’m nothing like her and then accuse me of doing exactly what she did to him.
“I…” He is so adorably confused I can’t help but smile at the picture he makes, releasing some of my anger and hurt.
“You?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s not an answer. It’s a cop-out. Just tell me. Be honest with me.”
His eyes flare at the word I used unintentionally.
“I am being honest with you.”
“Then you’re not being honest with yourself.” Frustrated because he still won’t tell me why he was so upset, I throw my hands up, dislodging his fingers from my arm. “To hell with this. I’m going home.”
I don’t get farther than about five feet before he’s in front of me, stopping my progress.
“Mikey.” His eyes are begging me to let him off the hook on this one. But I’m not interested in letting his behavior slide.
“You don’t get a free pass to treat me like shit, West.”
“I said I was sorry.”
“I want to know why.”
“I told you already.”
“No. You didn’t. First”—I wave my index finger in his face—“you accuse me of doing what Ashley did to you.” A second finger joins the first. “Then you tell me I’m nothing like her.” A third. “And now you ‘don’t know’ when I know that you do. Thank you for sharing, but I’m going home.”
I step around him and march toward the house.
“Mikey.” He groans my name, and I’m reminded of a different name, a different groan, and my traitorous body responds, my nipples pebbling against my bra.
