“I get it. It’s hard imagining yourself actually caring for someone like me.”
“That’s not it.”
“Are you so sure? Have you given any thought to how you’ll explain me to your aunt and uncle? What about the teachers you work with? How will good little Alexandra be taken when she’s dating a thug?”
“Don’t presume that I’m so shallow. The moment my parents were killed, I gave up giving two shits about what people thought of me. No one wants to be labeled the orphaned freak or always have someone whispering about them. It’s the one reason I went away to college and never stepped back in my hometown. I never wanted to be a martyr to the tragedies in my life.” Pushing myself up in the bed, I crossed my arms over my chest. “Yes, we’re from very different worlds. Just like people might question me about my choice of you, I don’t doubt for a minute that some in the Raiders will question you as well.”
“It’s none of their fucking business.”
“You know as well as I do that they’ll make it their business. That’s what people do.” Reaching out, I took his hand in mine. “At the end of the day, it doesn’t matter what anyone else says. It’s about you and me.” I stared down at his hand, running my fingers over his. It should’ve been frightening to hold the hand that dispensed malicious justice. But it was also the hand that had so gently washed me last night, the fingers that had tenderly put ointment on my wounds. Warmth pulsed through me at the thought of another talent his fingers and hand had.
Deacon brought his other hand to my cheek. “Just you and me.”
Leaning in to his palm, I closed my eyes, enjoying the feel of his callused fingers against my cheek. The brief moment of intimacy ended with a voice from out in the hallway. “Can I come back in now?” Willow asked.
At Deacon’s grunt of frustration, I giggled. There was something so endearing about seeing Mr. Rough and Tough be utterly clueless when it came to a pint-sized girl. “Yes, you can come back in now.”
Willow bounded through the open doorway, coloring book and crayons in hand. “I thought we could color together.”
“I would like that a lot.”
After placing her stuff on the nightstand, she crawled over Deacon and wedged herself between us. I grinned at the appalled look on Deacon’s face. “You know, you could have gone to the other side,” Deacon said.
“It would be harder to share crayons, then.”
His brows shot up. “What?”
“Don’t you want to color with us?”
Deacon opened his mouth to protest, but I gave a quick shake of my head. “Sure he does.” When he stared at me like I had lost my mind, I said, “I need the company.”
Unable or unwilling to argue with me on that point, Deacon merely exhaled a long whoosh of air. Glancing between Willow and me, he asked, “So what are we coloring?”
“Ballerina Barbie,” Willow answered.
“I should have known,” he mumbled.
As he held up a simple purple crayon, I knew without a shadow of a doubt that, no matter what other acts that hand might have been responsible for, I loved Deacon with all my heart.
The heave and sigh of Beth’s old porch swing almost lulled me to sleep. With my e-reader resting in my lap, I stared out over the railings to the woods beyond the compound. When I leaned forward to get a better view of a deer nibbling on some grass, pain shot through my back, and I sucked in a harsh breath.
Three days had passed since my attack. While the belt lashes had begun to scab over and heal, the soreness in my bones and muscles seemed to be taking a little longer to mend. Emotionally I was getting stronger. I hadn’t had to take anything to sleep the last two nights. Of course, it didn’t hurt that Deacon slept by my side, making me feel secure and protected.
I hadn’t been back home, and I dreaded the thought of facing my kitchen again. When I closed my eyes, I could still see Atticus’s lifeless form and the horrible man who had attacked me. Deacon had promised to take me home when I thought I was ready, but I wasn’t sure when that would be.
It had worked out almost too perfectly that school was out for our weeklong October break, so I didn’t have to worry about making an excuse to my principal about my absence. I certainly couldn’t have gone in to work bruised and battered. It would have raised too much suspicion and discussion about what was happening in my private life.
Deacon’s voice snapped me out of my thoughts. “Hey,” he said, an impish grin on his face.
“Hey to you, too.”
He walked down the length of the porch with a large wooden crate in his arms. Jerking my chin at the box, I asked, “What’s in there?”
“A present for you.”
My brows shot up in surprise. “You got me a present?”
“You act like I would never do something so thoughtful.”
I giggled. “I am a little surprised.”
With a scowl, he said, “I do have a few decent bones in my body, you know.”
“Yes, I know.”
After setting the box down at my feet, he scratched the back of his neck. It was endearing because I knew he usually did it when he was nervous. “I’m hoping you’ll like it. If you don’t want it, I can give it to someone else.”
I shook my head at him. “Oh no, you don’t. Besides, I’m sure I’ll love it.”
Once again, he tugged on the hair at the base of his neck. “I hope you do. I mean, I hope it was the right thing to do.”