Meet Cute (Love, Camera, Action Book 5) Elise Faber (types of ebook readers TXT) 📖

A strange pounding sound.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

I followed it, saw another shadow emerge, this time one that I recognized. It was Tex, my cookie assistant. Moving toward him, I stopped just to his side.

“You got him?” he asked.

“Yeah, thanks,” I said. “Can you make sure we have some privacy?”

“Done.” He stepped back, blended into the shadows.

And I followed the thunk, thunk, thunk to the man who’d stolen my heart in a matter of days—no, the man to whom I’d freely offered up my heart, and who’d offered his in return.

He’d stopped near one of the large oak trees on the property, its wide expanse of branches providing Tal with more shadows, more coverage from the moonlight above. It didn’t take a genius to process what he was doing—punching the trunk. Over and over again, until I knew that his knuckles must be a bloody freaking mess.

I made my way over to him, staying well out of the way of his backswing as he threw his punches.

Stopping once I’d circled around to face him, the trunk between us, I waited, biting back my winces as the thunking continued, as my eyes slowly adjusted to the dark. He was like a demon possessed, the blows fast and furious, and I knew he was going to be hurting—although probably not as bad as what was tearing him up inside. Because that had been a thorn buried deep, one that had hurt him over and over again, one that was freshly uncovered and jabbing him once more.

Parents had the unique ability to wound their children repeatedly—through neglect and assault, through sharp words and insecurities prodded, and through what Tal and I had both dealt with, abandonment.

So, perhaps we’d begun filling in those gaps, the yawning, jagged crevices, but we would never be completely whole.

That option had been taken from us.

But I wasn’t leaving him.

I could wait for him to get his fury out—barely. Hate that he needed to beat up a tree—and his hands—in order to do so, even as I understood the urge and wouldn’t intervene for the moment. But I wasn’t going to stand back and watch him suffer like this. I was going to take some of this fucking burden off his shoulders because I damn well knew that he would absolutely do the same for me.

Finally, he stopped punching, stepped back, chest heaving, head hanging, and I slipped between him and the trunk, taking his hands in mine.

Just as I’d suspected, they were beat up to hell.

He’d have realistically battered hands for his knight movie, I supposed, so long as he hadn’t actually broken anything.

That would probably mess something up.

“You should have used your sword,” I whispered.

Tal was frozen, silent for long moments. Then, “I didn’t want to hurt the tree.”

I pressed a kiss to a small patch of undamaged skin. “Baby, you hurt yourself.”

“Good.”

My temper spiked, my fingers clenching around his wrist. “No, you dumb ass,” I snapped, and here I paused for a second, considered if I should go with the soft, gentle approach. I studied his face, saw the recalcitrance there, and realized this wasn’t the time to go soft and gentle. This time, my care needed to be in the form of a woman who wasn’t going to allow her man to sink down into the depths of despair.

“No,” I said, my tone fierce. “You don’t get to hurt yourself, not because something from your past might have come up, and not because someone struck out trying to wound you.” I reached up, gripped his face. “If that man is your dad—and I’ll admit that it gives me more than a blip of guilt to think that I might have shot the person who fathered you—”

His face gentled.

And no, he didn’t get to do that either, didn’t get to turn this onto me, to try and ease my conscience.

I kissed him—hard and deep—then stared intently into his eyes. “If that man is truly your father, then you’ll have closure, baby. You’ll know what happened, and you can put it behind you. Because”—and here, I jostled him lightly—“even if he is your freaking sperm donor, the truth is from what you’ve told me, he never was a dad to you.”

Tal inhaled sharply.

“So this man, who tried to harm you, who might have harmed you when you were a child, is a fucking monster, and he doesn’t deserve a thing from you.” I slid one hand down, rested it over his chest. “But you,” I whispered. “You deserve more, and if there is even a small part of you hidden down deep inside, then you deserve to know whether or not what he’s saying is the truth.”

Quiet.

Long, tense, stifling silence again.

Tal going so still, I could hardly see him breathe.

Then he pulled out of my arms, spun away, and strode off.

Despair curled inside me as I watched him go, hating that I’d clearly said the wrong thing, that I’d snapped at him. I should have gone with soft and gentle, should have comforted and been—

Warm arms wrapped around me, hauling me against a hard chest.

“You’re right, Hazel Eyes,” he whispered into my ear.

Every nerve ending inside me relaxed, my body spinning in his, pressing my front to his. “About so many things,” I said lightly, so freaking relieved that he’d circled back around, that I hadn’t said the wrong thing, that I hadn’t ruined things. “You want to do the test?”

He nodded.

“I’ll call Maggie.”

His fingers weaved into my hair, holding me against him. “Later,” he whispered, fingers stroking down my throat. “For now, I just need to hold the woman I love.”

And that was when I learned that care came in many more forms than I’d first expected.

It could be a hug.

It could a fierce reply to snap someone out of a despairing mood.

It could be gentle touches.

It could be . . . me holding this man under the moonlight, knowing that, as unfeasible as it might seem, he had found a slice of heaven in my arms.

No