Breathless In Love

She could feel his heartbeat beneath her fingertips. “Yes. And you rescued him.”

“Evan, Daniel, and Sebastian rescued him, Harper.” He looked her straight in the eye. “I was one of those bullies.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Harper tipped her head back to look at him. The strong lines of his face were tense, the bedside lamp casting dark shadows across one half.

“You were bullying him?” She shook her head, unable to put the amazing man she’d fallen for in that picture, even as a boy. “I can’t believe that.”

His jaw flexed. “Believe it.”

“But I’ve seen you with Matt’s son, Noah. I’ve seen the way that little boy looks at you, and the way Matt trusts you. How could he trust you with his son if you did that?” No father would have let a son of his near the man who’d been his bully when he was a child.

He filled his lungs with another deep breath. “Because, in the end, I changed.” He exhaled sharply. “I changed my mind.”

“I don’t understand.” And she truly didn’t—couldn’t understand anything he was saying to her when it was the exact opposite of what she’d come to know about him.

“I belonged to a gang. In my neighborhood, you were either a bully or you got bullied,” he said in rapid-fire bursts. “You had to act like them to be accepted. So I did.”

His arm still bound her to him as if he was afraid she’d get away. Reaching up, she forced his palm against her cheek, holding him, too, as she tried to piece it all together.

“Road Warriors?” When he nodded, she said, “So if you felt you had to be a bully to fit in, then why did you change your mind about Matt?”

“Maybe I felt sorry for him because he was so scrawny. Or maybe there was just something in his eyes when he looked at me, like they were a kind of mirror that made me see myself in them. See what I was doing.” His whole body was rigid along the length of hers. “I told them to leave him alone. So they turned on me.” She felt his shrug, as if what the bullies had done to him was nothing and only what he’d been about to do to Matt had meaning. “That’s when Daniel and Sebastian rescued me. They were always good fighters.”

“I’m sorry.” She understood bullying. She’d seen neighborhood kids pick on Jeremy. She’d put herself between them. But Will a bully? She remembered his defense of Jeremy at the grocery store, and, in a way, his story made sense of his reaction that day. He’d seen himself in that clerk. Cruel and demeaning. And he’d gone overboard to protect her brother. “But the gang took you back?”

“I went back. I thought they were my people. I thought they were my family, the only one that would ever want me. And that isn’t all I did.” He caressed her cheek with his thumb, his touch a contrast to what he was saying. “You need to know everything. Everything I’ve never told anyone but the Mavericks and my foster mom and dad. I was a burglar and a car thief, too.” He moved slightly, indicating the tattoo on his arm. “I stole anything I thought I could sell. I was really good at picking out the good stuff.” His laugh was more of a snort, angry and mocking. “I still am. I’ve made a fortune at peddling the good stuff.”

Her lips parted. She couldn’t seem to close them again.

“My dad sent me into houses. I was small and I fit through windows where he couldn’t. He’d toss me in and I’d unlock the place for him. Since I was always able to spot the best stuff, dear old pops put that skill to excellent use. We lifted everything we could carry.”

“Your father?” No one could do that to a child, especially not their own child, could they? Except that she wasn’t naïve. She knew people did awful things to children all the time. But this was Will. Not some fifteen-second news bite about a stranger.

“He’s in prison now. Three strikes and you’re out.”

It was hard to breathe, hard to hear, but she knew it was harder for him to tell. “How old were you when he made you steal for him?”

“It started when I was eight. A couple of years after my mom died. When my father figured I was old enough to follow orders without screwing up.”

Her whole soul ached for him, as if she’d suddenly been shoved through a tiny window right along with him, shards of glass scarring her the way his father had scarred him. She’d wondered why he’d sidestepped all her questions, why he’d never told her his story. Now she knew: This was the truth he hadn’t wanted her to pry up.

She’d told her story so many times that she’d ended up feeling as though it defined her, as though it had too much power over her. Whereas, even though Will had told almost no one else, she could see the enormous power his past had over him—and that he believed it defined him, too.

But couldn’t he see? “None of that was your fault.”

He pulled from her then, almost to the opposite side of the bed. So far, far away that even if her hand had been on his chest, his heart, she still wouldn’t have touched him.

“Maybe I wasn’t to blame at first. But all the stuff I did later was my fault. All the bad choices. Lots of bad choices.”

She ached to run her fingers down his arm or to smooth the tightness from his forehead. Anything to ease his pain. But he needed to get it out, and she was afraid that he’d stop if she pushed him just then. Still, she needed to say again, “You were just a kid.”