I feel something jagged lance through my veins, like knives are sluicing through my body.
“Apologize,” I say flatly.
“What?” he laughs, and his four buddies laugh with him in a way that tells me they think I’m scared of them.
It’s dark.
They outnumber us.
I’m big, but they’re big too, and they clearly hit the gym and the drugs regularly.
They think all of this gives them an advantage.
Stupid pricks, yapping and thinking they’re tough.
“I told you to apologize,” I say. “I won’t tell you again.”
The man holds his free hand up, grinning in the dark.
“Okay, okay,” he says. “I’m sorry that your tastes are so fucked up that you had to choose the girl who ate all the pies—”
I move forward like vapor, my rage making my movements quick, but somehow I keep them controlled.
I step right up to him so that I can see the fear quivering in his eyes, but he’s a drugged-up asshole and he has his friends at his back.
He’s not going to back down.
I see the bottle-swing coming from a mile away, but I don’t let him know that.
I duck at the last second and then hammer him in the stomach.
His friends leap at me, all of them growling and yelling like that’s going to make any damn difference.
I slide silently away from their wild swings, ducking and spinning, coming up with savage strikes that leave them breathless.
Glass shatters loudly and one of the men screams when I elbow him across the jaw, a punishment for trying to throw the damn bottle at my head.
The only thing that stops me is the whimpering noises they all make when I have them laid out on the ground, all five of them holding their injuries, shivering on the glittering glass-laden earth.
I stand up, heaving in a breath, letting the red rush of rage fall away from my vision.
“Now, why the fuck did you have to do that?” I snarl, staring down at them. “Was it going to make you feel tough, eh? Bothering my woman? My fucking woman.”
I kneel down and place my forearm against their leader’s neck, and then grab his head in my palm and force him to look at Winter.
“I won’t tell you again,” I snap.
“I’m s-sorry,” he whimpers. “Oh, Jesus Christ, I’m sorry. Okay? Please. Please. Don’t hurt us anymore.”
I stand up, unclenching my fists with an effort.
“Asshole,” I grunt, walking over to Winter and wrapping my arm around her.
“I’m sorry,” I say, when we’re at the park’s exit. “I don’t usually lose my cool like that. But those men don’t have any right to talk down to you like that, especially about your size. It’s just … it’s just wrong, Winter.”
She looks up at me with teary eyes, and a shaky smile on her lips.
“That’s the first time anybody’s ever stood up for me to those jock types, Wayne,” she whispers. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”
“Always,” I growl, hugging her to me, feeling her heart hammering against my chest. “I’ll always protect you, Winter.”
Chapter Twelve
Winter
During the ATV ride home – and calling it home somehow feels fitting after our blizzardy, stormy closeness – I wrap my arms tight around Wayne and let the affection flow through me.
As the world of white hissing snow whooshes past, I think about the park, the way Wayne sprang into action to defend me.
Perhaps it says something about me that my chest filled with approval when he flew into the physical defense, but I’ve had so many snide comments over the years, so many cruel pranks, so many jibes about being nerdy and not the precise shape or size a bunch of jock douches seem to think I should be.
When I saw how far he was willing to go to make it so I never had to feel like that again, yeah, it meant a lot, it meant the freaking world.
Wayne guides the ATV through the forest pathway and up the small hill that leads to the clearing. The house comes into view, after a time, looking like a magical castle as it exudes the light of the moon and the stars.
I tell myself that the tears pricking my eyes are from the wind blasting us as we surge toward it, and not the surging emotion hammering into me firmer and deeper each moment.
Wayne drives the vehicle into the garage and the doors close automatically behind us, and then we both step off, breathy and red-faced.
Deeper in the house, Rusty must hear the vehicle or catch our scent, because the terrier starts to yip, his barks filling the air surprisingly loud considering how ginormous this house is.
Wayne turns to me with his lips lifting upward, something like a real smile on his face, not a smirk or a wolfish grin.
I see genuine affection in his eyes – love, love, a voice hisses – and all of a sudden it’s so easy to imagine him as a father, a husband, an everything.
“What?” he asks.
“What?” I echo, pouting at him, surrounded by sports cars and motorbikes, but none of it seems as important as the look in my lover’s eyes.
He loops his arm around my waist, the most natural gesture in the world now.
I almost let out a laugh of disbelief as the thought slams into me.
It feels natural to have Wayne Wakefield’s hand squeezing onto my hip, his eyes looking into me, and accepting it all, all of my imperfections and my inadequacies.
“It’s just this,” I whisper. “It all feels so right. I never thought I’d get that or that I even deserved it.”
“Why wouldn’t you deserve it?” Wayne says, voice husky.
Just then, the half-open door squeaks open all the way and Rusty bounds in, his face receptive and happy, his tongue lolling and his tail wagging frantically.
I laugh and kneel down, letting him jump up on my winter jacket and lap greedily at my face. I giggle as his rough tongue licks the snow from my cheeks.
“Winter,” Wayne says, watching me as he reaches down to ruffle Rusty hello.
I sigh, stand, and fold my arms across my middle.
“My parents were coming to pick me up the day they got into that car crash. I was at a friend’s house and—Jesus, I’m sorry.”
I turn away, tears coursing down my cheeks, no idea why this memory has so jaggedly reared its head now.
Wayne wraps his arms around me, his body a reassuring presence against my back as he leans down to talk quietly in my ear.
“You were a child,” he says. “It was an accident. It’s not your fault. But I know that Anna must’ve told you all of this before. So all I can say, Winter, is that I’ll be there for you every goddamned time that memory tries to make you it's prisoner. Every time that guilt touches you, I’ll be there, okay?”
“Thank you,” I whisper, coughing back a sob. “I’m sorry. I’m ruining our night.”
“No,” he growls, taking me by the shoulders and turning me so I’m facing him. “This isn’t pretend. This isn’t a staged performance where you have to put on a show for me. I’ve had enough people try that with me over the years, trying to be who they thought I needed them to be, for my money, for my name. But not you. You’re the realest, best person I’ve ever met, and I’ll always be here for you.”