Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 68867 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68867 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
I turned to him slowly.
“What?”
“The fuck is an eye patch?”
“You know, you put it under your eyes, and it plumps the skin and gets rid of the bags and smooths out the wrinkles.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Oh, baby, I’m gonna open your eyes to all kinds of things a man in his early thirties should already know.”
“This is like Kohn askin’ me what kind of moisturizer I use, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Exactly like that. Now turn this way.”
I did as directed, allowing him to slather my face with something, then dab under my eyes with something else, and then he pumped something into my hand.
“Put that all over your face and neck,” he said as he opened a tub of something and started smoothing that all over his body.
“You’re gonna be all slimy.”
“No, it’s going to absorb like everything you put on your face.”
And he was right. My face wasn’t sticky like I thought it would be.
“Why do I need all these different things?”
He sighed. “Listen, if you’re not down to—”
“I didn’t say that,” I rushed out. “I only wanna know why.”
“Because I want you to take better care of yourself so you look and feel good for a really long time.”
“So you won’t be embarrassed of me.”
“No,” he said sharply, glaring at me. “I—this has more to do with your father than anything else.”
He lost me. “What?”
He leaned against the counter. “See, sometimes, when I think about it, about the abuse you suffered at the hands of that man, the urge to fly to your hometown and beat him senseless, leaving him passed out and bleeding in the street, becomes nearly overwhelming.”
“It does?” I was stunned.
He nodded.
“And I don’t know why,” he said, dropping his hands and quickly crossing his arms, “but for some reason, it usually happens in the morning when I pick you up or we meet for breakfast. I’ll notice you enjoying something, like really savoring it, and I’d think, look at him smile, he’s so beautiful…how could anyone ever even think about hurting him?”
I was about to reach for him when he took a breath.
“Then we’ll go outside and I’d think, I’m sure that piece-of-shit father of his never told him to put on sunscreen. Never mind that it helps keep your skin young, not like leather, but more importantly, it protects you from getting cancer.”
“You think about all that?”
“Yeah. All the time,” he admitted. “And sometimes the rage gets me, you know?”
I did know. I had felt the same way for years. But after I met Lang, everything had changed, even that. Outside of therapy, I didn’t think about my father much anymore.
“Sorry to bring that shit up.”
“No, don’t be. I’m surprised though.” I reached out and slipped my hand around the side of his neck to ease him forward, close to me. “You’re not a big believer in violence.”
“I know,” he mused, smiling at me with red-rimmed eyes.
As a rule, in his personal life, Lang did not believe in bloodshed unless it was warranted, unless an individual was placed in a life-and-death situation. It was why he was such a wordsmith. He’d learned early how to outmaneuver bullies and had been able to talk his way out of every single one of his playground disagreements before they escalated. He truly believed that in every situation, a compromise could be reached.
In his professional life, he knew that at times, like in the early morning, that Ian had to shoot those men before they murdered others. It was pure luck that they had not taken the lives of any civilians, and in that situation, there was no other choice. Lang understood that. He would have also understood if Ian had ended up killing them to protect civilians. He’d taken lives as a homicide detective and had hoped not to as a marshal. I was the same, but in the middle of a firefight, protecting yourself and others, those choices could be taken from us. And while that was the job, it didn’t make it any easier to deal with. And yet…he had revealed the desire to unleash all his anger on my father for past transgressions that would never be committed again.
“You can’t ever do that, you know,” I said, smoothing my thumb along his jaw.
“Yes, I’m aware,” he mumbled, gently bumping his head down on my shoulder. “But don’t think I’m criticizing you or—”
“No. I didn’t.” I wrapped him in my arms. “You just wanna take care of me.”
“That’s right,” he rasped, clearing his throat so his voice came back.
“Well, I like that,” I confessed. “I’ve never had anyone wanna do that.”
“Yes, I know,” he said, sounding sad.
I needed to fix that. “But you know I’m not some stray, right?”
Instant scowl, which was good. “How the hell are you a stray if you belong to me?”
It was an excellent point, and I grinned lazily.