And I can tell it’s bothering him too, but he’s trying not to let it show. “I know that but…” He rakes his hands through his dark hair. “If you would have stayed away from that type of business, it would have never happened.” He isn’t making eye contact with me, instead staring out the window at the forest.
“Does it bother you that I messed up?” I ask. “Or that I was working as an… an escort.”
He shuts his eyes and inhales deeply, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. “You know both of them bother me… you’ve known how I felt about you since we were eighteen.” His eyes open and I expect them to be full of emotion, but they’re empty, like mine have been for the last couple of years.
I try to find words that will make him feel better, but I can’t, so my lips stay sealed. I feel guilty, something I never thought would happen. And all the emotion I shut down while having sex with all those men is starting to chip at the surface. For a moment, I feel… well, ashamed.
Eventually Layton removes the keys out of the ignition. “If you’ll come inside with me, I’ll tell you what I know.”
I stare down at his weapons on my lap. What do I have to lose? There’s nowhere else for me to go. “There’s just one more thing I have to ask you.”
His brow crooks in surprise. “Okay.”
“That guy at the hotel… the one that… well, you know tried to… rape me… What happened to him?”
His gaze darkens and flashes with rage, not directed at me though. “Do you really want me to answer that?” He pauses as I remain motionless in the seat. “He tried to rape you, Lola.” He reaches across the car and tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear. “And hurt you. I’m not going to apologize for what I did.”
I could ask him to tell me exactly what he did to Tenner, but honestly I’d rather not know the details. I can see it in his eyes that Tenner won’t be attacking any women anytime soon, if ever. And as much as I hate to admit it, I don’t even feel that bad about it.
Without saying anything else, I get out of the car with his weapons in my hands, hoping I’m not making a big mistake. Layton doesn’t say a word as he gets out of the car and walks around to the trunk. He pops it and starts digging around in it as I get out and round the back of the car, half expecting to see a dead body inside, perhaps Tenner’s. But there are just a few duffel bags. He picks up one of them up and swings it over his shoulder before moving around the side of the motel with me trailing behind. As we approach one of the room doors, he withdraws a key and unlocks the door. When he enters, he drops the bag on the floor and motions me inside without turning on the lights.
I enter with reluctance, glancing around at the unmade bed, the clothes on the floor, the wrappers and soda cans on the table, and the single lamp turned on. “How long have you been here?” I ask, turning to him as he closes and locks the door behind us.
He shrugs as he pulls the curtain shut. “Since I came to Glensdale about two to three weeks ago.” He looks around as if searching for something then hurries past me and over to the nightstand. I stand near the door, waiting for him to explain to me why he’s been around for that long and not made it aware to me until now, but all he does is start digging around in the drawer. It goes on forever, too long. Whatever he’s looking for, he’s clearly not going to find it.
“I’m waiting for you to tell me something—anything—that would explain what the hell’s going on.” I set his weapons down on the bed and make my way across the room toward him. “Layton, you have to give me something.” When he still doesn’t respond, I put a hand on his shoulder. His whole entire body jolts, surprising me. I’m not sure what’s going on or handle this. “Layton, I don’t—” My lips are silenced as he spins around and smashes his lips to mine with so much force I’m sure they’re going to bruise.
My initial reaction is to jerk back. No kissing, no lip-to-lip contact, but then I remember how much I wished I would have kissed him properly when I thought he died. And I don’t ever want that to happen again—regret something like that.
So I let him kiss me, our lips connecting, my pulse throbbing to kiss him back in a way I never have. There’s so much passion and desperation behind the kiss that something snaps inside me. Maybe it’s that he’s alive and not dead. Maybe I’m giving into my own emotions, but I kiss him back, grabbing onto him, willing opening my mouth as his tongue fights to get it.
“I’ve been wanting to do this since the last night I saw you… been dreaming about it for two years,” he whispers against my lips then the metal of his tongue ring grazes against my teeth as he kisses me deeply, fiercely, like he’s trying to steal my oxygen away. His hands tangle through my hair, drift down my back, feeling me and pushing me closer. I moan, bit his lip, slip my hands up the back of my shirt and drag my nails against his flesh, completely untamed. And I feel every part of it. Every single damn emotion pours through my body, one’s I’ve been suppressing for over a year. Passion. Anguish. Guilt. Pain. Sadness. Anger. Anger. Anger. For making me think he was dead. Before I even know what I’m doing, I pull away from him and slap my hand across his face.
“Oh my God.” I throw my hand over my mouth, my body uncontrollably trembling. “I don’t even know why I did that… I was just so… so upset over thinking you were dead.”
He places his hand over his cheek, eyes locked on me. “It’s okay.” He no you winces as his finger brush against his skin. “I deserved that. And I should have known what to expect. You are my feisty Lolita.” His lips quirk.
I want to smile back, but I feel so terrible still. “No you didn’t.” I lower my hand from my mouth and step toward him. Lifting his hand from his cheek, I look at the damage I’ve done. A bright red handprint marks his cheek. “I’m so sorry… I just… I was feeling too much… It’s been a long time.”
His gaze bores into me and I’m afraid to make eye contact with him. “I know it has.” His finger caresses my cheek. “God, I’ve missed you,” he breathes.
I don’t even know what to do with what’s going on inside me. Even before everything happened, I still wasn’t the best with my emotions. And after two years in solitude from them, it’s overwhelming to the point where I’m finding something as simple as breathing complicated.