Page 32 of Beast

“Shoot.”

“Okay. I want you to know that I’m not just here because of the deal with my dad. I want to be here. I want to get to know you.”

I didn’t believe her. Words were cheap. She would have to show me that she truly wanted to spend time with me. It would probably help if I stopped being such a dick.

“And the only reason I left after we hooked up that night was because I panicked,” she said.

“Panicked about what? I thought you left because you thought I was suicidal. Did you think I was going to hurt you?”

The color drained from her face, but she made strong eye contact. “For a second, yes, I believed it was possible. I mean, you had a loaded gun, were drinking, had a flashback. But not just that. I didn’t really see hope for anything beyond one night with you. I’m attracted to you. You have the best body I’ve ever seen, you’re incredible in bed, and I don’t mind your scars. Honestly, I don’t—they actually make you sexy. But you told me you didn’t believe in therapy. Neither did my mom. I’m not a psychologist, and I don’t know you that well, but I really think you need to find some type of therapy that works.”

So I had actually been wrong about her; she hadn’t wanted to save me; she’d wanted nothing to do with me. And she saw me as someone who couldn’t even take care of myself.

Though she’d saved my life by taking that bullet, I’d never admit my moment of weakness to her. Once I told her I’d attempted suicide, she’d probably bolt again.

I tried another approach.

“Look, I’ve tried every medicine I’ve been given, every talk therapy. Honest to God, nothing has worked. But I’m open. I don’t want to live like this.”

Her face seemed to shine. “That makes me happy.”

My promise to attempt more therapy seemed to soften Isa. Her shoulders relaxed and she moved closer to me on the sofa. I put my arm around her and pulled her into me. This was more like it.

“How did you find out I was on Dancing under the Stars?”

“I saw your picture in a magazine at my doctor’s office. Well, Bella’s picture, but I’d recognize you anywhere. But I think it’s cool. I’d love to see you dance.”

She shook her head. “I’ll dance with you at the ball, but I doubt I’ll ever compete again or dance like that.”

“Why’d you quit?”

She paused and stared distantly toward the lake. “After my mom died, it was too painful. She was a dancer. Every time I stepped on the floor, I’d search for her in the audience. I needed to figure out who I was without dancing, without her, without my partner.”

She paused on the word “partner.” Had that douche been her boyfriend? The thought of that slimy motherfucker touching Isa made me want to break his skinny legs. At least she wasn’t still dancing. I would never tell a woman to quit her passion, but I was certain I couldn’t handle watching another man grope my woman, wrap his hands around her waist, stroke her thighs. I’d seen that show, the tiny costumes she wore, the seductive dances they did—I’d be too consumed with jealousy to have anyone I was dating be on it.

“And the book? You feel okay with writing about what happened?”

“Yup. You were right. I want to tell my story, my way. And I need the money. I’m pretty fucked up, physically and mentally. I have to prepare for my future, especially since I’m about to get kicked out of the Corps.”

Her eyes opened wide. “I’m sorry, Grady. I had no idea. You’ll find a new career to make you happy.”

My head bobbed forward. She didn’t know shit about what made me happy. I was a warrior—that was the only thing that had mattered in my life.

“So, I’ve emailed your dad a few times and talked to him on the phone. He seems pretty cool—for a thief.”

“Ha.” She hesitated. “He’s okay. He’s going through a rough time—he really needs this break, so thank you again. Don’t worry—he’ll do a great job on your memoir.”

I winced. A father should protect and provide for his daughter, and here Isa was the one taking care of her dad, a man who’d stolen from her. But their fucked up relationship wasn’t my problem. At least she had a parent in her life. “I won’t tell him. This is the only thing I’m good for now—telling heroic war stories. Instead of shooting guns, I’m being wheeled out like a Smithsonian exhibit to make politicians feel guilty about the war and to open their wallets up.”

Her chin dipped down. “I’m sorry. I never meant to make you feel like I’m just another person who is using you. Maybe this was a stupid idea—I should’ve never asked you. Maybe we should just forget this whole idea. I feel like such a bitch.”

Damn, did this girl always try to run at the first sign of trouble?

Her chest heaved, and I decided to stop being such an asshole. I wanted her, however I could have her. I was going to give this relationship, or whatever it was, everything I had.

I moved closer to her and put my arm around her. “Stay, but it’s your choice, I’m not going to force you. I’m not going to hurt you. You’re safe here with me. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about our night—how you screamed my name, how sweet you taste.”

“I want to . . . I just think we moved too fast. I’d like to take some time, move slowly. Let our emotional connection catch up with our physical connection.”