human being. Not even Amelia or my father, and both of them have given me plenty of cause. But you don't care how I feel about you, do you?"
"No."
"I don't think I've ever met anyone so cold."
"I'm sure you haven't." Cold, Alex. You're so cold . He'd heard it from women before. Good women,
with kind hearts. Competent, intelligent women who'd deserved something better than a man whose emotional makeup had been deformed long before they'd met him.
When he was younger, he'd thought that a family of his own might heal that lonesome, wounded place inside him. But all he'd done in his quest for a lasting human connection was hurt those good-hearted women and prove to himself that some people's capacity to love was stolen from them before it ever had a chance to develop.
They had arrived at the trailer. He reached around her to open the door, then followed her inside. "I'm going to take a shower. I'll help you clean up when I get out."
She stopped him before he reached the bathroom door. "Couldn't you have pretended to be just a little
bit happy tonight?"
"I am what I am, Daisy. I don't play games with anyone. Ever."
"They were trying to do something nice. Would it have hurt you so much to go along with it?"
How could he explain it to her so she'd understand? "You grew up soft, Daisy, but I grew up rough. Rougher than you can imagine. When you grow up like I did, you learn that you have to find something to hold on to that'll always be there for you, something that keeps you from turning into an animal. For me, it was my pride. I don't give that up. Not ever.''
"You can't build your life around something like that. Pride isn't as important as a lot of other things."
"Like what?"
"Like . .." She hesitated, as if she knew he wouldn't like whatever she was about to say. "Like caring
and compassion. Like love."
He felt old and tired. "Love doesn't exist for me."
"It exists for everyone."
"Not for me. Don't try to romanticize me, Daisy. It'd only be a waste of time.
I've learned to live by my own code. I try to be honest, and I try to be fair.
That's the only reason I'm overlooking your stunt with the cake. I know this is a hard adjustment for you, and I guess you're doing the best you can. But don't confuse fairness with sentiment. I'm not sentimental. All those soft emotions might work for other people, but they don't work for me."
"I don't like this," she whispered. "I don't like any of it."
As he spoke, he couldn't remember ever hearing his own voice sound so sad.
"You've fallen in with the devil, sweetheart. The sooner you accept that, the better off you'll be."
He went into the bathroom, shut the door, and closed his eyes, trying to block out the play of emotions he'd just witnessed on her face. He'd seen it all: wariness, an almost childlike innocence, and a dreadful kind of hope that maybe he wasn't really as bad as he seemed.
Poor little feather head.
6
"Go away."
"Last warning, angel face. We're pulling out in three minutes."
She squeezed her eyes open just far enough to focus on the clock by the couch and realize it was five in the morning. She didn't go anywhere at five in the morning, so she snuggled deeper into her pillow, and moments later, she drifted back to sleep. The next thing she knew, he was picking her up.
"Stop it!" she croaked. "What are you doing?"
Without a word, he carried her outside into the chilly morning air, tossed her into the cab of the truck, and slammed the door. The chill of the vinyl upholstery against her bare legs brought her instantly awake and reminded her that she wore only his gray T-shirt and a pair of ice blue bikini underpants. He climbed in the other side, and moments later, they pulled away from the abandoned lot.
"How could you do this? It's only five o'clock! Nobody gets up this early!"
"We do. We're moving into North Carolina today."
He looked disgustingly awake. He was clean-shaven, dressed in a pair of jeans and a wine red knit shirt. His eyes
"No."
"I don't think I've ever met anyone so cold."
"I'm sure you haven't." Cold, Alex. You're so cold . He'd heard it from women before. Good women,
with kind hearts. Competent, intelligent women who'd deserved something better than a man whose emotional makeup had been deformed long before they'd met him.
When he was younger, he'd thought that a family of his own might heal that lonesome, wounded place inside him. But all he'd done in his quest for a lasting human connection was hurt those good-hearted women and prove to himself that some people's capacity to love was stolen from them before it ever had a chance to develop.
They had arrived at the trailer. He reached around her to open the door, then followed her inside. "I'm going to take a shower. I'll help you clean up when I get out."
She stopped him before he reached the bathroom door. "Couldn't you have pretended to be just a little
bit happy tonight?"
"I am what I am, Daisy. I don't play games with anyone. Ever."
"They were trying to do something nice. Would it have hurt you so much to go along with it?"
How could he explain it to her so she'd understand? "You grew up soft, Daisy, but I grew up rough. Rougher than you can imagine. When you grow up like I did, you learn that you have to find something to hold on to that'll always be there for you, something that keeps you from turning into an animal. For me, it was my pride. I don't give that up. Not ever.''
"You can't build your life around something like that. Pride isn't as important as a lot of other things."
"Like what?"
"Like . .." She hesitated, as if she knew he wouldn't like whatever she was about to say. "Like caring
and compassion. Like love."
He felt old and tired. "Love doesn't exist for me."
"It exists for everyone."
"Not for me. Don't try to romanticize me, Daisy. It'd only be a waste of time.
I've learned to live by my own code. I try to be honest, and I try to be fair.
That's the only reason I'm overlooking your stunt with the cake. I know this is a hard adjustment for you, and I guess you're doing the best you can. But don't confuse fairness with sentiment. I'm not sentimental. All those soft emotions might work for other people, but they don't work for me."
"I don't like this," she whispered. "I don't like any of it."
As he spoke, he couldn't remember ever hearing his own voice sound so sad.
"You've fallen in with the devil, sweetheart. The sooner you accept that, the better off you'll be."
He went into the bathroom, shut the door, and closed his eyes, trying to block out the play of emotions he'd just witnessed on her face. He'd seen it all: wariness, an almost childlike innocence, and a dreadful kind of hope that maybe he wasn't really as bad as he seemed.
Poor little feather head.
6
"Go away."
"Last warning, angel face. We're pulling out in three minutes."
She squeezed her eyes open just far enough to focus on the clock by the couch and realize it was five in the morning. She didn't go anywhere at five in the morning, so she snuggled deeper into her pillow, and moments later, she drifted back to sleep. The next thing she knew, he was picking her up.
"Stop it!" she croaked. "What are you doing?"
Without a word, he carried her outside into the chilly morning air, tossed her into the cab of the truck, and slammed the door. The chill of the vinyl upholstery against her bare legs brought her instantly awake and reminded her that she wore only his gray T-shirt and a pair of ice blue bikini underpants. He climbed in the other side, and moments later, they pulled away from the abandoned lot.
"How could you do this? It's only five o'clock! Nobody gets up this early!"
"We do. We're moving into North Carolina today."
He looked disgustingly awake. He was clean-shaven, dressed in a pair of jeans and a wine red knit shirt. His eyes
Similar Books
