Mind Games - Page 209

“I do believe it, all of it. I don’t think you’re a freak, Thea. I think you’re a miracle. Oh Christ, please, please, don’t cry again. I don’t think I can take it.”

“I hardly ever cry, not this way. The happy tears, they’re easy.”

“I want to know where we stand now. If you’ll give what we started another chance.”

“You scare me. I don’t scare easy, but you scare me because I love you. Who you are here and now, and that scares me.”

“I wasn’t leaving just because I thought you’d betrayed my trust. I was leaving because I thought the woman I’d fallen for—really fallen for—had betrayed my trust. You’re going to have to forgive me for that.”

“I’ve already done that. I’m still scared of you.”

He didn’t touch her, didn’t move closer. He just looked at her.

“I’m probably supposed to say I won’t hurt you again, but that’s bullshit. People screw up and hurt each other.”

“They do. I’m a little tender yet, Ty.”

“I can wait. I’m not going anywhere. I’m never pulling that crap on Bray again, or you, or myself. This is home, and I can wait.”

“I’m not being—what would it be?—coy about it.”

“Coy isn’t a word that springs to mind when I think of you. I think we both screwed up. I’m willing to take the lion’s share of the screw-up and wait. Don’t delete the pictures, Thea.”

“No, I won’t.”

“Maybe you could send the dog down this afternoon. Bray really misses him.”

“It’s mutual. I’ll send him.”

“Anytime you decide to come down with him … Anytime.”

When she only nodded, he set down the Coke, stepped back. “He came to you. When I pulled the rug out from under him, he came to you. He loves you. Don’t stay away from him because of me. I’ll give you space.”

When he went out the back, walked across to the lane, Thea got the framed photos from the table where Ty left them. She put them both on her workstation.

She needed time—she understood herself well enough to know that. But it didn’t mean she couldn’t have those small pieces while she took that time.

* * *

That afternoon, much to Bray’s delight, she sent Bunk down the lane. Alone, she went into her home gym and worked up a sweat. She’d get stronger, physically, mentally, emotionally. After choosing a sword, she executed a complex kata—then did it again, as she didn’t feel sharp enough.

She’d get keener, and cagier.

She ended her time with yoga—more mobility, flexibility, discipline.

If she’d fallen apart, she’d damn well put herself back together again.

As she lay on her mat in Shavasana, she felt her body hum with fatigue. Muscle fatigue, a kind of reward to her mind.

She’d wallowed long enough.

In the bathroom she switched on the fireplace—an indulgence she’d never regretted—lit candles, and took a steam shower. Clean out the pores, soothe aches, let the hard-worked muscles relax again.

Then rinsed off in cool water that woke her back up again.

She dressed, took time to braid her damp hair before walking through her house. Her house, her home, her place. Riggs could only come into it through her mind. He’d battered at her, taunted her when she’d let her emotions rule.

She wouldn’t blame herself for it; she was entitled to feel. But she wouldn’t be weak, never again weak enough to let him tear at her the way he had.