Page 58 of Sing For Me

“You like it,” I realize. “You like helping her.”

He shrugs. “I’ve always liked to cook. We didn’t have many home cooked meals when we were touring with our dads so it always felt like a special treat to me. And Vega is really good. She makes this cinnamon crunch bread that I would seriously commit minor crimes to get ahold of.”

“So you do this regularly?”

“I help out once or twice a month. She uploads videos at least twice a week, but most of them are solo. Or she ropes one of the other cousins into it.” He smirks. “Or her dad. Those are the most fun to watch.”

I picture Reed Ransome in the frilly pink apron Will is wearing on screen and have to laugh.

“Is that kitchen for real? Pink countertops?”

Will snorts. “My Uncle had it installed in their basement for her last birthday present. Takes up half the space and he had to look for like, three months to find that granite. Like I said—girl’s a dictator. Impossible to say no.”

“Or maybe all the men in her life are just giant softies.”

“Probably,” he says with a chuckle. There’s a distinct note of pride in his voice when he continues. “She’s actually really good at it. The baking and the video stuff, too. She’s a natural on camera. That girl’s gonna have her own cooking show someday, I guarantee it.” He gives me a sheepish smile that has my heart melting. “So I guess wearing a frilly pink apron isn’t the worst thing in the world if it helps her get there.”

God, this man. He’s such a study in contrasts. The intimidating, closed-off tattoo artist and the doting family guy willing to embarrass himself because it makes his little cousin happy. He’s still gazing down at his phone, whatever he’s doing on the video making Vega laugh, his expression soft. It’s so obvious that he loves his family. He wears that love all over his face and his features warm with it.

I realize I want to be close to that softness, that warmth. That love. I want to be a part of it. Want his face to look that way when he talks about me, too.

“Will.” He glances up from the still buzzing phone and I don’t hesitate. I reach for his face, bringing my lips right to his.

He’s still for a moment, surprised, but it doesn’t last long. The phone hits the carpet with a soft thud and both his hands are on me, one behind my neck, the other around my waist, pulling me close. He moves like a man who knows exactly what he wants, confident and sure of himself. And right now, it’s clear that what he wants is me.

I feel weak with the knowledge of it, the realization heady. Will Ransome wants me. This beautiful man who never dates wants me.

I let him pull me in, practically on his lap, his lips moving insistently against mine. I relax into him even as my heart wants to fly out of my chest, excitement and happiness rushing through me like a tsunami wave.

And it’s at that moment, when everything seems so perfect, that I feel a flash of fear. It comes and goes quickly, a little flicker at the back of my mind. Fleeting enough that I can tell myself it was a fluke, that it doesn’t have to ruin this.

But then Will’s hand flexes on my lower back, drawing me even closer to him. The possessive, strong movement that just a few minutes ago was making my knees weak, suddenly takes on a new shape in my mind.

He’s so much bigger than me.

I slide my hands from around his neck down to his chest, thinking that if I can create just a little bit of space between us, if I stop pulling his face in so close, it will be enough. Instead I’m overwhelmed by the feel of the strong, broad muscles under my hands. My hands that suddenly feel very small and very, very ineffective.

Someone is pulling me, dragging me backwards into the crowd, into the chaos. A man’s face, eyes wide and panicked, completely out of his mind with fear. His strong hands yanking on me, holding me back, using my smaller body to pull himself up to safety and—

I gasp, jerking out of Will’s embrace, tumbling backwards onto my ass. His concerned face takes up my whole field of vision as he leans down, his mouth moving with words I can’t hear. I push his chest, push him away, and he lets me, gives me space.

Listen to the waves outside, I tell my spinning brain.Feel the soft carpet under your legs. You’re home. You’re fine. It’s not a full-blown flashback. Everything is fine.I take short breaths and hold them, calming my racing heart.Everything is fine.

“Eva?” Will finally asks, and I close my eyes, entire body seeming to crumple in on itself in defeat. Because everything isn’t fine. Will just saw me freak the fuck out over a kiss.

And that’s not even the worst part. The worst part is knowing that it’s going to happen again. If I let him get close to me, at some point my brain will go back to that day, remember what it felt like to be too small and too weak to fight back. Even if I manage to get through a kiss without a flashback, what happens if things go further? What happens if I try to be intimate with him, if he lays on top of me—

“I can’t do this,” I gasp out.

He holds up his hands, posture appeasing, like I’m a dangerous person he’s trying to calm. “We don’t have to kiss. We don’t have to do anything.”

“No,” I moan, the pain of what I have to do slicing through me. For just a few days I actually let myself believe I could be normal. What a stupid idiot.

“I mean I can’t dothis.” I gesture between the two of us. “I can’t do a relationship.”

His eyes search my face. “What just happened, Eva?”

“I told you I was a mess,” I snap. There’s no one to blame for this, no one to be the target of my anger, and I want to lash out. So I lash out at him, the only person here. “I told you I was broken.” I gesture at myself, letting out a short, biting laugh. “Well here you go.”