Free Show Me How by Molly McAdams Page B

ever wanted was to know why you suddenly had so much hatred toward me. You told me. That’s it; it’s over. There’s nothing left to explain. You don’t have to apologize for feeling the way you do. And you didn’t have to dance with me to try to make up for some words you said.” I pressed my hands against his chest and pushed, but he held tight to my waist, not willing to let me go.
    â€œIt was the only way to get you to talk to me.”
    I hated that a part of me had foolishly believed that he would want to dance with me.
    Irrational, betraying heart.
    â€œBoth were unnecessary. I’m a big girl, Deacon, and as you reminded me, I have a spine; I know how to handle you and move on with my life.”
    Deacon’s shoulders sagged, but his eyes burned into mine. “Fuck, Charlie. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what I said. Can’t you hear that? Can’t you see that?”
    â€œWhen have you ever been sorry for anything you’ve said or done in your entire life? That’s part of who you are—­that’s part of Deacon Carver —­unapologetically arrogant and unaware.”
    A few seconds of silence passed between us before a mumbled “Christ” slipped from his lips. Instead of loosening his hold on me, his fingers contracted slightly, bringing us impossibly closer together. “Where did shy, sweet Charlie go?”
    â€œYou’d be surprised what I can say when I think it long enough.” It also helped tremendously that we were mostly hidden in the darkness.
    He huffed. “Clearly.” But there was something in his voice that caught me off guard. Instead of the sneer I had come to expect from him, it sounded like a mixture of amusement and pride.
    And I didn’t know what to make of it or him or the fact that he was still holding me and my heart was beating loud enough that I was sure he could hear it.
    â€œI’m ready for you to let me g—­”
    â€œYour face on Monday,” he said softly, his voice gruff. “I can’t stop thinking about the way you looked at me.”
    â€œI already asked you to stop.” I pressed harder against his muscled chest, but my strength suddenly gave out at his next words.
    â€œJust tell me if you’re okay with what happened to Ben.”
    â€œWhat?” I asked breathlessly.
    â€œTell me if you’re okay. With what he did to you, with his death . . . all of it.”
    â€œWhy . . .” I stared at my hands and blinked slowly as I replayed his words, then lifted my head until I was looking into Deacon’s eyes. Mine narrowed in suspicion. “Why would you ask me that?”
    â€œI’ve known you most of your life, Charlie, and—­”
    â€œWe live in Thatch. Everyone has known everyone for most of their life.”
    â€œYou know it’s different with us. But I always saw you as shy, sweet Charlie, who hid behind her brother and Grey so she wouldn’t have to talk to anyone. When I found out about you and Ben, and the way everything was handled after, I thought you were selfish and immature. It looked like you didn’t care, and let Jagger always take care of your problems. That look on your face this week—­like you agreed with me—­has fucking haunted me because I know I had it all wrong.”
    â€œSo because I agreed with you, suddenly you want to apologize and check on me?” I said with a disbelieving laugh.
    Judging from his expression, he knew it didn’t make sense, either. “Charlie, I just want to know if you’re okay.”
    My head shook subtly, but instead of responding, I asked, “Why are you doing this? This isn’t you and this isn’t us. We aren’t friends, Deacon. So why don’t you go back to being your unapologetic, arrogant self, and I’ll go back to not speaking to you, now that I’ve gotten out everything I’ve been thinking all