Free Beneath His Darkness (Healing Hearts #3) by Renee Dyer Page B

putting her through, but she still has compassion for Tucker.  I may have been willing to find a way to spare her a little, but then she made her “friend” comment about Tucker.  Now, she’s going to go down with his sinking ship.
    I run my hand down my face, making it look like this topic has me as frazzled as it does her.  The only thing I’m irritated by is her irrational need to hold onto Tucker in any way.  He treats her like an accessory, something to polish up, nice and shiny.  Something to make him look good and then put away in the closet—away from people when he doesn’t need her.
    I may be using her myself, but at least when I’m with her, I treat her like a queen.  I devote all my attention to her.  I tell her she’s beautiful and I spend our time together trying to build up her self-esteem.
    It does suck that she became stuck in this without being asked, but if I have my way, she will come out of this a fighter.
    I’m sure she’ll hate me for a long time, but I’m okay with that.  Hell, I may even keep pushing her after the fallout if it gets her to push back and be the woman she should be.  A human doormat is not who she was ever destined to be.
    “I want it to only be me, too.  I want that more than you know.  If you were with someone other than Tucker, this would be easier.  Don’t give up.  We’re so close to making us a reality.  There’s only two more months before we take our taping break and you can end things with Tucker.  You can do this.  Do this for us.”
    I pull her into my arms and let her cry out her anxiety.  The entire time she’s buried in my chest, I’m looking at the clock, trying to think of how to get her out of here.
    Melanie will be here soon.
    Wouldn’t that be a fun one to explain?  “Gee, honey.  I love you, but I’m fucking Melanie to bring down the guy you’re so worried about keeping as your friend.”  Yeah, I so see myself wanting to have that conversation.
    “What is Tucker doing tonight?” I ask gently, hoping she doesn’t say he’ll be out with Eddie.  I’m running out of time to get her to leave.  I know I can easily come up with a lie about needing to be somewhere, but it’s easier if she leaves on her own.  The shell of a person she is, she’ll believe anything I say and walk out of here thinking it’s okay to be pushed aside by her boyfriend and her lover.  I don’t know why, but it infuriates me that this woman, who is so unbelievably beautiful, can lower herself to such a pathetic state.
    Her large, chocolate eyes meet mine and for a millisecond, her tears tug at my heart.  I seriously want to cut that fucking tiny little speck of a section out that keeps allowing her to pick at it.  It can’t even be more than the size of a pin head, but somehow, she has found my weakness.
    Fucking underdogs—the people who get stepped on and tossed aside, looked over and treated poorly while others are looked at as kings.  I have a soft spot for them.  I keep trying to close up that hole, but like a balloon with a slow leak, the air keeps seeping out.
    “Oh, shit!”  She jumps back and I’m a bit lost.  She starts looking around my apartment, but I have no idea what she’s looking for.
    “Vic?  What are you loo—”
    “I have to go.  I can’t believe I forgot.”
    Her voice has raised an octave as a different anxiety rushes forth.
    “Forgot what?  Stop a second,” I coax.   “Tell me what’s going on.”
    She doesn’t stop, but her steps slow.  “We’re supposed to go to some fancy dinner thing tonight, some promotional event.  I forgot and now he’ll know I’ve been crying.  He’ll want to know why and I’ll need to make something up.”
    Her words are rapidly passing through her lips and I wonder if she is hearing them.  Why is she really afraid he’ll know she was crying?  Everybody cries at one point or another.
    “Okay,” I say slowly, “if he asks why you’ve been crying