Wicked Devil: Chapter 41

I’ve been thinking about what Emilio said all day. I want to believe him. Believe that Roman misses me. It’s just so hard to do that when it was so easy for him to push me away.

I pull into my driveway and get out, my mind distracted, when I hear a voice behind me say, “Allie?”

I squeal, whirling to see who’s behind me and find Roman and Aaron standing a few yards away.

I press my hand to my chest, willing my racing heart to slow. “Don’t scare me like that!”

Roman lifts both hands, “I didn’t mean to scare you. I just want to talk.”

I frown and flick a glance toward Aaron who’s standing a few steps behind Roman. He gives me a sheepish look and shrugs. “I’m just here for moral support.”

My scowl deepens. “For me or for him?” I thought they hated each other.

Roman answers. “He’s here for you. We’re patching up some of our shit. Henderson can be an okay dude when he wants to be. But I asked him to come with me because I wanted him to be here for you.”

He did? “Why?”

Roman takes a tentative step forward. “Because I want to talk and I know you trust him. That you’re comfortable with him around.”

“I’m fine with Dominique too, and he’s your friend. Why not ask him?”

He shakes his head. “Because I didn’t want to gang up on you. Dominique’s my friend. He’s yours too, but I didn’t want you to think he’d be on my side over yours or that you wouldn’t have anyone in your corner. Henderson and I have our history, but when it comes to you and me, he’s always going to pick you first. He’s in your corner. He’s your friend. I want you to feel safe talking to me.”

Oh. That’s … thoughtful of him.

He runs his hands over his face and I catch sight of the twin bandages over the top of both his hands.

“What happened to your hands?” I ask, worry clenching my stomach. Is he hurt? Did something happen?

Roman lifts his gaze, his dark brown eyes meeting mine. “That’s actually what I came here to show you.”

Aaron looks nervous behind him, shifting from one foot to the other.

“Ummm…okay.” I wait for him to elaborate but he doesn’t. His lips are pressed into a tight line, his eyes downcast. He peels back the bandages and underneath I see that he’s sporting new ink. I gasp. “You tattooed your hands?”

He nods but doesn’t say anything as he removes the second bandage, shoving both in his back pocket. I swallow hard as I take in the new pieces he’s added, fighting the urge to get a closer look. They’re beautiful. On his left, he has an anchor surrounded in a sea of crashing waves that covers the entire top of his hand. The detail looks amazing and before I can talk myself out of it, I step toward him, curious about the design.

“Do you want to see them?” he asks, holding perfectly still, almost like he’s afraid to breathe. I realize how close I’ve gotten to him and my own heart races, but I fight through the wave of apprehension and nod.

He holds his hand out and with shaking fingers I trace the design on his left hand before jerking away and putting a foot of distance between us. Hurt flashes in his eyes before he masks it.

I inhale a lungful of air. It’s just Roman. I remind myself. I force my gaze back to his hands, allowing myself time to take in the dark ink and see the stark differences between his hands and those of my attacker. Seconds pass and when my heart settles I move closer to him once again.

“Why an anchor?” I’m whispering and have no idea why.

“Because when you’re adrift, when you can’t find your way to shore, I want to be the one who steadies you.”

My heart seizes in my chest. “You got this for me?” I ask, dumbfounded.

His smile is hopeful.

“I don’t understand,” I say. “This is permanent, Roman. You didn’t have—”

He cuts me off. “I did, Allie. I need you to see how important you are to me. How much you matter and how incredibly sorry I am. I just… I want a second chance. To do everything the right way. To treat you like you deserve to be treated.”

A tear rolls down my cheek and I hastily wipe it away. Forcing down the sudden knot in my throat I ask, “And what is this one? Is it an orchid… or maybe a daffodil?” I examine his right hand. This one is smaller though still covers most of his hand.

Roman shakes his head. “No. Not an orchid or a daffodil.”

“What is it then?”

“It’s a vanilla planifolia.” At my confused expression he adds, “Mexican vanilla.”

I gasp, dropping his hands. I look away as emotion threatens to bubble up out of me. It’s as if he’s shoved his hand in my chest and squeezed my heart until it beats only for him. The walls I’ve built to protect myself begin to crumble.

I catch sight of Aaron. He’s retreated toward his car and is sitting on the hood, giving us some semblance of privacy. His eyes meet mine and he gives me a barely perceptible nod as if to say, yeah, that just happened. I turn back to meet Roman’s raw gaze.

“Why?” I force myself to ask. None of this makes sense. “Why are you trying so hard to fix something that never really started?”

“Because you’re worth it. You’re worth all of it. All the fighting, the pain, the feelings. You make me fucking feel, Allie.” He slaps a hand on his chest right over his heart. “Right here. You made my ice-cold heart beat, and it only wants to beat for one person. You. Only you. I don’t just want you. I fucking need you.” He steps forward and presses his forehead against mine, cupping my face in his strong inked hands and I close my eyes, breathing him in. Fighting through the fear of being close to a boy I’m not sure I can trust. “Alejandra Ramirez, I need you in my life.”

Instinctively, I know Roman would never hurt me. Not physically. But the fear of giving this boy my heart has the air in my lungs freezing.

“Roman, I can’t lose a—”

“You won’t,” he says with conviction. “You fucking won’t. I can promise you that. I don’t know how to do this whole relationship thing. I’m learning as I go here. But I won’t ever turn my back on you like that again. Never, Allie. Just give me this chance. One more chance. I won’t mess it up.”

“I’m broken,” I tell him because it’s true. I’m broken, my pieces jagged and sharp. I don’t know if I’m even capable or even willing to be intimate with him after everything I’ve been through, and he doesn’t need that. He doesn’t need my baggage. For what, a few months of bliss? We’re graduating in a few short months. And then what?

“Let me pick up all your broken pieces and put you back together. Let me be your anchor when you’re lost and the world keeps spinning around you.”

I pull back, and my heart aches seeing the sheer vulnerability on his face. His hands fall from my cheeks to wrap around me and I’m almost surprised when I don’t stiffen. “And when we graduate?”

He presses his face into my hair. “We figure it out. I’m not letting you go, vanilla. I need you too much.”

My heart does a free-fall and I pray that this time, he doesn’t let it splatter on the ground near his feet. My trust is a bruised and battered thing. But I think I love the boy standing in front of me. And I think he loves me, too. Neither one of us knows how to say it. Words don’t feel like they’ll ever be enough.

But Roman said he needs me, so I take a leap of faith and let my truth pass over my lips, whisper soft. “Maybe we need each other.”