Scales: Of Justice (Broken But ... Mending Book 3) (27 page)

He had to trust she’d see his point of view. Believe in him. Believe in what they had.

Because really – given the choice – he’d do it all over again.

Because she was special.

He was… less so.

He’d learned more than he thought possible about himself – and her – during this workshop. Arriving with a pompous attitude and superior sense of self, he’d thought he was comfortable here at this place in his life. After all, he’d already done a ton of work on himself. To a certain point he was. But this workshop had shown him that he had further to go than he’d thought. Some of those steps he’d taken unknowingly.

Some of them lay before him.

He’d always felt unloved. That was his childhood speaking again. Memories rippled through his mind…maybe if his father had cared more for his son than that damn car, he wouldn’t have gotten himself killed. If he’d been more lovable, then his mother would have preferred him to her bottle. Then there was his wife. She’d obviously not loved him either. Not if he had been a stepping stone to what she’d really wanted in life.

Up until now, he hadn’t realized how much he’d tried to keep people at a distance so he wouldn’t get hurt if they rejected him. He could have walked over to Paris’s brother and introduced himself. Instead…he’d been the one to walk away. Escape rather than face them.

Like a little boy who had been rejected so many times, he was hell bent on rejecting everyone else first so he didn’t have to deal with the pain again. He hadn’t given them a chance to love him because he’d already assumed they wouldn’t.

Hadn’t he grown up at all? Why was he still giving that little boy so much credit for who he was now? Especially when he’d thought he’d walked away from that type of behavior a long time ago.

And what the hell was he going to do about it now?

P
aris shifted her
position. The hallway floor was damn uncomfortable. She’d been waiting for hours. Her coffee cup was long empty. Then again, so was the one she brought for Weaver. It was after midnight and there was no sign of him.

She didn’t know what to think. Had he left the workshop? Gone somewhere else for the night? If so – where? And was he coming back?

This couldn’t end like this. She owed him an apology and if she were honest – a thank you. Sure it had been a shock and a tough thing to wrap her mind around, but now that she was on the other side of the meeting, she was emotionally drained but in a good way. It was a good thing he had done for her. But then he was going into the same profession as Jenna, so it made sense that he would.

Now that she’d gotten over her shock and come to understand, she wanted to be adult about all of this. But it wasn’t going to happen if she couldn’t connect with him. They still had to do a stupid project. And she had no idea what to do about that. She’d been hoping he’d have a miracle tucked up his sleeve that would save both their asses.

At this point, she was so exhausted, she figured she’d tell Jenna that she’d come up blank and had no project to hand in. What could Jenna do after all?

The hard floor woke her first. And movement. She groaned as she straightened, slowly getting to her feet.

And realized she wasn’t alone.

Weaver stood frowning down at her.

She swayed. He grabbed her, holding her upright.

“Sorry, didn’t meant to fall asleep,” she whispered. “So tired.”

“Shh.” He unlocked his door and pushed the door open. “You should be in bed.”

She closed her eyes and tried to open them again when the world went spinning out of control. She was lifted and carried into the bedroom, briefly put back on her feet, then laid down on the cool sheets.

“Need to talk,” she murmured, shivering.

A blanket was tossed over her shoulders, and Weaver’s deep voice said, “Sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.”

She slept.

With a smile on her face.

*

Weaver stared down
at her with mixed emotions. In the beginning, he’d tried to detach and had given that up early on when he realized he was already involved. Opening up to caring was painful. With her here in his bed, their future unsure – it was even more painful. “What the hell am I going to do with you,” he murmured.

“Love me,” she answered, but the words were so faint, her voice so low he thought he dreamt it. Wishful thinking on his part.

“I got that part covered,” he whispered, his heart overflowing with emotions.

There were huge black circles under her eyes, and even under the blankets he could see the shivers making her thin frame shake. With a muttered curse, he quickly undressed and got in on the other side. She immediately rolled over and cuddled close.

As dawn crept forward, he realized he’d have to wake early and be ready for that talk they desperately needed to have.

They should have done it tonight – earlier. He’d do it now, but emotions were still hot and they were both exhausted. He doubted he could wake her enough to be cognizant at this point. No, risky as it was, he’d hold her close to his heart all night and hope that they could work through this in the morning.

He had a lot to think about. A lot of himself to assess. She’d done so much. Achieved so much. She’d shown him how to step up. He wasn’t proud of his own actions. His own thoughts. But he knew he could change. Do what needed to be done to move forward. He wasn’t a little kid anymore. It was time to leave all that hurt behind. Sure, it would rear up from time to time, but he didn’t have to let the pain and fear control him.

Not any longer.

As he thought about the workshop and all he’d been through, both as an attendee and an observer, he thought again about the paper he’d planned to write.

Paris was right. He should do it.

But not about her. Not about the others.

But about him. She was right about that too. His experiences. His personal journey. His personal transformation.

Because that’s what this week had been all about. He needed to let the image of who he was fall away, acknowleding that the hurt little boy still lived inside but no longer allowing him to rule his adult self.

And let his authentic self step forward.

What he had found with Paris was unique.

He’d do whatever he could to keep her in his life.

What they had together… it was so worth fighting for.

P
aris woke slowly.
Heat from a furnace blasted all around her. It felt deliciously wonderful. She sighed and shifted, wincing at something digging into her side. Her bra strap?

She came aware in an instant. She lay in the unfamiliar room long enough to reorient herself and realize that Weaver slept beside her, his arm around her waist even now keeping her close, protecting her.

Again.

She hadn’t done anything for him.

How sad. Relationships were supposed to be partnerships. She hadn’t contributed anything.

Shifting, she groaned as the waistband of her pants tugged at her skin. Her dry, irritated skin. Shower time. She felt like crap, her eyelids heavy and caked with sleep. She slipped out of the bed and winced. Sleeping in clothes sucked.

Her shoes were on the floor by the bed. Quietly, she put them on and snuck her way to the door. This was not how she wanted him to see her. She looked and felt disgusting.

With a last glance, she realized he was sleeping heavily. She was instantly jealous. She’d tossed and turned all night.

Back in her room, she stripped and stepped under the hot running water, groaning in joy as her sore aching body eased back and her tender flesh shifted and moved freely. After a long soak and several washes of her hair, she turned off the water, better prepared to start the day.

Inside, she still felt like someone had reefed her insides out, put them under a microscope for a closer look, then stuffed them back in again.

Yesterday’s session had been brutal. Last night’s session…well, there weren’t words.

But it was over.

And she’d survived.

Now to make it through today and she’d be good. This workshop had been intensive, deadly, and so worthwhile, but she wanted one more thing from it.

She wanted Weaver.

They needed to talk. If they had talked last night, it would have been better. Instead, he’d disappeared and she’d been exhausted – inside and out – and after searching, had parked herself outside his door waiting for him to come back. She’d wanted to spend the night with him – and she had, but not the way she intended.

It was also lousy to go to bed with her clothes on and wake up the same way.

Dressed, she checked the time. He needed to be woken up to get downstairs in time for the morning. If he cared to go. She also had to check out of the hotel. Did he? She packed up quickly and grabbed her card key. She’d leave her bag at the front desk while in the morning session.

Outside at the hallway, she walked across and knocked on Weaver’s doorway. No answer.

“Weaver? We’re late. Time to get moving.”

No answer. Damn.

She picked up her bag and walked to the elevator. Maybe she could call him from the front desk. After she finished paying for her hotel room and left her bag with them, she tried to call his room and got no answer.

Not sure what else to do, she walked to the restaurant and grabbed two coffees and two muffins for the last time, carrying them to the conference room.

There were a few people working hard on filling out the last of the worksheets, ones she hadn’t done either. The others worked on their projects. Something else she hadn’t done. A hell of a morning.

Setting her load down, she grabbed her homework, quickly finished the first sheet, then came to her original ripped up, folded up mess of a sheet from the first day here.

The one she’d written on about killing her father.

And realized how far she’d come. The dreams she’d now be able to create and the pain she’d released.

Reading through the questions on her worksheet, she grinned. This one she might be able to do something with.

She quickly filled in the blanks and finished that part of her homework.

Then she pulled out her sheet with notes on the project. There was essentially nothing there. No instructions. Just something visual.

She sighed. Great. She could sing a song, do a dance, and draw little stick figures. Anything else? Hell no.

As she sat there frowning at the last assignment and in truth the biggest one, she was at a loss. She had no idea what to do.

All she could do was tell Jenna.

As she pondered the effects of actually not doing something for once, of failing…Jenna walked in. And Paris’s stomach knotted.

Her mind whispered through all the past conditioning of failing, and she realized that it no longer mattered. Sure, failing and doing something wrong might give her some grief depending on the situation, but it wasn’t going to get her a beating. Jenna might not be happy with her, but she wasn’t going to hurt her over it.

In fact…

She might actually be fine with it.

Feeling lighter and easier and happier than she had been in a long time, she took a sip of coffee and realized the second cup of coffee was missing. Somehow, Weaver had slipped into his place beside her without her noticing.