Damaged: The Dillon Sisters by Layla Frost (good story books to read .txt) 📕

lot since he had a knack for saying the exact right thing—that was the best. I wanted to record it so I could listen to it on repeat. I wanted to tattoo the words onto my flesh.

Sear them into my soul.

But he wasn’t done.

“And I’m going to do every damn thing I can to undo all the destruction your mother caused until you see what I see. Until you know how fucking perfect you are,” he whispered, dropping his hand to run his bent index finger along my scars. His touch was gentle. Reverent. He didn’t view them with pity or disgust.

He liked them.

I thought we were neck and neck on the crazy scale, but if he actually thinks I’m perfect, he wins. He’s officially crazier than me.

I’ll get him a trophy. And not some participation ribbon shit—he deserves a big one.

I tugged the fabric of my shorts down to hide my scars and moved my leg to the side as I changed the subject before saying something I’d regret.

Like you’re insane.

Or get the hell out of my life before you break me.

Or please don’t ever leave.

“How’re you even here?”

“I’ll always be here when you need me.” He opened his mouth like there was more he wanted to say before closing it again.

“I meant how’re you here so fast?” I knew I’d lost track of time, but not the hours it’d take him to drive back from Portland.

“Duncan is good.”

“So is David…” I raised my brows. “Are we just saying random men’s names?”

Alexander chuckled. “My helicopter pilot.”

Oh.

Right.

Of course.

How silly of me.

He twisted my braid around his fingers.

Fingers that’d given me pain and clarity. Beauty and understanding.

Fingers I knew would bring me pleasure before the night was done.

“You okay?” He studied me as if he could read my secrets in my expression.

I was better than before, which wasn’t saying much. That hadn’t exactly been a tall benchmark to hurdle over. The anxiety elephant had hauled his heavy ass off my chest to lurk in the corner. My heart wasn’t thumping, my palms were no longer slicked with sweat, and my stomach had unclenched.

But I was still a dumpster fire of a hot mess.

Because I was beginning to fear I didn’t like Alexander despite his stalking.

I was pretty sure I liked Alexander and his stalking. How he was there when I needed him. How it reassured me.

Okay, I take it back. I’m still the crazier one.

I get the trophy.

“I’m better,” I said, leaving it at that.

“Good.” His thumb stroked the oversensitive skin where he’d cut, his gaze dropping to follow the movement.

I glanced down to see what had him so entranced before sighing. “Really?”

His three slices earlier hadn’t been arbitrary lines.

On my hip, there was a tiny red A.

My own scarlet letter.

Only instead of labelling me as a sinner, it marked me as his.

And I fucking loved it.

Okay, never mind. We’re tied for craziest. We’ll share the trophy.

Alexander’s unapologetic grin was loaded with male satisfaction and possessive heat.

Before I could think, I rolled my eyes. And rather than earning a lecture about my snark or attitude, I was gifted with his laughter and a tight hug.

“Can I ask you something?”

He gave me the same response as always. “Anything.”

“When you were implementing the upgrades at the center, did you access my records?”

“No.”

“But you could’ve.”

It wasn’t a question, but his answer was immediate. “Yes.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Because when I find out what caused those shadows in your pretty eyes and what gives you all those nightmares, I want it to be because you trust me enough to tell me.”

God.

It was too much.

He was too much.

Too fast, too intense, too twisted, and too wrong.

But that didn’t stop me from liking it. All of it.

He leaned back. “Can I ask you something?”

I gave him the same response he’d given me. “Anything.”

That wasn’t a lie. He could ask me anything.

It didn’t mean I’d answer.

He stood, taking me with him so I was forced to wrap my limbs around him to hold on. “Why were you crying over a muppet?”

“They’ve always got a hand up their butt. It’s traumatic.”

“Or kinky,” he pointed out, making me laugh and cringe. “I don’t judge.”

No.

He really didn’t.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Treats

Briar

For Sun, Sand, and Sex

“YOU SEEM HAPPY, Briar.”

Getting good dick may not have been a magic cure, but it sure as hell didn’t hurt. Not that I shared that with Dr. Linda.

“I’m feeling settled,” I said instead.

“That’s good. Is it the apartment?”

No.

“Yeah.”

“You talked about trying to make the space your own. Have you made any progress with that?”

“I bought a succulent.”

That I keep forgetting to water.

Does it even need water?

I need to Google that.

Making a metal note, I continued. “And my boss gave me a picture of me and one of the dogs from the shelter, and some plant with a cool twisted trunk.”

“A money tree. They’re a common housewarming gift.”

“Money tree? Good, I can retire now.”

“Are you not happy at the shelter?”

I liked Dr. Linda a lot. She was nice and seemed to care about more than billing my insurance.

That said, she had all the sense of humor of an uncooked brick of ramen.

“Very happy,” I said rather than explaining my corny joke.

“Good. Tell me what else has changed.”

Uncharacteristically, I’d been dying to tell someone about Alexander. I wasn’t ready to tell Aria—she had her own dating life to focus on, and I didn’t want to be a story topper by stealing her thunder. So who better to tell than someone I had doctor-patient confidentiality with?

I pulled my hair out of my messy bun and began braiding it as I spoke. “I met someone.”

“That’s fantastic. Where?”

“Here.”

Her smile dropped faster than my panties did for Alexander.

While friendship between patients was encouraged, romance was not. They were likely to enable each other, forming a codependent relationship.

People still did it, of course. It was inevitable. Meghan had dated someone in our group therapy sessions, but he’d switched to a different day to make it work. I was fairly certain Jenna was secretly seeing someone since her sharing