1/2
Rodeo's never spilled his heart like this to a woman. The ladies of his past are a shadow of what Lita is to him, forgettable and interchangeable every last one. But it ain't just that he's never shared so much with a woman before-- he's never shared so much with anyone who wasn't already in. His sister, his brother, Teagan, all of them have heard things like this before from him but it was never a risk to show them his heart. He knows they will accept him, flaws and all-- but he can't say the same about Lita. Telling her all of this is the most vulnerable he's ever been, intrepid in the face of possible, even likely rejection from the woman who sits beside him. He knows it will hurt. He knows it will crush him if all of his words fall on deaf ears, if she hears him telling her his fears and foibles and still sees him as little more than a no-good liar. He knows that even now, even when he's being the most truthful and sincere he's ever been with her, she's still got no good reason to believe him. But she's got no good reason to be here either, to be letting him hold her hand, to be here in his bedroom behind a closed door-- and, unbidden, Pete's words from earlier come to his mind to steel him on. She doesn't do anything she doesn't want to do.
She wouldn't be here if she didn't want to be.
Would she?
He can't be sure. He can't be sure, but he spills it all anyway. He tells her things he's been holding back for ages, tells her more than he ever thought he could brave enough to reveal, more than he ever thought she could stare down without running the other way as fast as her fine legs could carry her. He unloads it all and he expects her to tell him his baggage is all bullshit. That he shoulda known better, shoulda done better than letting his damn issues drive his behavior. He knows it's true, but when all the words are out she doesn't point out what he already knows to him. She doesn't kick him while he's down, even though she could. Her mercy is a balm on his aching, beat-up mess of a heart. Instead she's looking at him with those great big brown eyes, bottomless and dark like that old cove in the woods he and the back-home boys used to hike out to to drink beers and jump down into the black water, cold as the Cumberland. They were never able to find how deep that watering hole went and he doubts he could ever touch the bottom of Lita's mind either, but he ain't afraid of jumping in and sinking down. Not if she'll let him.
And when she looks at him now, her eyes ain't frozen over. There's no damnation, no cool judgement, no sign of the narrowed and distrustful gaze that he knows he deserves. She asks if she's looking at him like everyone else does, and all he can do is shake his head mutely, too overwhelmed to do anything more.
But he asked her to stay and she's standing up. His heart sinks like a stone dropped into dark water, swallowed up, plummeting fast. He knows he shouldn't have expected that she would actually stay after all that, but his hand is reluctant to let hers go. He holds on a little too tight for several prolonged moments, the grip of his strong hand crushing slightly as he refuses to let go. He realizes how desperate that looks after just a second too long, and he releases her hand as he lifts his eyes up to her face while she stands before him. She looks down, she reaches out and skims her hand against his cheek, and his brow furrows in faint confusion over the tender touch when he'd been so sure she was about to walk away for good. His blue eyes search hers almost desperately, seeking something to explain the impetus behind this touch. His pessimistic paranoia makes him certain that it's some kind of farewell, one last sweet gesture before she walks away from him for good. But her hand comes to rest along his jaw, lingers there while their eyes are locked, and he's tempted to turn his face and brush his lips against her palm, her wrist, but he's too afraid that if he takes his eyes from hers it will be the moment she chooses to turn away. When she finally pulls her hand away and steps back he feels bereft, sure it's done now, done for good. A last touch, a last look, and his dime is gone. Gone, gone, gone.