The oxygen in my chest feels like it evaporates completely at her confirmation. My skin pricks with heat as it slides up the back of my neck, enveloping me as I envelop her.
I’m not an angry person, but I’m so angry right now.
I’m angry that hediddo this to her. That he made her feel like this. That he made her scared and skittish and doubtful of herself. But I refuse to let my anger overshadow her sadness right now. This isn’t about how I feel at all. She’s vulnerable and open with me, and she’s holding onto me like I’m her one saving grace, so I have to do something.
Say something, distract her,something.
“My mother isn’t dead,” I blurt.
She stops crying as she looks up at me. I can hardly see her in this dark room, but I can feel her dark eyes staring at me expectantly, waiting for an explanation.
“She’s not?”
“No,” I say, “but she may as well be.”
It’s quiet for a moment, but I know I have to keep going. I have to explain it to her because I told her my mother was dead. When she isn’t. I lied because I’ve never told anyone about her before, but I can’t lie now; I don’t want to lie anymore. I don’t want tohide.
“My dad left when I was a baby. My mom was…isan alcoholic and an addict.”
I stare at the ceiling as the words leave my mouth because I can’t bear to see how she’s looking at me right now.
“She brought home a lot of…bad guys. I was too young to protect myself,” I whisper. “She let them h-hit me.”
Maeve sniffles in the darkness, and I know she’s trying not to cry again because I can feel her fighting the tears against me. Can feel her chest shuddering as she holds them back.
“The flinching eventually stops,” I mumble. “The fear of loud noises. It goes away. It takes time, but it goes away. I promise it won’t be like this forever.”
“Tate,” she whines in a whisper.
I finally look down at her.
“It’s okay,” I say softly.
She seems reluctant to accept that response, but she lays her head down on my chest anyway, pressing her cheek against me as she snuggles deeper into my side. It’s unspoken, but it’s like we better understand each other. There’s a veil over us now that I can’t quite explain, but I know that it feels…good.
“Is it cold enough in here?” I rasp after a while.
She nods. “Yes. Thank you, Tate.”
I don’t say anything, unsure of what Ishouldsay, and by the time I muster up the courage to rub her back in slow, comforting circles, despite my hand trembling, I hear the soft sound of her snoring.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
MAEVE
Wednesday, December 22nd
Peeling my heavy eyes open, I blink a few times, trying to adjust to the low light of the sun peeking behind the curtains, when I’m suddenly hyperaware of someone’s warm body pressing into mine. I perch up onto my elbow in a flash, staring down at Tate stirring softly in his sleep as his arms tighten around my waist.
Oh my God.
Even our legs are tangled up together.
Everything comes flooding back in my sleepy haze, and I run a hand down my face as I try to peel away from him without waking him up. The swollen, puffy feeling in my eyes only further reminds me of my mental breakdown in bed last night, and I want to shrivel up and disappear forever. Once I’m free from Tate’s grasp, I flee to the bathroom.
My horror only grows as I glance at my reflection, my face falling into my palms as I let out a silent groan. Just as I expected, my eyes look like I had gotten in a fight last night rather than poured my guts out to a man I’ve known for just over a week now. My hair is a tangled mess from sleeping in the crookof Tate’s arm all night, which means it’ll be too crazy to brush out without a weird bend to my hair, so in a tiny ponytail under a hat it goes.
We were vulnerable with each other last night, more vulnerable than I’ve ever been with anyone aside from…
