“Because you’re perfect.”
She looks unconvinced. “You’re only saying this because you like me.”
No, I’m saying this because I love you.
Of course I can’t say that to her.
I rub her cheeks with the pad of my thumbs. A slow and gentle back and forth motion. “I’m saying this because Iknowyou.”
Her lower lip wobbles as she throws her arms around my neck and hugs me.
I return her hug, pulling her closer to me.
Lightning spills into the room followed by a deafening crack of thunder. The rain gets harder and louder outside, but the room is still and silent.
“You should get some sleep.” I run my palm down her back, calming her down.
“I’m not sleepy,” she mumbles into my shoulder.
“Have you had dinner?”
“No, but I’m not hungry?—”
“Doesn’t matter. I’m getting you something to eat.”
With a sigh, she nods. Untangling her arms from around my neck, she gets off me and climbs into my bed. She faces the window and stares at the storm raging beyond the glass. It is terrifying to know that if she didn’t have me, she’d be alone and lost in such weather.
“Thank you for letting me stay here,” she says.
“You don’t need to thank me, Rose.” With that, I stand up and press a kiss on her head. “I’ve got you.”
Mom and Dad are in the living room engrossed in a conversation as I walk past them into the kitchen. I grab a plate and start pulling it up with food when they appear in the doorway. It’s Mom who steps forward and stands beside me.
“Heath, what is going on?” Her tone is laced with worry.
“Nothing,” I mutter as I speed up my movements to escape as fast as I can. The last thing I want is an interrogation.
“Why is Hope here?” she asks.
“Her parents are out of town and she was alone so I asked her to stay with me.” The lie rolls off my tongue effortlessly. I just hope she believes me doesn’t prods me for details.
Of course I thought wrong.
“But she was shaking and crying,” she adds.
“There was a power shutdown in her area and it got her scared.” Another smooth lie.
Dad’s watchful gaze burns a hole in the side of my head. Questions brimming under the surface that I’m sure he wants to ask, but is waiting for Mom to finish.
Quickly, I place the plate in the microwave and lean against the counter in wait, avoiding eye contact with my parents at all costs.
Mom approaches and stands in front of me. “I know something is wrong,” she says softly.
My gaze lifts and meets hers. The second it does, I feel like she can see right through me. Despite my hatred and resentment, and the thick walls I’ve built between us, we are blood. I’m connected to her.
“Nothing is wrong,” I say confidently.
She goes quiet as doubt lingers in her eyes.
