“Can I tell you something? The way I would have written it?”
The way her voice trembles is a punch to the gut. “You could write it if you want.” I move to reach the lamp on the coffee table in the corner by the couch, but she shakes her head, and I plop back down.
“No. I- it’s just so much harder to say some things, but that’s not a good reason not to do it.”
“It’s harder to say things because there’s no looking it over and taking it back after. You can’t undo it, or change your mind and write something else.”
She bows her head and leans forward. She looks so lost that I want to take her into my arms. I want to protect her, reassure her, fight all her battles. That’s not the right thing to do. There’s only so much that can fit into a twenty-four hour period, and I’ve gone way the hell over the limit. She’s overwhelmed. Me adding my physical presence to that won’t make it better. She’d tell me that she needs to learn how to be strong for herself, and she’s absolutely right about that.
Still. Wanting to comfort her, wanting to be near her, wanting to fight for her, and just plain wanting her, is a hard thing to stop.
“Hey.” I reach out like I’m going to tip her chin up, but I stop when her head snaps up. I quickly drop my hand backdown to clutching the throw pillow. “You can tell me anything. Nothing will shock me.”
She doesn’t even shoot me an accusatory look that says,after this day, I should say not.
She just blinks and lets out a shuddering sigh. “I’m scared that if Lockwood can’t help me, this is my last chance.” One look at my face and she starts trying to reel that right back in. “See, I knew I should have written it.”
“You’re not out of chances.” I take a chance and brush her upper arm with my fingers. She doesn’t jerk away or fall off the couch in her hurry to put distance between us. She doesn’t move at all. “There isn’t a finite amount of resources that can help you. There’s no dead end. There are only things that don’t work, things to be discovered, and things to be tried.”
“This is your life.” Her eyes glitter brighter before she ducks her head and turns towards the window, where the blinds are drawn tightly over all three sections. “I can’t just intrude on it and in it forever.”
“This is alsoyourlife. I can’t intrude on it forever either.”
“You’re not,” she insists. “I’m the one here.”
“You could rent out the basement, or we could find you a house in Hart, if you like. The club owns a bunch of rentals, apparently. Scythe was telling me about them. Don’t ever think you’re out of options or that we don’t want you here.”
“Maverick…”
“I know. I know that things can’t be more than a friendship.” She turns to me as soon as I say that word, and the pain on her face, even in the dark, is easy to read. I don’t like it,but it’s not just that. It’s underscored with something raw and utterly naked.Longing? Or am I just seeing what I want to see? “We’re not ready. Just please don’t shut even that much down. I’d miss you more than I could say.”
“I’d miss you too,” she whispers, without hesitation.
“I know that you haven’t given up. Just leave space for something more. That’s all I’m asking. Just the thought, even. Just one micron in a whole big ocean of possibility.”
I’m more afraid now than I ever have been in the past. I’m scared as hell that she’ll say no and shut down completely again. Her eyes scrape over my face, seeing so much, even in the darkness of Scythe’s living room.
“Okay.”
Her soft agreement gives me the courage to ask her the question that’s played over and over in my brain since that day at her apartment. “Do you feel like you can’t tell me what happened to you because I’ll go off seeking vigilante justice and end up in prison again?”
She startles so badly that she leaps off the couch. I’ve crossedallthe lines.Shit.This is it. I’ve wrecked whatever sweetness, the rapport, the trust. I could have shot it all to hell with the kidnapping, but miraculously, she still came up here to seek comfort from me. I shouldn’t have asked. She’s not ready to talk about this and it’s not for me to press into her wounds.
I expect that she’ll toss her hair over her shoulder as a way to flip me off, or that she’ll retreat back down to the basement, back to solitude. Her frown eases and her face softens.
“You have the sweetest moral compass of anyone I know. Prison didn’t erase that in you. It didn’t harden you the way itdoes others. You’re a different man now, but I do think that if I told you, you wouldn’t hesitate to try and give me justice.”
“This person is still out there. Still alive. Still free.”
“I know.”
She doesn’t sit back down. Doesn’t pace. She just stands there. She doesn’t tremble, but there’s something still so vulnerable about her that it takes everything I have to keep my ass sitting down on this couch.
“He stole a lot from me, but not my dignity. He was sicker than that. He got off on the thrill of hurting me and scaring me. This guy has no record. If he’s done things like this to others, they haven’t talked.”
“You didn’t press charges. That’s clear.”
“Only because for weeks, I couldn’t remember what really happened. The whole thing was scrambled. It was like my brain was trying to keep me from going back to that night so that I could survive. Anything else would have broken me.”
