If she called her other friends—Cosmos, Triumph, or Panama—who still lived in San Antonio, they would come as well, butthey’d only do so after calling Tripoli, and then she was back to her original problem. Tripoli would kill her father, and while she wouldn’t mourn the loss of the man, she refused to be responsible for Trip taking that action.
She listened to the continuous swish of the bristles and the clinking of the glass, the harmony of the two sounds somehow soothing. It meant that Lucas was here. He was willing to help, and it made her feel safer. It soothed the jagged edge of worry and tension over the violation of her home.
Decision made, she stepped into the doorway of the kitchen. He stopped what he was doing and looked at her. “Did you call one of your friends to come stay with you?”
“No. I didn’t call them.”
“Elyxandre, I know you’re?—”
“I didn’t call them because you’re already here. You want to help me, so I’m going to do something I haven’t done in a long, long time. I’m going to let someone help me.”
He simply stood there, staring at her.
She felt a giggle well up at the look of confusion on his face. It wouldn’t stay inside her. Hand to her mouth, the sound escaping from behind her fingers, she felt her eyes crinkle, her lips turn up at the corners, and her cheeks hurt from laughing.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “You just look so perplexed.”
“Because I am,” he admitted. “I know you’ve had several shocks in a short space of time, so please forgive me for asking the question, but, are you okay?”
“No.”
Her giggles turned into full-on laughter, the kind where tears leaked and her sides hurt from the duration. It lasted so long, he leaned the broom against the counter, then strode over to her side and gathered her into his arms. He tucked her tightly to him, her head to his chest and under his chin. His arms bandedaround her, and he rocked her back and forth as she laughed and cried out the feelings of panic.
Several minutes passed before she was able to regain control of her emotions. Even then, though, she didn’t want to move. It felt so good. She didn’t feel weak or helpless. She felt comforted. It was a strange feeling—one she wasn’t used to—but a part of her felt like maybe she could allow this more often.
They stood like that for a long time. The doorbell ringing was what pulled them apart.
“I’ve got it,” he said softly. “Go get changed. Take a bath. Relax. I’m not going anywhere until at least your door is boarded up, and probably after we fight about what you will and won’t let me help with.”
She smiled against his chest, clutching him extra tightly for a moment. “No fight. I said I was going to let you help, so I’m going to let you help.”
His lips pressed against the top of her head, then he pulled back to go answer the door.
A GIFT RECEIVED
LUCAS
Never in hiswildest dreams would he have predicted that he’d be allowed to help her with what she was facing. Over the course of the past two days, he’d picked up on several pieces of information that she would never have shared with him except that she was under such immense pressure. The fault lines of her psyche were shifting, and from between them, clues were emerging that she was built on a foundation of pain and separateness. He wanted to be the force that pulled the layers back to realign and then sealed the cracks by pouring love and care into them.
Now that the entire two-door span was boarded over, he felt better about her staying in the house overnight, but he wasn’t happy about it. However, he also knew that she would reject his offer to stay at his home until the door was completely fixed. That meant that he was either staying up all night to help her clean, sleeping in her guest bedroom, or staying awake in his truck across the street to watch the house. His conscience wouldn’t let him do anything less.
He took a walk down the hallway toward her room. The door was open, but the one to the connecting bathroom was closed, and he heard the light churning of water. Good. She was having a bath, and from the sound of it, she had a whirlpool tub. She needed that, and likely a massage, too, but that would have to wait for an appointment with a professional.
An image of her soaking in the tub popped into his mind. Her pretty blonde hair on top of her head in a loose, messy pile. Bubbles floating atop the water, covering her athletic body, and tantalizing glimpses of her from the gaps in the froth. Eyes closed, a peaceful expression on her face. Her skin flushed pink from the steam coming off the water.
Groaning to himself, he turned and walked away from the room, afraid that if he didn’t, he’d do something stupid… like go into that bathroom, get in the tub with her, and love her so thoroughly, they’d flood her bathroom floor. She’d probably drown him if he even walked through the door, let alone tried out that fantasy for real.
Back in the kitchen, he swept up more glass from the shattered door as well as the dishes that had been smashed. The only ones left undamaged were the metal pots and pans, and those would all need to be washed and put away. “Start there, dumbass. Put your brain to work. Distract yourself.”
By the time she emerged from the bathroom, he’d disposed of the glass and other broken bits in a garbage-bag-lined box, sealed it, and labeled it so the sanitation workers would handle it accordingly. All the unbroken dishes were either in the dishwasher, going through a cycle, or stacked neatly on the counter, waiting for their turn in the machine. He also confiscated a box of lawn garbage bags and gathered the cushions, blankets, and other material items that had been slashed so they could be thrown out.
“Thank you,” she said.
Turning to her as he closed the latest bag, his tongue sealed to the roof of his mouth. She was dressed in a T-shirt and leggings, her wet hair down loose around her shoulders. He was reminded of the first night he met her in the emergency room.
He dropped the bag where he stood. One measured step at a time, he walked to where she stood, framed in the entrance from the hallway. He stopped just out of arm’s reach of her, afraid that if he went closer, he’d sweep her up into his arms and take her down the hall to her bedroom.
Her feet were bare, and she was curling her fingers into the palms of her hands and her toes into the floor, as if she were willing herself not to move toward him or reach out for him.
