I reached for her hand before I could stop myself, covering her fingers with mine, soap suds and all. “You were just a teenager.”
She didn’t pull away. Instead, she looked up at me, and in theamber kitchen light, I could see unshed tears making her green eyes luminous. “I didn’t have a place to live.”
I froze, the warmth of the water feeling instantly ice cold. “You were homeless.”
Guitar strings suddenly went silent in the living room, and we both stilled, listening. After a moment, the soft melody resumed.
“I’m not fond of that term, but yes. Technically, that’s correct.” Faith’s voice was barely a whisper now. “If I thought it was difficult to get on my feet before, not having a permanent address made it even harder. Access to the internet, a phone. It’s not easy to fill out job applications when you can’t put down an address.”
She was eighteen and homeless? Fucking seriously? “Did Blake know?” I couldn’t imagine he did. Blake adored his sister. He’d have left college to take her in.
“I didn’t want to burden him.” She picked up the dish towel and methodically dried the plate I’d just handed her. “He’s only two years older than me. He deserved to go to college and build his life. He didn’t deserve to suddenly become a father.”
I submerged another plate in the sink, the steam rising between us carrying the clean scent of dish soap. I reached across her to grab the next dirty dish from the stack, and when I did, my chest pressed briefly against her back. She sucked in a sharp breath. For a moment, neither of us moved.
It was terrible of me, to savor this touch, this heat when she was in the midst of telling me about her horrible past. It was terrible that it took significant effort for me to force myself to break it.
My mind spun, imagining her circumstances. “Where did you sleep?”
Faith glanced toward the living room again. “It changed all the time. Sometimes, I’d get lucky and get a bed in a shelter. Those were the good nights.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
“Were you ever outside in the winter?”
She bit her lip. “There are ways to block the windchill.” Her reply was too casual, too practiced.
Jesus fucking Christ. The image of Faith alone, without shelter in the brutal Chicago winters, made something savage and protective roar to life in my chest. If Blake had any idea about this, he would’ve lost his mind. And if I’d known her then, nothing—not hell itself—would’ve kept me from finding her and bringing her somewhere safe.
“The hardest part wasn’t the harsh temperatures or not having a roof over my head,” she continued, her dish towel working over the same plate for the third time. “The hardest part was the realization on really hard days or dark nights that you don’t matter to anyone.”
I pulled my hands from the water, soap dripping from my fingers, and turned to face her fully. “Faith?—”
She held up her hand, but I caught it gently in mine.
“I know it wasn’t accurate. Feelings often aren’t. Blake cares about me,” she whispered, her eyes locked on our joined hands. “But I wasn’t going to drag him down with me. That was a line I would not cross, but …” She exhaled, the sound shaky. “There were nights when I’d be shivering so violently from the cold that it felt like every heartbeat was a fight to stay alive. And every once in a while, I thought,Why fight?It felt like no one would really care if another statistic was found dead on the streets. And that life would never get better.”
The air suddenly felt too thick to breathe. This woman, at her most rock bottom, had refused to be a burden to anyone else. Even when refusing that help could’ve cost her life.
I’d never met anyone more selfless or more deserving of love. More deserving of someone who would fight for her the way she’d fought for everyone else.
The urge to pull her into my arms was overwhelming.
“If I had been in your circumstances, I don’t know that I would’ve had the courage and strength to persevere, Faith.” Mythumb traced across her knuckles. “You should be proud of everything you’ve overcome and accomplished.”
Her eyes welled with tears, a lone one escaping down her cheek. I reached up to brush it away, her skin impossibly soft beneath my fingers. Every instinct screamed at me to promise her she’d never face anything alone again, but I knew she wasn’t ready to hear that yet.
“Hey, Faith, do we have any more of that garlic bread?” Todd called from the living room.
We sprang apart like we’d been caught doing something wrong. Faith quickly wiped her eyes and called back, “Check on top of the oven!”
The sound of Todd rummaging in the kitchen behind us made us both busy ourselves with the remaining dishes, my hands finding their way back into the warm water, the slick feel of soap bubbles between my fingers oddly grounding.
“Anyway,” Faith continued quietly once Todd had grabbed the bread and disappeared again, “once I got on my feet and reflected back on that time in my life, I realized that a lot of other kids go through something similar. I would run into them, and I would take them out to lunch so they’d get a meal, and I would listen to their stories.”
“You wanted to help them too.”
She nodded, and for the first time since this whole ordeal began, I saw a look of genuine peace cross her features. “Once I was back on my feet, I started putting together a plan. I mapped out what it would take financially to help some of these kids as they age out. The ones who have nowhere else to go.” Her smile was radiant. “My dream was to start with one house. The one I have now has three bedrooms. I wanted each kid to have their own space while I helped them get the tools to start their lives. But mostly, I just wanted to wrap my arms around them and make them feel loved.”
As she spoke, her entire face transformed. This was Faith’s passion, her purpose. And watching her talk about these kids withsuch fierce love made something click into place in my chest—something that felt dangerously close to adoration.
