She glanced down at the floor, but her cheeks shaded to pink, and she smiled.
“Gonna grab a beer downstairs. You want something?”
She shook her head then shivered, rubbing her arms. “Could I borrow a sweatshirt? I didn’t bring mine.”
He gestured to the closet and walked out the door, closing it behind him. The downstairs was quiet, but he could hear voices on the back end. Wraith didn’t even consider checking it out. His only priority was Cleo and getting back to her.
He grabbed a beer and walked back to his room. He stopped in the doorway, scanning the room but there was no sign of Cleo. The bathroom door was open, but the light was off. Where the fuck did she go? He put the beer on his dresser and took three steps inside. He jerked his head when he caught her standing in his closet staring down at the envelopes in her hands. There was a stack tied with an elastic band. Wraith wasn’t sure of the exact count, but it was over fifty.
Along with his sweatshirt that she was wearing, Cleo had also found his letters.
Her letters to him. He’d kept them all.
“You kept them.” She whispered.
“Yeah.”
Her face softened as she sifted through the letters. She was halfway through the pile when her hand stilled and she pulled out the photo.
“I remember sending this.” She flipped the picture to face him. “I thought it was such a great idea until I mailed it and had instant regret. It seemed so silly.”
“Knox had that up on our wall until we got out.” He gestured to the photo. “That was my view every day.”
She bit her bottom lip. “And you kept it.”
He gave a curt nod. “We were packing up our shit right before we were released. Knox had all your letters in a bag but couldn’t find the picture. He fucking flipped our cell, checking every inch of it. But he couldn’t find it.”
She scrunched her nose and lifted the photo. “But…”
“I took it. Didn’t tell him. Figured he’d give me shit but I wasn’t leaving it. You gave it to me. It was mine.”
She ducked her head but he caught her smile. “Why’d you keep them all?”
“I had the club, and those motherfuckers sure as shit weren’t writing me letters.” Wraith gripped his hips. “And I had you, and that kept me going.”
Her gaze jerked up and her mouth formed the shape of an O. “I did?”
“Yeah. You saved me.” It was probably the most honest words he’d ever spoken.
“No one else wrote to you?” she whispered.
This was a conversation he didn’t want to have. It was going to force him to dig into his past.
His face hardened, and his scowl deepened. “Get in bed.”
Cleo slowly nodded but didn’t move.
“What about your family? Your mom or dad…”
“You and the club,” Wraith snapped immediately regretting it.
“I’m sorry. You don’t have to tell me.”
It would’ve been unfair for him to keep his past from her when he knew everything of hers.
“My mom died when I was five, leaving me with my old man, who was a mean son of a bitch. My first memory of that motherfucker is smacking me around. That was daily in my house.” Wraith drew in a breath. “And the one time I told someone, he beat me so bad I was outta school for a week. He told them I had the flu. I couldn’t fucking walk.”
“Wraith.” She inched closer, and he instinctively stepped back.
