She didn’t know what I’d done tonight. What I’d dragged through the door and into this house with me. If she did, maybe she wouldn’t be sleeping so soundly a few feet away. Maybe she wouldn’t be here at all.
Maybe she’d walk out, damn her father to hell, and let me carve him open piece by piece, sell what was worth selling, and leave the rest to rot.
My gaze drifted back to her, curled up on that lumpy, unforgiving couch as though she had no right to anything softer. A thread of guilt tugged low in my chest, sharp and unwelcome. She had no bed of her own. No room that was hers. She was sleeping on this thing because I told her to clean up the kitchen first.
And why the hell did it bother me?
I was supposed to be a monster. Men like me didn’t care where someone laid their head, so long as they stayed out of the way. But seeing her there, neck bent against the armrest, blanket barely covering her—something about it twisted in me.
I crouched beside her, sliding an arm beneath her knees, another behind her shoulders. She stirred, lips parting as if she might wake, but then settled against me like she trusted me even in sleep. Warm. Soft. Human.
Careful, almost reverent, I lifted her and carried her upstairs. Every step was loud in the silence, but she didn’t wake. When I laid her down on the bed I kept for myself—the first proper bed she’d had in this house—she sank into the sheets without a sound.
For a long moment, I just stood there, staring at her, a man who should feel nothing, watching someone soft and human in a world that demanded hardness.
As she stirred in her sleep, I noticed the cuts on the bottoms of her feet hadn’t healed from the night she’d scraped them on the pavement. And the outfit she’d thrown on—a ridiculous relic my grandmother had buried in the back of her wardrobe—didn’t make it any better. Right. I hadn’t brought her shoes, or a change of clothes, and suddenly the weight of my negligence hit me harder than I expected.
I gave her one last look before heading to the door. Tonight, she stayed. Only tonight. I was a monster, and monsters moved in the shadows.
I was sitting in the cluttered living room, a mug of coffee warming my hands, when Tessa came downstairs. The moment her eyes met mine, her cheeks flared red.
“S-sorry! I don’t know how I ended up in your bed. Maybe I sleepwalked or—”
“I put you there,” I cut her off, voice low, leaving no room for argument.
Her brows knit together. “You put me there?” she repeated, cautious, like she wasn’t sure whether to be grateful or suspicious.
“Yep.” I tossed the bag that had been at my feet toward her. “Here you go.”
Her fingers closed around it slowly. “What’s this?” she asked, guarded.
I leaned back, the coffee cooling in my hands. After I’d laid her in my bed, I’d left the house. Drove straight to the shitty part of town she used to call home. Breaking into her old man’s apartment wasn’t hard. Howard hadn’t even stirred, sprawled across the sofa in a drunken sprawl, empty bottles littered at his feet and the stench of cheap liquor hanging heavy in the air.
Then I had went to Tessa’s room. Chaos. Clothes ripped from the dresser, tossed across the floor like a storm had torn through. Drawers half-hanging, overturned. He hadn’t been looking for her—he’d been looking for cash. Her old man had torn the place apart hunting for whatever scraps of money she might’ve left behind.
I had quickly grabbed her things, scooping up what little was worth saving before the whole place swallowed me in its stench. Each shirt, each book felt like a piece of her that didn’t belong inthat wreck. On the way out, I had to resist the urge to drive my knife into the sorry excuse for a man passed out on the couch.
“Look inside,” I responded, nodding toward the bag.
She hesitated before unzipping it, her movements slow, cautious, like she expected something to jump out at her. When she finally peered inside, her brows drew together.
“My stuff,” she whispered, pulling out a worn sweatshirt, then a battered book. Her eyes flicked up to mine, uncertain, searching. “How did you—?”
“Don’t worry about it,” I cut in, each word laced with a warning that dared her to push further.
“Ok, then.” She rifled around the bag, and I couldn’t help but notice the small smile on her face as she was reunited with her familiar belongings.
“Take a break from cleaning the kitchen,” I said. “Clean out one of the spare bedrooms for yourself.”
She blinked, caught off guard, like she wasn’t sure she’d heard me right. “For myself?” Her voice was cautious, almost disbelieving, as though the idea of being given space of her own didn’t quite add up. “I thought you wanted the kitchen—”
“I changed my mind,” I said, leaning back in my chair, letting my gaze linger on her. A slow smirk tugged at my mouth. “But hurry up before I change it back.”
“I’ll just… get on that, then.”
Tessa scuttled out of the living room, leaving me alone with nothing but the clutter and my thoughts.
I ground my teeth and slammed my hand onto the coffee table. What the hell was I doing, acting like some soft idiot, giving her a room as if she belonged here? Since when did I start doing favors for people? I didn’t give a damn about anyone. And yet I’d gone and done it anyway. And the worst part? Part of me had wanted to. Wanted it in a way that made my chest tighten, that mademe feel something dangerous and sharp, like a fire I couldn’t put out.
