And you never will,my mother added.
“Stop,” I hissed through my teeth, the word barely reaching my own ears.
We tried to warn you,she chastised.But you never listened.
His face tightened, concern flickering there, and bile rose sharp at the back of my throat.
He knows,they laughed.He knows we’re here.
Because you told him,another jeered.
I pulled harder on the strands, willing them quiet.
One. Two. Three. Again.
One. Two. Three. Again.
Another one of his tricks. The one that got me through yesterday’s meeting. With him.
A broken little sound escaped—too sharp to be a sob, too off-kilter to be a laugh. But he didn’t speak. Didn’t move.
Just stood there with a still, devastated patience that somehow made everything worse.
Mascara smeared across my palm as I wiped my eyes. “Great,” I muttered.
He pulled a handkerchief from inside his coat and held it out, his hand shaking. “You still look beautiful,” he murmured.
I didn’t take it. “Liar,” I shot back.
“No. Not about that. Never about that.”
For a moment, the voices inside stilled. Not gone—just… muted, like someone had turned the volume down.
“I don’t understand,” I whispered, more to myself than him.
“Then please,” he begged, “let me explain.”
A man approached—broad shoulders, stern face. He positioned himself between us. “Is everything okay here?”
“Yes,” I said before Damien could answer. “It’s been a… rough day. He’s helping me through it.”
“You sure?”
I nodded. The man’s gaze flicked to Damien in warning, but he moved on.
Only once he left did Damien speak. “Why did you cover for me?”
“Because he would’ve kicked your ass.”
A ghost of a smile touched his mouth. “Would’ve made you feel better.”
“Didn’t Rosie ever teach you violence isn’t the answer?” The question fell from me before I could snatch it back.
Something caught in him. “You remember her name?”
“Of course.”
Pathetic,the voice breathed—but even that one sounded tired now.
