I open the box and watch her face as she sees the hundreds of photos.
Her at eighteen. Her at college. Her lastmonth. Sleeping, reading, laughing with friends.
Every moment of her life I could capture, catalog, and keep.
Her hands shake as she sorts through them. I watch her process it—the scope of it, the depth of it.
Themadnessof it.
“I told you,” I say quietly. “I'm crazy.”
“It’s a bit mad, but you know how we feel about that,” she whispers.
Then she finds one near the bottom—her at nineteen, crying on her bed.
I have a little sticky note on the back. She gives me a quizzical look. “These are… annotated?”
I snort. “Leave it to you to make it sound academic.”
I can’t hide my smile. It became a weird habit of mine, recording my reaction.
Then she reads the note and goes still:
I would hurt anyone who made her cry.
Another photo. Another note:
Her laugh is music.
Another:
So fucking smart.
She looks up at me, tears in her eyes. “These notes?—”
“Are the thoughts of a stalker. I know.” I can't meet her gaze. Can't watch her look at me with disgust. “I know.”
“Ashland. These aren't the notes of someone who wants to hurt me. They're the notes of someone who's desperate to protect me. To know me. To—” Her voice cracks. “You're in love with me.”
There's no point in denying it. “Aye.” My voice comes out raw. “Of course I am. In a way that's probably not healthy or sane. And I know I have no right to feel this way. No right to you at all.”
She stands and walks past the boxes of pictures, around to me.
I track her every movement, wary, waiting for her to bolt or protest orsomething.Instead, she stops in front of me.
“Tell me about the night you saved me,” she says softly. “When I was eighteen.What happened? I want to hear it from your point of view. What you remember.”
I'm quiet for a long moment, remembering. “I was finishing a fight. Bare-knuckle, underground.”
“I want to watch you sometime.” She holds up a hand—I know, I know, not right now. It isn’t safe or whatever, but Idowant to watch you at some point, okay?”
I nod. “Aye.”
Something heated flickers in her eyes before she nods. “Go on.”
“I'd just won—beat the other guy bloody. Tiernan was pleased.”
“How is Tiernan?”
