Fuck, take a hammer to my goddamn heart. “You just gotta feel the pain, baby. You’re not alone anymore, and you don’t have to be the bright and cheery one all the time. I got you. We’ll figure this out together.”
“It’s worse because I know she’s mad at me. But I had to protect myself. And Grandma. I don’t think she would’ve taken me in if she knew what her son did. Or it might’ve given her another heart attack and killed her, too.”
“Phoebe, I think your mom understands.”
“No, she doesn’t. I know she’s angry, and it makes it harder. I failed her. But I didn’t know what to do.”
Kissing her temple, I refuse to let her go and retreat into herself, like I can tell she wants to. “Baby, I think you got it all wrong. She kept her secret for years, and the only reason it came out was because she learned it happened to you, too. I think she understands better than you think why you’d keep it a secret.”
Phoebe sobs into my chest, and I fight my own tears. I hate this for her. I want to take every ounce of pain she has away. Feel it for her. Hold it so she doesn’t have to. I can handle it, and I probably deserve it. She doesn’t.
“I needed you to understand,” she says with a shaky breath. “It’s really hard for me to see the good in anything right now. The memories won’t go away like I want them to. Seeing that guy like that… I know he deserved it. I heard what Capone said, but it…”
“I get it,” I whisper, rubbing her scalp. “You don’t have to pretend to be anything you’re not with me. If you don’t feel happy, the last thing I want for you is to fake it. We both know how that makes me react. I do stupid shit. Like get you drunk.”
A giggle sounds, and I feel like I can breathe. She’s not broken. We’ll get her back to her happy self, but I definitely understand the over-the-top cheeriness now. She chooses it, and I can’t believe she didn’t turn out more like me.
“You shared your secret with me, and I want you to know that I trust you as much as you trust me. I know you got freaked out by my reaction today, but I couldn’t… The thoughts…”
“I was scared you didn’t want to be anywhere near me after what you saw because you were scared of us. Of me. And I need you to know that I would never, ever do anything like that to you. I couldn’t hurt you no matter how upset I am.”
Sniffling, she kisses my cheek. “I know.”
“I will kill anyone who hurts you, though, Yellow Crayon. I don’t care how they’re associated to me. My brother touches you again, and I will rip his fucking head off.”
“You’re the first person to make me feel safe since I was a little girl. When you say things like that, though, I shouldn’t. But it’swho you are, and I accept that. Just like I hope you accept me as I am.”
That’s why this is different. Phoebe accepts me, and that’s what draws me to her. She doesn’t want to change me. She doesn’t see me like something broken that needs fixing. All she ever wanted was to know me and understand me.
“Always, baby,” I whisper around the lump in my throat.
If there was any wall left around my formerly dead heart, it would be completely fucked right now. Down like the Berlin Wall.
I can’t tell her how I feel right now, though. What she said was heavy, and I want us to sit with it. Process it. Telling her now will only mask what she’s going through, and it’ll make things worse.
Her breathing evens out, and she’s asleep on my chest. Kissing the top of her head, I just lay there, holding her. She’s not running. She’s not scared of me.
My girl is a hell of a lot stronger than anyone else. Even me.
Chapter Twenty-One
Phoebe
The bakery has been closed for repairs for a couple of days, and I went in with Tucker to get the standing orders for the businesses around town done. No matter where I’m at in my head, I still have commitments to honor.
Telling Tucker my past freed me in a way. We help carry the other’s burdens. It’s overwhelming, actually.
I’m not back up to my normal self, but I’m getting there. And when Tucker suggested we go out tonight—with a promise not to get me drunk—I agreed. I want to feel normal again.
Nancy walks up to me at the bar and takes my hand. “How are you, sweetheart?”
I’m not sure exactly what she knows, but I can only imagine that I said something when she helped me hold my hair back the last time I was here. “I’m okay. How are you?”
“Not going to offer you tequila ever again.”
“Thank you,” I say, with a laugh. “I don’t know that I really want to drink ever again. That was… That was terrible.”
She laughs. “So, no cocktail or beer tonight?”
