“It is,” Declan assures me. “It would get past almost any background check. But I’m really fucking good at digging…so I did.” He gently touches my hand, eyes tight. “As soon as I found the first file, I should have stopped. But I kept digging. I fucked up. I should have stopped sooner, or gone all the way and learned everything there was to know about Brent. Stopping where I did gave him the information he needed to find you. I didn’t know he had access to those systems. I swear I didn’t know. I would never have left you vulnerable like that.”
I lick my dry lips. “He…he worked for the police. He was a civilian contractor, but he worked on their computers, and a lot of friends who were cops.”
“I know that now.” He hangs his head, apology in every line of his body. “I am so fucking sorry. I will do anything to make it up to you, no matter how long it takes. Just tell me what you need, and I’ll do it.”
He means it, the apology, the sorrow in his voice unmistakable. I understand that feeling. Of making a mistake and wishing you could take it back, make it better. But I don’t want this man bearing the weight of this guilt. There’s no reason for it. I’m alive, and Brent is behind bars.
“You don’t need to do anything, Declan. I accept your apology. Brent's in prison, and I’m ok. The rest of it is in the past.”
He eyes me in disbelief. “The man came for you with a knife, Holly. How can you be ok with that?”
I smile. “Because the day he showed up at the garage? That's the first time anyone ever stood between Brent and me. I lived seven years under his boot, no one willing to help me. To protect me. Until that day. That day, there were four people I knew Brent would have to get through to hurt me. It was the safest I’d felt in nine years. I hated that they were in danger,hated it, but I was so thankful it happened the way it did.”
“But it could have been so much worse! What if you’d been alone? What if he’d followed you home?”
“There’s no point in playing the what if game. I’ll admit I had some sleepless nights, those same thoughts keeping me awake.” Lots of nights actually, but he doesn’t need to carry that. “But there’s no point. I have to believe it all happened the way God intended it to.”
His lips curl briefly before he hides it. I’ve seen that cynicism before. He tries to hold it in, but finally asks. “Do you honestly believe that it was God's plan to have your husband beat you for years?”
I smile gently. I’ve asked myself the same question, so I can’t fault him for it. “I think that I must have a purpose on this earth, because despite all the times I could have died, I didn’t. I always believed there was a bigger plan for me.” I shrug. “I can’t say that I believe most of what my parents forced down my throat as gospel, but I can’t help feeling a connection to something…more.”
Thankfully, he lets it drop. I don’t want to defend my faith to him, especially since I’m not sure what exactly I believe anymore.
He sighs heavily, standing. “Are you sure there’s nothing I can do?”
I feel sorry for him. He’s stewing in regret and I wish there was something…”Oh!” His eyes sharpen on mine. “Actually, there is something you could do for me, though…maybe not yet.”
“Anything.” He says simply.
What is it with these guys, making indiscriminate promises?
“I had two…friends that I’ve lost touch with. I tried making a fake Facebook profile to find them but I didn’t have any luck. The phone numbers I had for them are out of service.”
“Give me whatever you have. I’ll find them.” He says with absolute confidence.
“But, just find them, right? I…there’s so much I have to make up to them for. I just need a little time.”
“Just find them, I swear. I’ll give you everything I find on them and let you make the first move.”
I believe him, so I give him everything I know, all the details I remember. He doesn’t say a word, taking notes on his phone and nodding. My stomach swirls with nausea now that I’ve made the first move. A spiral of self doubt is starting. What if they don’t want to talk to me? What if they can’t forgive me?
Just as those inner voices are ramping up into a scream, Micah appears in front of me. His smile fades as he takes in the tension in my body. “Move,” he tells Declan as he shoves past him, coming to squat down in front of me. “What is it, love? What do you need?”
What do I need? So many things. But right now, in this moment. I can only think of one thing. And only one person I want it from. Asking for it feels like an epic act of faith. “I could really use a hug,” I whisper.
Micah groans softly, pushing forward as he gently spreads my thighs, careful not to knock my ankle. Then he wraps one of those big arms around me. I gasp and throw my arms around his neck as he pulls me off the seat and stands, settling an arm under my butt. He’s cradling me to him like a parent would a child, but nothing about it feels parental.
It feels…like my spot.
The solid weight of his arm pulling me into that wide chest. The way he hikes me up until he has our faces level. His eyes are so serious, so warm. The promises in them flowing through my limbs, chasing away those painful doubts, quieting the voices.
I tighten my arms around him until I’m pressed as close as I can be, brushing my cheek against his as I fold forward, collapsing into his arms. Trusting him to bear my weight.
For the first time I can remember, I accept the comfort of a man. Without worrying about how he might hurt me next. Or worrying about what it might cost me. I just…fall in and let myself breathe in the moment. It won’t last forever. It can’t. So I memorize the feel of him, the simplicity of this moment, so I can pull them out and relive them when I’m alone.
It could have been minutes or hours when he breaks the silence. “Home?” he asks.
I pull back. “No way.” I say, shaking my head and pointing to the back of the store. “Take me to the yarn.”
