“You don’t know me.”
I let out a breath. Over the years, I’ve learned from my big family that sometimes you have to let things go and approach the subject later. Being the fourth of five children, I’ve learned patience and I have a feeling she’s going to test mine.
“Why are you shaking?” Damn, I didn’t mean to go there, but there’s no taking it back.
“I’m not.”
“You are,” I mutter.
With her hands curling into fists, her voice breaks. “I don’t do this. I don’t lose control. I don’t?—”
She cuts herself off.
I move closer, careful and cautious.
Like she might bolt.
“Hey, look at me.” I keep my voice low, hoping she’ll confide in me.
She shakes her head, glancing at me briefly. I see the fear swirling in her eyes, but I don’t think it’s about me. It’s about that damn letter her eyes keep darting towards.
“What happened?”
“Nothing you would understand.” Her lips press together.
“Try me. I’ve been through more than you know. And I said I’m not going anywhere.”
Her shoulders ease.
The air is heavy. Real.
We stand there, neither of us move. Seconds pass and she peers into my eyes with what seems like a plea for help.
“You don’t quit, do you?” she murmurs.
“No, I don’t.”
A restrained smile flickers across her lips. “Of course, you don’t.”
“Not when it matters.”
“And this matters?” she asks.
My hands skim down her arms. “You matter.”
I erase the space between us, leaning down and placing a simple kiss on her lips. And for a second it feels like she might tell me what’s in that worrisome envelope. Like she might trust me.
She pushes me away gently. But her walls snap back into place.
“Session’s over,” she says.
“You want me to leave?”
“I do.”
I nod, focusing on her eyes, and head toward the door, before I leave I glance back. “I’m leaving but I’m not letting you go.”
Disbelief flashes across her face. Then a half-smile. Something that looks like she knows I’m right. And that might scare her more than what’s in the envelope.
