Page 46 of Sweet Heart

Cat’s eyes narrow for a beat, and a soft crease forms between her eyebrows. Her lips purse so quickly that I almost miss it, but it is there. Her fingers curl even further, and I wonder if she is fighting herself. Her eyes flicker over my face, and she opens her mouth, but instead of the objection I expect, she lets out a soft sigh and steps forward into my embrace—the sharp, sterile smell of antiseptic surrounding us.

I wrap my arms around her and hold her gently. She tenses and curls her fingers into the fabric of my shirt before she presses herself fully against me. She still holds on to that tension, but I can feel her opening the door to siphon it out. I bring my hand up to cradle the back of her head and rub soft circles on her shoulder with my other one. Her jaw lands on my shoulder, and I press my cheek against hers. She hums, and I feel her soft lashes flutter against my skin as she closes her eyes.

We stand like that until Cat’s body becomes less rigid and her fingers slowly start to uncurl. She sighs again, letting out a trembling breath, and her body finally slackens. I feel her swallow before she tentatively leans back. She looks so tired, so defeated... My hand instantly comes up to brush her jaw, and she closes her eyes at the brief contact.

“Come,” I whisper as I take her hand and guide her inside.

She follows me to the couch and sinks down as soon as I gesture to it, dropping her face into her hands. I gently brush her shoulder with my fingertips before I turn toward my small kitchen.

“Have you eaten?”

Cat lets out a noncommittal sound that lands somewhere between a grunt and a groan. It tugs at the corners of my lips. If she weren’t clearly feeling like shit, I would give her hell for this. But instead, I smile and grab a cup of noodles. It isn’t ideal, but it will be warm and salty, which makes it perfect comfort food.

When I place the noodles and a glass of water in front of her, her head whips up. Her eyebrows crinkle together, and her chest heaves once. Then her gaze finds mine as she stares at me in disbelief.

“You… you made me dinner?”

I let out a soft laugh.

“I warmed up some noodles. Don’t insult my cooking skills.”

She smiles at that, small but real. Thank God, it’s real. I sink down next to her and nudge her knee while nodding at the food.

“Go on, then, before it gets cold.”

“Yes. Yes, of course.”

Cat reaches for the chopsticks, but halfway through the motion, it seems as if her brain stutters. Her hand freezes midair, and her eyes glaze over. I feel my heart pound as she stares into nothing. What the hell do I do? Everything in me screams not to ask her what happened, but I need her to open up. I can’t have her think she is alone. Not when she’s right here next to me.

“Cat?”

My voice is soft but startles her regardless. Her shoulders pull up with a small jolt before she blinks and picks up the utensils like nothing happened.

“Cat?” I try again, and this time she does turn to face me, her eyes almost pleading.

“Talk to me?”

She is silent for a long time, and her suddenly sharp eyes are trained on me. I see the muscle in her jaw move under her golden skin, and I hear her slowly draw in a deep breath as if she is trying to ground herself.

“Rough day,” she croaks and tries to return to the noodles.

Tries, but she is shaking so hard that the chopsticks rattle in her hands.

“Hey… hey,” I let out as my hands reach for hers.

I slide closer and place my fingers gently on hers as I carefully take the sticks and place them back on the table. Her knee brushes against mine. She stares at it, but she is miles away. What do I do?

Carefully, I brush one of the loose strands of hair back, and Cat shudders under my touch. She blinks hard, and her eyes find mine. I feel my chest constrict as she starts to shake all over, and I pull her against me before I can stop myself.

“I lost her. She was only seven, and I lost her.”

Chapter 17

Cat

I can’t bear to look at her when I say those words. The thought of seeing pity in those blue eyes is enough to make me shudder. Even though I know it is normal. The empathy, the regret—they are logical responses to hearing about trauma like this. Especially when it involves a kid. But I can’t… I just can’t.

When my stomach clenches, I wrap my arms around myself and fold forward. Everything feels so cold, so far away. And why won’t my hands stop shaking? Shit, I’m fucking crashing. I squeeze my eyes shut and make myself even smaller, rocking my body slightly. If a hole opened up right now, I’d let it swallow me. It’s too much. It feels like…