Page 24
He took a slow, purposeful breath, his chest expanding against mine. I tried to match it, but it was too shallow.
“In,” he murmured, always endlessly patient with me. “Hold. Out.”
In. Hold. Out.
His thumbs stroked gently along my cheekbones, anchoring me to the present. To him. To the rough brick at my back and the cold December air and the distant sounds of traffic beyond our hidden spot.
“Again.”
In. Hold. Out.
The panic receded slowly, like a tide pulling back from the shore. My heartbeat steadied. My breathing evened out. The black edges at the corners of my vision faded until all I could see was Harry—his face inches from mine, his expression so focused and intent it made my chest ache.
But with the panic gone, there was nothing left to hold back the tears.
They spilled over silently, tracking hot paths down my cheeks. I hated crying in front of people. Hated showing weakness and letting anyone see the broken mess underneath all my carefully constructed armor. But I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t do anything but stand there in Harry’s arms and fall apart.
I waited for the pity. For all those empty platitudes people offered when they didn’t know what else to say. I’d heard them all before, in the weeks and months after the accident, and each one had felt like salt in an open wound.
But Harry didn’t offer platitudes.
And what I saw in his eyes wasn’t pity at all.
It looked almost like longing, mixed with a fierce protectiveness that made my breath catch. He looked at me like he wished I would let him in. Like he wanted to take every ounce of pain I was carrying and shoulder it himself, if only I would let him.
But I couldn’t. I couldn’t.
If I let him in—if I told him the truth about what happened, about what I did—he’d never look at me like this again.
His thumb brushed across my cheek, catching a tear before it could reach my jaw. The touch was so gentle, so unbearably tender, that my eyes fluttered closed of their own accord. A shiver ran through me that had nothing to do with the cold.
Even now, in my weakest moment, he made me feel safe. Like my pain couldn’t really touch me as long as he was here. Like he wouldn’t let it touch me.
And God, how I wished that were true.
I’d spent five years building walls so high that no one could climb them. Five years making sure no one ever saw the real me—the broken, guilty, grief-stricken mess hiding behind the confident smiles and the sharp wit. I’d become an expert at keeping people at arm’s length, close enough to care about but never close enough to truly know the real me.
Not even Abby who I loved like a sister. Because she’d had her own burdens to carry and I would never add more to her load.
But somehow, Harry had gotten under my defenses without even trying. He was here. Being my rock even when I hadn’t asked because I didn’t know how.
How did he do that? How did this quiet, steady man make me feel more protected than anyone ever had?
His gaze dropped to my lips for just a second—barely a heartbeat—before snapping back up to meet mine.
My heart stuttered.
I opened my mouth to say something. I didn’t even know what—maybe thank you, maybe I’m sorry, maybe something far more dangerous like please don’t ever stop looking at me like that.
But before I could get a single word out, footsteps sounded at the mouth of the alley. Someone walked past—a woman, moving quickly—and then she stopped. Backtracked.
Recognition dawned on her face and her eyes went wide with shock as she stared at me like she was seeing a ghost.
“Sam? Is that really you?”
ELEVEN
My heart dropped straight to my stomach.
