Page 75 of Playing With Danger

I tipped my head back so I could see his face.

Jaw tight. Eyes focused on the ceiling. Caught in the past.

Shit.

I did that to him.

“It could be a lifetime, honey, and it wouldn’t be long enough.”

“Truth,” he muttered, not looking at me.

I fell silent and settled back on his chest.

“Vienna was ten.”

His sister.

Valentine and Vienna.

I blinked away the tears and fought to keep my body loose despite his rough voice.

When he said no more I slid my arm across his stomach and held on.

“She’s been gone longer than she lived.”

Oh, God.

“The mindfuck of that is, if I don’t force myself to remember, I forget she existed.”

I bet his idea of forcing himself to remember was merely thinking about her. And I’d bet he thought of Vienna and his mother every day.

There was nothing to say to that. So I just held on and gave him what I could while my soul wept for all he’d lost, for the young girl who never got a chance to grow up, for a mother who left her boy, for a husband who lost two out of the three parts of his world.

I felt Valentine take a deep breath, and when he let it out, he relaxed. Proof positive I needed to tread lightly. Go gentle and proceed with caution.

It was his story to tell and he’d give me more when he was ready.

18

No. No. No.

This was wrong.

All wrong.

I didn’t need to look over at Valentine to know.

The disheveled man stumbling out the front door holding a blood-soaked towel around his right hand said enough.

Explained enough.

“Fuck!”

His roar echoed throughout the Rover.

“Fucking hell.”

The man pitched to the side but caught his balance before he fell.

---