Page 69 of The Lightkeeper

I let out a weak laugh and grabbed his wrist. “I need coffee.” I turned and found his gaze. “And to get some things from my B&B. And you have more sketches to bring to the gallery before Lou comes out here to hunt you down.”

She’d texted him every day since the party. Everyone in his family had. And he didn’t ignore them, no matter how hard it was to face what had happened. He responded so they wouldn’t worry—so they wouldn’t try to take care of him.So he wouldn’t be more of a burden.And my heart ached to watch him hurt himself in order to spare them pain.

His jaw tensed, and his eyes darkened. “I don’t—I’m not—” He broke off and stepped back, driving a hand through his hair.

“Why don’t I run them into town since I have to go anyway?” I offered, needing no more explanation than the strain on his face to see he wasn’t ready to be around people—other people—yet.

“Do you have to go?” He folded his arms, his eyes roaming hungrily over me. This morning was the first morning all week that I hadn’t woken up to some part of him inside me. I’d been up early, wanting to make some semblance of progress on my actual research, before the day tempted me with his presence.

“I need coffee to function,” I said firmly.

He stepped closer and reached out for the counter behind me, caging me between his arms. His head dipped, his low voice teasing my lips.

“You don’t need coffee to fuck,” he rumbled, nudging his hips forward so I could feel the hard length of him press to my stomach.

I shivered, heat pooling between my thighs. “No. But I need to function a little today, and you do, too. That shutter needs to be put back up,” I reminded him. There’d been a thunderstorm last night that knocked one of them offthe window.

His stare bored into mine for a long second before he grunted and pushed himself back with a curse, palming the front of his sweats to adjust his cock but making no (futile) attempt to hide how hard and heavy he was.

“You’re right,” he said low and nodded, and for the first time, I saw flickers of his former walls start to rise back up.

Instantly, I wanted to take it back—to pull him back to me and kiss him until we both forgot I ever mentioned leaving. But I couldn’t take it back any more than I could wipe away the scars from his back. Reality was coming for us, whether we wanted it or not. Better to drift toward it slowly rather than hope we’d survive a sudden crash.

“I’ll get the drawings together. You can take the truck.”

“Aurora!” Lou was around the counter, pulling me in for a hug, before I was barely through the door. “Thank God,” she muttered once she was close enough that only I could hear.

She hugged me too tight, and my glasses were askew by the time she pulled back. I could read the worry in her eyes even before her next words left her mouth.

“How is he, really?”

“Okay,” I answered as honestly as I could. “Not ready for people yet, which is why I’m here. I need some ground coffee. The big container. And I have some drawings for the gallery, too.”

The flicker of excitement in her eyes was brief before it fizzled.

She let me over to an open end of the counter, leaving me for a second to place a tin underneath the grinder and start the machine.

“Is he really okay?” Her eyes glimmered with unshed tears, and my chest squeezed.

I understood why Kit wanted to be alone. I understood howlooking at a face like this every time something broke him only magnified that pain a thousandfold, knowing he was hurting those he loved most. But I also knew that while seclusion might be an answer, it wasn’t a life. And after everything he’d been through, Kitdeserveda life.

I nodded and took her hand. “Yeah.”

She sighed, hesitating a moment before saying, “He told you?”

Again, my chin dipped.

“It’s always the worst around this time of year… the anniversary.”

April 15th was a week away.

“I was there when Mom got the call.” She stared at me while she spoke, but I could see her eyes going into a trance as she stepped back into the memory. “Jamie, Frankie, and I were standing in the kitchen talking about the shelves Jamie was making for Frankie’s candles. Mom and Gigi had just come upstairs from the basement where they’d been wrapping jars when the phone rang. We were laughing because Gigi had just given Frankie her label—the one that saidChandler.Jamie answered the phone and handed it to Mom…”

I held my breath. A tear leaked down her cheek.

“I’ll never forget the way Mom just collapsed. Like there were no bones left to hold her.” The grinder beeped, jarring her loose from the story for a moment as she wiped her cheek and finished sealing the tin for me. “Let’s walk to the gallery,” she said.

“Are you sure?”

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