Page 73 of The Lightkeeper

“You’re not broken, Kit,” she said with no doubt in her eyes. Like she’d seen, observed, studied every inch of me—of my soul—and concluded it to be fact.

“How are you so certain?”

“Because broken men don’t fight—don’t care enough to try.” She lowered her head. “Broken men don’t feel.” Her lips gently brushed mine. “Broken men don’t love.”

Her mouth sealed to mine, and no matter how I tried to convince myself she was still talking about my family—about how much I loved them—part of me wondered if she meant something else.Meant something more.

Her tongue slid along my lips, and I opened for her—let her inside.Something I couldn’t stop myself from doing.Not today. Not yesterday. Not last week. Not last month. Not from the moment she’d intruded my lighthouse.

I hadn’t been able to keep her away from the start, no matter how harsh a warning I’d given. But now, looking back, I realized she was right. She hadn’t been destroyed by getting too close.I had.Irrevocably, unalterably wrecked by having her in my life. My walls. My solitude.My hopes.For the rest of my life.For the rest of time.

The later it got, the more I expected the nerves. The tingling. The elevated heart rate. The break of sweat. It happened every time Iwas around other people—even my family. My hands stilled under the running water in the sink, the thought hitting me that it didn’t happen around Aurora.Maybe that was why it wasn’t happening now.

No.I soaped my fingers rough and quick. It had to be because I was at the lighthouse; this place was my own bubble of safety. The reason why I didn’t like people to come here was because I was afraid if the bubble popped, I’d have nowhere else to go.

But then Aurora showed up.

I grabbed a towel and bumped off the faucet, turning to watch as Aurora bopped along to the music playing from her phone that sat in a cup on the counter while she cleaned the living room.

I wanted to tell her it was just Lou—and that there wasn’t much to clean. But I couldn’t stop her—not when she looked so damn adorable.Nor when the sway of her hips looked so fucking inviting.She kept wearing my shirts around the house—and nothing underneath them—which was becoming a hazard for both my dick and my laundry policy.Once a month to Mom’s: wash. Dry. Retreat.But God help me, I didn’t want to see her wearing anything else.

I thought I’d at least keep us in the bedroom—distracted—until it got close to dinner time, but Aurora had other ideas. We’d spent the day cleaning the house. Tidying all of her books and papers and notebooks on the desk. Organizing all the specimen jars on the shelves I’d bought at the hardware store the other week; I’d grumbled some excuse about the containers taking over the space on my counter and wanting them out of the way. The truth was Aurora was running out of space, and she kept having to sift through all the jars to find the one she wanted.

Those specimens had given me an outlet—they’d given me back the spark to draw. To create. And I wanted to give her something in return. Something that made her comfortable here.Something that made it easier to stay. Something that might tempt her to never leave.

There was a soft rap on the door. I glanced at Aurora and then went to it. I took a deep inhale, bracing myself for the next few hours of needing to convince Lou I was alright, but when I opened the door, it was more than Lou on the other side.

“Kit.” Lou was the first to barrel into me with a hug.

I hardly got one arm around her before Frankie launched for me, too. I stepped back, both my sisters in my arms, as Mom and Gigi filed inside next, their arms filled with baskets and blankets.

“What is… I don’t have…” Room. Chairs. Space… anything.

“We do,” Jamie said lowly, the last to enter with wooden folding chairs under either arm. “We’ve got you.”

I turned slowly, like I stood in the eye of a tornado, watching my family fill the house, bringing with them everything I needed. Two chairs for Mom and Gigi. Loads of blankets for the floor.A picnic,someone said as the space transformed in front of me. Frankie dispersed a bag full of candles that she’d clearly stocked up to bring. Mom, Gigi, and Violet unloaded baskets of already-prepared food onto the counter. Aurora and Lou took out paper plates and silverware.

Within minutes, it no longer looked like the bare-bones barracks from earlier. The candles glowed. The aroma of baked ziti and garlic bread filled the air. And everyone crowded around Aurora’s shelves, mesmerized by her creatures.

“Time to eat before it gets cold,” Gigi declared, ushering everyone to the open trays.

The house was small. It was frustratingly small when it was only Aurora and me inside, and I’d been trying to avoid her. It was impossibly small once I’d had her and tried to stop myself from reaching for her at every moment. And now, with my family crammed in the space, I thought I’d feel claustrophobic and panic—the press of bodies too similar to the crowds at the race thatday. Instead, I felt calm. Protected. Like the love and laughter around me were too strong and a thick buffer to let the darkness creep in.

“You okay?” Aurora checked in with me softly while we waited for our turn to fix a plate.

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t know…”

“It’s okay.” I reached for her hand, tucking it into mine for a quick squeeze. “I should’ve known Lou wouldn’t show up here on her own. Not how my family works.”

She smiled with relief.

“Aurora, you never told us. Do you have siblings?” Gigi probed with a wide smile on her face.

“No.” She shook her head and filled her plate with the ziti. “It’s just my dad and me. My mom passed away when I was pretty young.”

From breast cancer. Aurora had only been six. Her father had explained what happened the same way he’d told her about thunderstorms.It’s hard to be afraid of something when you understand why it’s happening.

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