Page 8 of The Savior

“Everything’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

She rapped softly again, and he pinched his eyes shut.

“What?”

“If I missed the invitation to throw things, I’d like to invite myself anyway.”

He rubbed his forehead.

“I’m coming in whether you like it or not.” The knob twisted, and the door cracked.

“Be my guest.” As if he had a choice.

Chelsea passed him and righted the lamp and drapes. She swept the pillow off the ground and tossed it back on to the bed. “Could’ve done better.”

“What?”

She shrugged. “Two out of ten.”

He didn’t have a clue. “For what?”

Chelsea glanced about the room. “Aftermath?” She shrugged again. “Though I missed your technique.”

He frowned. “Did you need something?”

She crossed her arms. “Someone woke up on the wrong side of the rainbow today.”

“Go away, Chelsea.”

She sighed and shook her head. “We’re supposed to be full of joy and life today. Didn’t you know?”

Maybe everyone could find a happy place today because they weren’t the one to blame for Julia’s death. “I missed the memo.”

Chelsea turned and nearly left but stopped. “My partner says that when people are too deep in pain, it’s impossible to realize they’re not alone.”

Ha. Today proved he was alone on a dreary island. “Got it.”

Her dark eyes narrowed, and she pursed her lips. “Now I know how Mac feels when he shares words of wisdom. You’re not alone, Liam.”

A part of him always believed Chelsea blamed him whenever she wasn’t with Julia. He couldn’t fathom the level of her resentment now. “No oneknows how I feel.”

“I do. I promise you.”

Liam glowered. “You can’t.”

She snorted. “Why’s that?”

“Because…” His fists balled at his side. “Because I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

Her dark eyes widened and jaw dropped. “Liam—”

“I should’ve been able to stop it.” He paced the small width of the bedroom with the day’s smiles and laughter mocking him. The celebration echoed in his thoughts, reminding him of pain he had learned to cope with over the past year.

“You can’t do that to yourself,” she whispered.

“I can.” He stopped. “And I deserve it.”

“Can you please cut the empathetic bull-cocky?”

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