Page 177 of Ruin Me Gently

Lilith stood in the doorway to my office. She was wearing one of my T-shirts. Molly had brought her clothes earlier, made sure she had everything she needed. But she still chosemine.That did something to my chest, made my pulse kick up a notch in a way I was still getting used to.

“Hey, sweetheart,” I said as I placed my glasses on the desk and opened my arms. “Come here.”

She crossed the room, crawling into my lap, and I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her close, letting her warmth settle against me.

“What are you doing awake?” I asked, pressing a kiss to her temple.

She shifted against me, fingers toying with the fabric of my shirt.

“Bad dream,” she murmured.

She’d had nightmares every nightsince she’d been here. She didn’t always wake up. Most of the time, she just shifted in her sleep, body tensing over and over again as the occasional silent sob left her. But this was the first time she’d come looking for me after.

She sighed against my chest. “I thought it was all supposed to stop.”

I frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”

She tilted her head, looking up at me through tired eyes. “In the books. You share a bed with a super hot guy, and your bad dreams stop.”

A quiet huff of laughter escaped me. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she smiled softly, silver eyes locked onto mine. “I think I want a refund.”

I smirked, tightening my hold on her. “This isn’t a book, sweetheart.”

I pressed a kiss to her cheek.

“They might not go away.” Another kiss, softer this time, against the soft skin below her eye.

“But Ipromiseyou—” I kissed the corner of her mouth. “I’ll always be here to hold you.” Another to her jaw. “To kiss the tears away if they come.” Another, to the soft spot below her ear. “And remind you that you’resafe.”

She melted into me and let out a small, shuddering breath. “They’re not about Clark.”

Not about Clark?

I didn’t ask. Didn’t push. But my mind did drift back to Dr. Hayes.

Complex post-traumatic stress disorder.

It went back,wayback—years. I tightened my arms around her, pressing another slow kiss to her hair. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.”

She didn’t say anything right away, just curled in a little closer, fingers drifting against my chest like she wasn’t sure if she wanted to let it out or lock it down.

“I used to count footsteps,” she murmured.

My brow furrowed slightly. “What?”

“When I was a kid,” she said. “I used to count footsteps. I could always tell who it was just by the way they walked.”

I stayed quiet, listening.

“Evelyn was always light and quick,” she continued. “Always in a hurry. But Wayne?He was heavy. Slow. Like he wanted you to hear him coming.”

Maybe she sensed the way my body stiffened, the way my grip around her tightened slightly.

“He was Evelyn’s husband. He was adick.A real piece of work. Drank too much, hit too hard. I used to be able to tell what kind of mood he was in just from how he shut the front door,” she continued. “If it was soft, I was safe. If it slammed—” She stopped, pressing her lips together for a second before shaking her head. “Didn’t really matter. Either way, he was always pissed aboutsomething.”

She let out a hollow laugh. “He was her favourite person in the whole world. She never left.” Her fingers clenched slightly against my chest. “I dream about them a lot. It’s never nice. Fuckers still get to me even in death.”

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