Page 37 of Fragile Sanctuary

Rhodes was confused and didn’t seem to know how she’d gotten where she was or what had happened.

I tugged my fingers from her hair, instantly missing the feel of the silky strands. “Gotta stop meeting like this, Reckless.”

“I— What happened?” she asked as the dog licked her hand.

“You tell me. Saw you through the window. You picked something up and then started having a panic attack.”

Rhodes looked up at me. “How’d you know it was a panic attack?”

The truth nearly slipped from my lips, but I caught it just in time, grunting instead. “Know the signs.”

She frowned at me, something telling her that wasn’t the whole truth.

“What’d you pick up?” I pressed, steering her away from me but also toward the information I needed.

Rhodes’ head jerked at that, and she pushed off me, scanning our surroundings. Her gaze stopped on something a few feet from us. She leaned over and snatched it up. “I wasn’t sure if I’d imagined it.”

I looked down at the piece of paper. No, the photograph. The corners were curled, and the image was warped. Black soot smeared it in places. But you could still make out the people in the picture.

Something about the woman was familiar. Her dark, wild hair and tanned skin. But I stopped dead on the eyes. They were so similar to the ones that had haunted my thoughts for the past week—that mossy green with flames of golden fire throughout.

That had me quickly scanning the rest of the photo and landing on a girl. She couldn’t be more than twelve in the shot, but the wildness and recklessness were still there. A living, breathing thing that made Rhodes more real than anyone I’d ever met.

“It’s my family,” she whispered.

My gut churned. I knew Rhodes had been a foster placement with the Colsons, but that was it. There weren’t typicallygoodreasons for ending up in foster care, but I hadn’t let myself wonder why she’d been put there. Because I hadn’t wanted to think about Rhodes at all.

Every thought that worked its way into my brain held a price I couldn’t pay. So, I’d done everything I could to keep her out. I couldn’t let myself care. Not in any way.

I’d turned away from her. Hadn’t wanted to see her pain. And what an asshole that made me.

But now, I couldn’t ignore it. Not as Rhodes stared down at the distorted picture, agony in her hazel eyes.

“What happened to them?” The question was out of my mouth before I could stop it. Now that I truly saw her, a desperate need to know more coursed through me. A need to understand all the pieces that came together to create the woman before me.

Those captivating hazel eyes flashed in surprise. “Shep didn’t tell you?”

Another prickle of unease skated over me. “No.”

Rhodes’ throat worked as she struggled to swallow, her gaze shifting to the Victorian. “This was my house.” She traced the structure with her eyes as if filling in the burned parts from memory. “Until it wasn’t.” She bit down on her lip, and I struggled to keep from pulling the flesh out of her teeth’s clutches. “They didn’t make it out of the fire.”

Fuck.

No, I needed a word a hell of a lot stronger thanfuck. But I wasn’t sure the English language had one.

Everything shifted, like one of those tricky images within a picture. You thought you’d figured it out, but then your vision changed, and everything came into crystal-clear focus.

The request to rehab instead of gut the place and start fresh. Rhodes’ need to go into the house while no one was around. The way Shep tiptoed around her and constantly checked in. Rhodes was facing her demons here.

My gut twisted. “Where were you when the fire happened?”

I didn’t offer her platitudes or I’m sorries. Because none of that did any good. It didn’t comfort. It didn’t ease. Nothing could. Not in the face of that kind of loss.

Rhodes didn’t turn away from the house. “In my bedroom.”

A fresh slew of curses slid through my brain. “You got out.”

I wasn’t sure why I said it; she obviously had if she was sitting here today. But the words somehow reassured me it was true.

---