Page 29 of Safe With Me
His lashes fell. I swiped tears off my face. I would not feel sorry for him.
“Tell me what happened.” His hands dangled between his knees, elbows propped on his thighs. “Let me help you.”
“I don’t want anything from you. Go away and leave me alone. No more gifts, nonothing.” The flowers he’d carried – black-eyed Susans and coneflowers this time – lay a little ways away, and I snatched them up to fling them as far as I could. I wouldn’t be here for him to leave anything anyway. I was going somewhere else, somewhere Elizabeth didn’t exist. I hated her, and I hated myself for that.
“Hannah.” Desperation roughened his voice. “What happened?”
“She did!” I erupted to my feet, screaming at him. “She did and you never saw it, you only saw her and she’s ruined everything.”
“Hannah, baby.” Agony twisting his features, he hooked a hand around my arm and pulled me close. “I’m sorry. I’msorry.”
This time, I didn’t pull away. Lord, I was weak. Instead, I leaned into him, resting against his chest.
He tightened his arms, mouth near my ear. “I’m so sorry.”
“Everything is ruined,” I whispered against the soft cotton of his shirt. He smelled of soap and fresh air, and I closed my eyes. “I’m ruined.”
“No, baby.” His murmur puffed against my hair. “No.”
I sagged into him. Maybe for a little while, I would pretend we were still friends. Or even the more I’d wanted. In the dark, I could pretend he was mine. In the dark, where no one could see, I could pretend I could have the life I wanted.
He smoothed my hair, rocking me. I wanted to cry harder, but a new numbness settled in, spreading from my brain to the rest of me. With a thumb, he smoothed my eyebrow. “Let me walk you in.”
His hand skated down my arm to my hand, taking my key fob. I let him lead me to the door and simply stood while he unlocked it. After he ushered me inside, I stood at the edge of the living room, lost. Would I have to leave everything?
“What are you thinking?” His careful voice drew my attention from staring at my feet.
I shook my head. “You don’t get to know that. What happened tonight . . . doesn’t matter.”
“I know how that feels.” His deep voice, quiet and serious, hovered in my home. I’d wanted his voice here forever, but hadn’t allowed him, invited him here, because I’d known that would only make me want what I couldn’t have. But it didn’t matter now, did it? “The night Mama died . . . after I lost it in the tool room, Daddy made me go to bed. He said it would look different in the morning.”
“Did it?” I didn’t really care, but talking about his pain took the focus off mine.
“No. She was still gone, but I could function better.” His voice softened when I lifted a hand to rub between my eyes. “Go to bed, Hannah. It’ll look different in the morning.”
Sure. Because any of this could be fixed.
“Go.” He gestured behind him at the front door. “I’ll lock up.”
For a long moment, I stood, soaking in what had once been the comfort of my home. I’d worked so carefully to put together a haven for myself. I might not have been able to have what I wanted, but I could have this.
And now I would leave it behind.
“Baby.” His gentle voice slid over me, and I closed my eyes, tears burning all over again for everything I’d wanted and she’d taken away. “Go to bed.”
Without looking at him, I went.
I surfaced through heavy layers of sleep and blinked at the sunlight slanting through my blinds. The night before didn’t come rushing back – the nightmare was already present, sitting on my chest. I closed my eyes and pressed my face against the pillowcase. Getting up and facing the day, facing my new life, loomed like a freaking mountain. I simply wanted to huddle in my valley.
The richness of fresh coffee wafted down the hall, and I scrunched up my face, slamming a fist into the pillow.
Hedidn’t.
Shoving the covers aside, I stomped to the kitchen. I wanted him to know I was coming and that I was infuriated. The need for a confrontation itched under my skin, and he was convenient.
Not to mention he deserved it.
When I barrelled into the kitchen, he leaned against the counter, one foot crossed over the other. Wearing his clothes from the night before, shirt hopelessly wrinkled, he cradled one of my handmade mugs from my pottery class at FRAC. Another waited in front of the coffeemaker.
