Page 30 of Safe With Me
He tilted his chin in greeting. “Hey.”
I narrowed my eyes. “What happened toI’ll lock up?”
“I did.” His voice remained as calm and steady as his gaze on me. My anger didn’t faze him at all. Last week, he’d come undone in my living room because I was angry. Where had that man gone?
If I squinted any harder at him, my eyes would be closed. “What are you still doing here?”
“I wasn’t leaving you alone the way you were.” He gestured toward the living room with his mug. “Dozed on the couch.”
Of course. His desperate concern for me the previous evening had held an undercurrent of fear, and I wouldn’t have to look far for the reason for that. “I’m not going to hurt myself.”
“I wasn’t take any chances. People do things out of character when they’re hurting.” His chest lifted and fell with a shallow breath. “You were hurt, bad.”
Holding on to my anger was a challenge in the face of his quiet concern. Besides, a body could only hold so much grief and fury, like an overstuffed suitcase. My emotions toward Elizabeth crowded out my loss and outrage over him.
His experience with his daddy and that undercurrent of fear lingered in the room like an unseen ghostly mist. How could I fault him for wanting to watch over me?
Giving his body as much of a wide berth as possible in the cramped space, I crossed to pour coffee. On a shaky breath, I rana finger around the rim of my cup, warmth rising to tickle my palm. “Thank you for last night.”
“You’re welcome.”
I waited for thewhat happened, and when it didn’t come, I glanced over my shoulder to find him watching me, a wry twist to his lips.
“Pretty plain last night you didn’t want to share with me. I’m not going to push you.” He grimaced on a sip. “And it’s pretty plain Elizabeth did something.”
That was one way to put it. Tension crept over my shoulders and up my nape. Elizabeth had done something I couldn’t come back from. I’d joked about Hester Prynne with Scott that night at the Millhouse, but Elizabeth had branded me with a false scarlet A for real.
A shudder worked through me at the thought of setting foot outside. At least it was the weekend. I could plot and plan and by Sunday make an escape.
“Hannah.” Tate’s soft entreaty brought my attention from the dark depths of my mug to him. “How can I help?”
“You can’t.” I didn’t think anyone could. A salacious rumor in a small town was like a sex tape on the Internet – impossible to scrub clean. I could ignore the Internet. I’d just stay off social media.
But I needed to go to work, to pick up groceries, to buy gas.
I needed to live my life.
Elizabeth had made that impossible in Coney.
“I’m sorry you’re hurting. Losing someone you love is a bi–” He bit off the word and coughed into his fist. “It’s the worst thing.”
Again, his experience hung heavy in the air between us. The tiniest ripple of guilt wound through my stomach. My sister was hateful, selfish, and vindictive, but she was alive.
His parents were gone.
“I know she’s not dead.” So a week apart had not diminished his skill in reading my thoughts. He’d always been good at that, mostly, even with me keeping a high, thick friend zone boundary between us. Or trying to. “But last night makes me think your relationship with her is.”
“She hates me.” The words tasted awful, like spoiled milk.
“No.” He shook his head, gaze remaining steady and gentle. “She’s lost in herself and making stupid-ass decisions her future self will hate her for.”
A weighted pause floated between us, and a hushed “huh” emerged with his next breath.
“I know how that feels.” He scuffed his free hand over his nape.
“The end result is the same.” Unable to bear the sympathy and remorse on his face, I stared at the half-finished wreath on my table. That’s how my life felt right now – stopped in the middle and abandoned. My shoulders slumped.
“Hannah, there’s nothing in life that can’t be fixed.”
