Page 50 of Safe With Me
Blowing out a breath, I shoved the door open and stepped out onto the concrete drive. My stomach folded in on itself. Yeah, I wanted to do the easy thing, go on like we were.
But I had to do right by her.
By the time I punched in the code to unlock the front door, I had partially settled my breathing, if not my nerves.
“ . . . I appreciate that, Park, I do.” Hannah’s pretty voice trailed from the kitchen and I followed to find her setting out ingredients for supper – romaine, parmesan, lemon, a bag of sourdough croutons she’d toasted the night before. “But I’ll pass.”
Head tilted to one side, she listened a moment, a frustrated twist to her lips. Her quiet sigh hung in the air.
“You know when I say no, I mean it.” She caught my eye and shook her head, an ironic glint in those pretty eyes. “Have a good night, Park.”
I propped my shoulder on the doorframe. “What was that all about?”
She twirled a hand in dismissal and turned to pull a packet of fish filets from the fridge. “He called to invite me to church with him.”
A frown tugged at brows. “I didn’t know you were that big of friends.”
The look she pinned on me as she thrust the fish into my startled hold bordered on an eye roll. Like I was missing something–
Oh, hell, not him, too. At least Tick Fucking Calvert lived four states away. I saw Park around on the regular. Deciding not to tackle something I couldn’t change anyway, I held the pack of fish aloft. “What do you want me to do with these?”
She pointed toward the stove. “Salt, pepper, lemon. Then in the oven for about ten minutes. It’s preheated.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Setting the packet aside, I washed my hands. Hannah scattered the salad makings over the island then chopped the romaine and dumped it in a large glass bowl. I fitted a sheet of foil to the pan and brushed it with olive oil. Slowly, my shoulders relaxed. I loved being here with her, living little moments of a simple life I’d never let myself see I wanted.
I was grateful to be here, to be home with her. Risking this – even by doing the right thing – made my stomach hurt.
She cut the lemon in half, then in half again. Scattering salt and pepper on the fish, I cut a sideways glance at her as I set the pan in the oven. “Hey, can we talk?”
Setting the lemon quarters aside, she dumped bottled Caesar dressing and mayonnaise into a small bowl. “We are.”
I rinsed and dried my hands, then nudged her shoulder with a knuckle. “You know what I mean.”
A pretty smile curved her lips. “What’s up?”
“Sara’s worried about you.”
She froze, mid-whisk, her shoulders stiffed. “I know. She tells me on the regular.”
I rested my hips against the counter. “I get being scared and needing to heal. Remember when you made me go out?”
“That was different.” She resumed whisking, with more energy than necessary. “People weren’t out to get you.”
“You’re right. The sympathy was hard.” I shrugged, my gaze on the vulnerable line of her neck. “I don’t want you limited, Hannah.”
“Well, tough.”
I clenched my hands around the edge of the countertop. “You thought about talking to someone?”
“Yes, Tate.” She squeezed a vicious stream of lemon juice into the dressing. “I’ve thought about a counselor. I’ve thought about virtual therapy and talking to Pastor Mike. I don’t want to yet, and pushing isn’t helping.“
“What we’re doing every night isn’t either.” I was fucking stupid, except the sex was good for me – okay, it was good for both of us if the way she dug her nails into me and moaned my name was anything to by – and not healthy for her. “It’s like . . . drinking or whatever to get through something.”
“You think I’m using sex as a coping mechanism.”
“A distraction.” I was holding on so hard my hands ached. “Yeah.”
“I’ve got news for you, buddy.” She stirred in Italian seasoning and garlic powder. “Maybe I just like sex with you.”
