Page 27 of The Persistence of Thornes
I flick on the light in the foyer and pad to the kitchen, where I set the plate on the counter. I know I should shower and go to bed, but instead, I’m drawn to my back porch, unable to resist looking for Halle.
I step outside and drop into the rocker on my deck. As I lean back, I peer over, going for casual.
Sure enough, she’s there and she’s…
I sit up straight. Why the fuck is she crying?
Before I know what I’m doing, I’m off the porch and striding across the lawn.
CHAPTER 7
HALLE
No, no, no. The words echo in my mind as Caleb steps onto his back porch, and when he spots me bawling my eyes out, I wish the ground would open up and swallow me whole.
The last thing I need is for him to witness my humiliation.
I dash my tears away and stand. I’ve got my hand on the doorknob, ready to slip inside and pretend I didn’t see him, when he barks out, “What’s wrong? Who hurt you?”
At the sound of genuine worry in his tone, my breath catches. Slowly, I turn and exhale. “No one.”
He bounds up the threeporch steps, each one groaning beneath his feet. I’m pretty sure the whole decking is rotted out, but that’s a problem for future Halle.
“Then what’s wrong? You’re crying.”
Now that my escape has been thwarted, I brush past him and plop down in the plastic chair. “It’s nothing.”
“Listen,” he says, easing into the other chair.
I don’t know whether to be offended or pleased by the way he so easily invites himself over and gets comfortable.
“I know it’s none of my business, but if there’s anything I can do to help, please tell me.”
I inhale a shaky breath, blinking back another round of tears, and force myself to meet his eye. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a bit of a fixer?”
He winces. “A time or two.”
“You don’t need to do that. Not with me. You don’t know me. I don’t expect you to swoop in like Superman and fix my life. My problems are mine to deal with.”
I’ve dug myself out of shit more times than I can count, and I’ll do it again the next time I find myself stuck. I’ve only ever had myself to rely on, and that won’t change just because my new neighbor has a savior complex.
“I just… I like to help,” he says softly, almost brokenly.
Brow furrowed, I assess him. The light hair and the dusting of stubble shadows his achingly perfect jawline?—
Stop. Good God. Stop thinking about his jawline! We have more pressing issues to deal with!
It hits me then. Caleb and I are a lot alike. I might not know him well, but it’s obvious that he takes care of the people he cares about, probably to his own detriment, and I do the same. Time and again, I’ve put myself in a tough spotto help my mom out or take care of my brothers. Our situation now is the definition of that. I’m now fully responsible for them when, some days, I feel as though I can hardly look out for myself.
I clear my throat. “But who helps you?”
Brow furrowed, he lowers his gaze to his hands in his lap. For a long moment, he doesn’t speak, like he’s really considering my question. Finally, he straightens and says, “I don’t know. No one, I guess. Not really anyway.”
Though the candidness surprises the shit out of me, I keep my expression tempered, only giving him a small, sad smile. “It’s tough being the fixer.”
“The fixer?” He arches a brow.
“Yeah, the person who swoops in and takes care of everyone else, even as they continue to struggle on their own.”
