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“I would prefer my damsels were never in distress in the first place.”
She sighs. “Yeah. Me too.”
And we’re back to this. But the truth of it is, I don’t mind talking about what happened. I want her to talk about it. If not to me, then to someone. She went through something no one should ever go through. “Eh, June?”
“Yes?”
“Do you want me to call someone for you? Your mom or a friend or a therapist or?—“
She laughs and grabs at her waffle again. It’s slick with butter and syrup and seems to elude her fingers. “A therapist?”
“To help you process everything.”
“No, but thank you. And not the others, either. Might be dangerous for them to know about this.”
I shrug. “I know, but I don’t care about them. I care about you. If talking to them makes you feel better, then?—"
“I won’t put anyone else at risk, Anderson. You’re sweet for suggesting it, but no. No one else should be in on this.”
“You don’t always have to be strong.”
She gives a whimpering laugh. “You think I’m strong? I’m barely feeding myself a fucking waffle.”
I pick up the waffle bite and hold it up. She surprises me when she eats it out of my fingers—I’d thought to hand it over. Her slick, sweet lips on my finger sends an ache through me. “Yes, you’re strong. After everything you went through, and you’re making complete sentences? That’s strong.”
She smiles and looks away. “I got into the shower in my clothes last night because I couldn’t bear to take them off and forgot I had them on by the time I talked myself into going under the water.”
“And you still did it. You’re struggling, and that is strength. Weakness is giving up, and I’m pretty sure that’s not in your vocabulary.”
When she meets my gaze, I’m sunk. I know I am. This woman is in my fiber. “Thanks, Anderson. I think I needed to hear that.”
My throat is dry from holding in everything I want to tell her, and I rasp out, “Anytime.”
-
Chapter 45
ANDERSON
After I put the waffle boxes in the garbage, she yawns next to me in the kitchen. “Coffee?”
“I didn’t think to make any. Want some?”
She smiles up at me. “I was offering to make it for you.”
“But—"
“Please. Just let me do something, Anderson. Yes, I’ve been through some shit, but I need to feel useful.”
Relenting, I hold out my hands. “I give up. Go ahead.” The truth is, I am happy to see her want to do something for herself. She is one of the most independent people I have ever known, so I think it’s a good sign.
The scent of fresh coffee brewing fills the air, and I wonder if this giant leap forward means she’s ready. “June, do you want to talk about what happened?”
Her shoulders bunch up and she sighs. “I don’t know.”
“We can call someone in and?—"
“You’re the only person I know who would understand. And I’d rather talk to you, anyway.”
