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I take her in, messy bun knotted on top of her head, black and green paint streaked across her cheek and the oversize white button-down shirt she’s wearing. I don’t detect shorts or any other bottoms, although the shirt does hit her midthigh. “Hi.”
“I wasn’t expecting company.” It sounds like an apology. She glances over her shoulder at the disarray inside her house.
“Do you mind if I come in? So we can talk.” I hook my thumbs in my pockets so I’m not tempted to tuck her hair behind her ear, or make unwelcome physical contact. What I want is to wrap her up and protect her from Corey and the hell this is probably wreaking on her.
Her shoulders curl in and her head drops, eyes on the floor. “Sure. Of course.” She steps aside and lets me in. Then rushes to make room for us on the couch, which is littered with blankets, a few sweatshirts, and a couple of pairs of socks. The state of her place is significantly more chaotic than it was the last time I was here.
“Have a seat.” She motions to the now mostly clothing-free couch and wrings her hands nervously. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“I’m okay, thank you. Come sit with me.” I pat the cushion beside me.
Queenie chews her bottom lip for a few long seconds and finally drops down, but she leaves a cushion of space between us.
“How are things with Jake?” I felt awful leaving her last night, but I also knew she was right and that I wouldn’t have been an impartial mediator at all.
She plays with a loose string on her shirttail. “They’re . . . okay. He was hurt more than anything.”
“Because you kept a secret from him?”
She nods. “He’s angry at the situation, though, not me.”
“I’m not angry with you, either, Queenie.”
She exhales a shaky breath and lifts her eyes to meet mine briefly. “But I understand that this is all too much for you. You don’t need my drama.”
“Queenie—”
“It’s okay.” She reaches out and squeezes my hand before withdrawing hers quickly. “You don’t need to explain. I completely understand. My life is a mess and yours isn’t. It’s probably better if we end things now so you don’t get dragged into more of my bullshit.”
A hot spike of panic slides down my spine. “Is that what you want? To end things?”
Her gaze lifts again, eyes red rimmed. She looks exhausted and so, so sad. “Isn’t that why you’re here?”
I realize I need to tread very carefully here, that I can’t direct my anger and frustration over this situation she’s found herself in at her, since the fault doesn’t lie with her. “No.”
“But I thought . . .” She trails off and brings her fingers to her mouth, nibbling on a ragged nail.
“That I came here to break up with you?” I finish for her.
She lifts a shoulder in a half shrug. “I wouldn’t blame you if you did. I’m a lot to deal with on a good day, and this is even more than I know what to do with.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, uncertain as to whether I’m more sad, angry, or frustrated at the moment. Because one of the people who was supposed to love her and embrace her wild, passionate soul made her feel like those were flaws she needed to apologize for.
“Come here: you’re too far away.” I don’t wait for her to move closer. I simply grab her by the waist and settle her in my lap.
Silent tears glide down her cheeks, and her chin trembles. She smells like paint and laundry soap and fresh rain. I wipe away the tears as they fall, but there’s more behind them. “Baby, I want you to listen to me and really hear me, okay?”
“Okay. I’ll try,” she whispers brokenly.
“I love you.”
“That doesn’t change all the crap I’m bringing into your life.”
“You’re not hearing me.” I cup her face in my hands and press my lips to her forehead, her cheek, the tip of her nose, and finally her lips. “You can push me away as much as you want, but it’s not going to stop me from wanting you. I love you because of all these perceived flaws you have, not in spite of them. I know you’ve been let down a lot, and I don’t plan to be one of those people in your life. Give us a chance to get through this together, Queenie. Let me catch you when you fall. Let me be your safe place to land.”
She covers my hand with hers and nuzzles her cheek into my palm. “I’m a mess right now. My life is a mess.”
“You made a mistake, Queenie; it doesn’t make your entire life a mess. Is the situation messy? Most definitely, but you’re not at fault for that.” I brush away more of her tears.
