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“Okay,” I agreed half-heartedly. What else could I do? I was never going to beg him to love me.
He pursed his lips, obviously unsatisfied with my lackluster reply. What was he expecting? Shouts of joy? “Dani,” he sighed. “I know this isn’t the ideal situation for either one of us. It’s going to take time. But I promise you, I will be better.”
“Better how?”
He scooted closer. “For starters, I’ll be a better roommate. I want you to feel comfortable at home. You can’t keep coming here. If the press were to find out, it would create a firestorm.”
Him referring to himself as my roommate pierced my soul. “So, this is all about keeping up appearances for you?” I lashed out.
His face exploded in red. “You think that’s what I care about?”
“What else?” I dared him to contradict me.
He shook his head in anger. “The question you should be asking is who, not what. And the answer is you. Do you think I would go through this hell for anyone else?”
“I don’t know anything anymore,” I cried.
His features softened. “Dani, please don’t cry. I didn’t come over here to upset you. I want to make this work. And the only way I can think of is to start from the beginning. We have to learn to trust each other again.”
I wiped my eyes and tried to stifle my tears. “You’re right,” I conceded.
He gave me a half smile. The first one I’d seen in forever. He rested his hand on my leg covered by the quilt. “Can I take you home now?”
“I’m exhausted. I just want to sleep. I’ll come to your place tomorrow.” I wouldn’t think of it as my home until Brock treated me like his wife. Until we shared a bed and all of each other. I wasn’t sure that day would ever come.
“All right. I’ll stay here with you tonight.” He kicked off his shoes and stretched out his legs on the coffee table. He’d done it dozens of times before—before all this mess. Still the same hope lived in me. That maybe one day, when he decided to stay, he would truly be mine.
“That’s not necessary.”
“I promised you I would be better. I’m starting here.”
I stared at him, dumbfounded. Could it be true? Could we possibly build a relationship out of the ashes?
“Go to sleep, Dani. I’ll watch over you.”
“Will you be here when I wake up?” Those words fell out of my mouth before I could stop myself. I sounded like a scared child.
“If that’s what you want.”
More than anything, yes.Chapter Seven“The doctor is good with his hands,” Erin purred in my ear. She was one of a handful of paid employees at Children to Love. With how little I could afford to pay her, it was more like volunteering, but she wasn’t here for the money. Regardless of her monetary compensation, she was an amazing development and outreach coordinator.
I stopped gawking at Brock from across the shop area while he taught a group of our students how to build a bookcase. He had decided his time would be better spent volunteering instead of moping at home until he could return to work. And I think he was trying to make good on being a better husband or friend or whatever he was. While things had been better between us the last few days, there was this underlying tension and confusion that simmered below the surface while we tried to navigate our situation.
I smiled at Erin and admired her flawless ebony skin and her uniformly brilliant shiny black hair. She was ten years older than me but didn’t look a day over thirty. She used to be a hairstylist. It was how I had gotten to know her. When she ran her own salon, I used to be a client. I had roped her into giving free haircuts to some of the trade students we trained here. She’d agreed and got sucked into my world. She said she’d been looking for a higher purpose, so she sold her salon and came to work for me full time. Erin herself had been a foster child, so this place spoke to her. I think for any of us who had survived the system and thrived, we felt the calling deep in our bones to make sure others got the same chance. She had even convinced her husband, Jermaine, to teach a class once a month on managing finances since he was a financial planner. The kids that came through here were fighters, but they lacked a lot of basic life skills and knowledge.
Erin wagged her brows at me. “Honey, you got yourself a fine man there.”
I glanced at Brock. He was teaching the students how to safely use a table saw. He was a good man. Not only was he being thorough, he was patient and kind with the students, most of whom had never worked with wood or power tools. This place was all about not only giving kids the opportunity to acquire workplace skills but letting them explore what might interest them. So many kids had come through here and discovered unknown talents, like carpentry skills. It reminded me where Brock had found his love for woodworking. His father. My insides squirmed thinking about John. Yet I couldn’t deny he had a few good qualities. Brock had spoken often of his times with his dad in his workshop. He’d loved the camaraderie and bonding moments with his father as they had worked and talked about business, politics, medicine, and life. Together they had made Brock’s dining room table. It was a stunning concrete tabletop with a geometric wood base.
