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“I love you, Rachel. So this will work. No matter what or who stands in our way. ”
My body rocks as if Isaiah used a defibrillator on my chest. He loves me.
His words gain traction in my head. . . he loves me. My heart patters faster and faster. Not because of anxiety but because of hope. Gathering air into my lungs, I rest my head against his shirt, which is wet with my tears. His heart has a slow, steady beat. One that never panics. One that is always strong. “You love me?”
Chapter 49
Isaiah
I BUNCH RACHEL’S HAIR IN my fist. The silky strands rub the spot between my fingers and I press my lips to her head. My heart hurts and soars and hurts again, all at the same time. I said I love her. Love her. Each repeat of the words confirms something I didn’t know or want to know and I scramble to figure out if I want to embrace it.
Love her.
Rachel.
Love has always been a dirty word. My mother said she did what she did because she loved me. Beth took the words I said to her and twisted them into saying it was only friendship. She broke my heart. My mother broke my heart. If I love Rachel she’ll have more power than both of them combined because this overwhelming pulse in my body. . . this overwhelming need to protect her and hold her close. . .
I nuzzle into her hair and close my eyes, inhaling the sweet scent of jasmine. I should let her go, let her go, just let her go. Walk away now. Hang on to what’s left of my sanity.
But as Rachel presses tighter to me, I know I’m too far gone to stand a chance alone. I’m in love, fucking in love, and I pray to the God that abandoned me years ago that He doesn’t use this to destroy me. “I love you. ”
Chapter 50
Rachel
ISAIAH TRAPS ME CLOSE TO his body and I press against his arms as I try to raise my head off his chest. He said he loved me. Me. The shy girl. The awkward girl. The one born to replace the girl everyone really wanted. The more I think about it, the harder I press back against his hold. This doesn’t make sense. Any sense. Why would he want to love me?
“Isaiah,” I whisper and push again. When he doesn’t react, I place both of my hands against his chest. “Isaiah!”
His arms give and I meet his eyes. “I know you heard what I said. ”
He searches my face. “What?”
“The panic attacks. ” I grab on to his forearms. “I have panic attacks. Often. You say you love me, but can you? Not when you don’t see me for who I am!”
“See you for who you are?” His forehead wrinkles. “I see exactly who you are. ”
I’m shaking my head. “You don’t. It’s a fake. A mirage. What you think you see is a lie!”
“Rachel. . . ” Isaiah’s chest rises as he inhales. “Come on. ”
Taking my hand, he grabs a frayed blanket out of the backseat of his car and walks over to an area where the deteriorating wall ends and the ground slopes into nothing. A few feet away from the edge, he releases me, spreads out the blanket and sits with his bent legs spread apart.
I wipe my still-moist eyes and brush my bangs away, a bit unsure what to do.
“Sit with me,” Isaiah says. As I move to rest next to him, he stops me. “Not there. Here. ” He motions to the spot between his legs.
Awkwardly, I settle in front of him. Isaiah, the king of secure, waves off any distance between us as he gathers me into the safe shelter of his body. The blood pulses faster in my veins. I like being this close to him. Maybe a little too much.
“You’re beautiful. ” His breath tickles the skin behind my ear, and the small hairs stand on end with the joyous sensation. “You’re smart and funny. I love how your eyes shine when you laugh. ”
He glides his fingers against my skin causing an addictive tingling. “I love how you lace your fingers and brush your hair from your face when you’re nervous. I love how you offer yourself so completely to me—no fear. You’re loyal and strong. ”
“I’m not strong. ” I cut him off. The panic attacks confirm that. Unable to be near him anymore, I attempt to untangle myself from him, but Isaiah becomes a solid wall around me and I jerk in his arms in protest.
His tender hold tightens, and the words feel like poetry because of the deep, soothing way he speaks. “You’re wrong. I see you exactly as you are. ”
The anger loses its stronghold as his lips tease the sensitive curve of my ear. I swallow, thinking about the night in his room. Of how his body felt heavy over mine and how I loved feeling smaller under his touch. “You’re just repeating what I said to you. ”
