If I thought I’d felt protective of her before? That need had bloomed into something desperate and complete.
Like maybe it was the one fucking reason I’d been born.
To be there.
Right then.
To set her free.
Brinley sniffled. “Okay. Getting out of these clothes is probably a decent idea. I’m kind of a mess.”
Was she really agreeing that easily? I wondered how messed up it was that I wanted her to fight me.
“I kinda like the mess you are.” I knew with the way my smile went soft that I was completely fucked.
She shook her head. Sadness filling the motion.
No doubt, she was aware that she and I were teetering on a very precarious cliff.
Getting attached in a way that we couldn’t.
And fuck me. I wanted to keep her.
Claim her.
Put a property patch on her back and make her mine.
My mother’s face flashed through my mind.
My guts toiled.
Hatred burned and guilt constricted.
I couldn’t do that.
My life was destruction, and I refused to cause her harm the way I did with everything that I touched.
Refused to subject her to a life of heartache.
To pain and suffering and horror.
I made a silent promise right then that I would somehow find a way to shield her from it.
From her brother.
From the old wounds that held her hostage.
Most of all, from me.
TWENTY-EIGHT
SILAS
FIFTEEN YEARS OLD
Sweat drippeddown Silas’s spine as he pushed the shopping cart across the parking lot of Crimson Creek Market & Deli. The elderly lady hobbled slowly at his side, and he forced himself into keeping her pace.
He angled the cart up to the trunk of her car and loaded her groceries in. She patted his arm as she placed a few coins into his palm, her wrinkled face tripping up in a genuine smile. “Here you go, young man. I sure appreciate you helping me out.”
