I drew her close, wrapped her up in a hug.
A tremor rolled through her body, and I tightened my hold, wishing I could take away her pain. That I could go back in time, hunt down all them motherfuckers who’d ever put a crack or dent in her heart, and tear the flesh right off their bones.
But I knew Saint would be on that list.
And hell, maybe she’d be on his list too.
Sometimes things just got to a point with people where blame no longer served a purpose. Everyone was suffering the same damn misery.
Haley blew out a shaky sigh and pulled back, smiling at me once again. “Not only do I feel completely safe with you, but you’re also the guy who gets me to reveal my deepest secrets and ball my eyes out, all without saying a word. Oprah could learn a thing or two from you, Gargs.”
She tried another smile, but once again, it dropped right off her face.
This time when the tears started, she blinked them away, refusing to let another one fall.
She musta seen the worry on my face.
“I’m okay,” she insisted, trying for another smile. “It’s all good.”
I touched her wrist tattoo again, and she nodded.
“Exactly. It’ll pass, right? Always does. No point in falling apart over it.”
I shook my head and frowned.
“Okay, it’s… not all good? It’s terrible and awful and we should probably just throw ourselves into Beggar’s Moat and save fate the trouble?”
I shot her a stern glare and pressed my finger to her lips, and she nodded and quieted down, like she knew I needed a minute to gather my thoughts.
Just then, I felt like I needed an hour. A lifetime, and I still wouldn’t have known how to do this.
I cupped her face, my big hands nearly swallowing her up. My heart thudded in my chest, blood rushing to my ears, the whole room going a little fuzzy.
Back in New Orleans, Haley had come to me—trusted me with her secrets—before she’d even known I was a real man. But that day in Saint’s garden out back, something told me she sensed I was listening anyway.
Now, I knew she was listening tome.
Most people, when they encountered someone who didn’t talk much… Well, most of them just started ignoring you after a while. Like, if you couldn’t entertain them with your jokes and stories, if you couldn’t ask them questions about their oh-so-fascinating lives, if you couldn’t brag about how much money you had in the bank or what kind of car you drove, you weren’t worth their time.
Haley was different, though. She listened to me in different ways—in all the subtle ways most people didn’t bother with—like maintaining eye contact and noticing body language and being okay to just hang out in the silence together.
She always seemed to know what I needed.
Just like I always seemed to know what she needed.
She was mine to protect. If she neededanything—a hug, a loan, a kidney, a place to hide a fucking body—I was all over it.
Right then, with her still half-trembling in my arms, I knew the thing she needed most was for someone to tell her everything was gonna be okay, and mean it. To remind her that she didn’t have to face the harsh world alone.
And suddenly, after more years than I could remember, I no longer wanted to just write it down on the back of a receipt. I wanted to taste the fucking words in my mouth. And I wanted to give those words to her—in my own voice.
I swallowed hard. Pressed one of her hands to my heart, still holding her face.
Another tear slipped down her cheek.
I took a deep breath.
And I opened my mouth.
