Page 53 of Safe Place

I don't answer. Which is its own kind of answer.

“I told you I didn't—“ She stops. Exhales slowly through her nose. “You can't just decide what I need and go buy it. I'm not a problem you get to solve with money.”

“I'm not trying to⁠⁠—“

“I know what you're trying to do.” She turns to look at me finally, and there's no anger in it, which somehow makes it worse. Just something steady and a little sad. “And I know it comes from a good place. But you didn't ask me. You just decided. And then you lied about it.”

I open my mouth. Close it.

The thing is, I don't have a defense. I made the call, I handled it, I told Marianne what to find—and at no point did I stop to think that maybe she'd want a say in it. It didn't even occur to me.

“I just wanted you to be safe,” I say finally. It sounds thin even to me.

“I know,” she says again. She turns back to the dash, hands resting in her lap. “But that's not really the point, is it?”

It's not a question. And she's right. I know she's right.

I don't say anything else. Neither does she for a moment.

Then she wraps her hands around the steering wheel and says, quieter, “Thank you. I mean that. But next time, ask me first.”

I nod.

“And I’m not keeping this—It’s just temporary,” she adds.

I nod again.

At least now I won’t have to worry about her walking everywhere or waiting for some bus that might not even show. Maybe she can use that time to eat more. She’s always skipping meals.

That alone is worth getting a lecture from her.

I want to show her that she has me to fall back on. If her stepfather comes to find her, I want her to have a means to get away from him fast. Or be able to get to me fast, so I can take care of her.

I’m with her as she drives around the parking lot a bit so she can get the hang of it. When we’re parked again, she insists on walking me back to my car, even though it’s only a few steps away.

“Thank you, Micah,” she says softly when we reach my car. She’s smiling, but it’s small, almost hesitant.

And for a moment, I just look at her.

She has no idea I know. No idea I know about the nights she spent working herself to exhaustion, the money she sent to a mother who doesn’t deserve it, the stepfather who hurt her—and might be free soon. She has no idea how much it’s been tearing me apart since Nico told me.

There’s nothing I can say. Not yet. Not until she’s ready to tell me herself.

But I can do this.

I step closer and pull her into me, wrapping my arms around her tight. Not a casual hug—an embrace. I hold her like I’m anchoring her to me, like maybe if I hold her close enough, I can take even a little bit of that weight off her shoulders.

Her scent hits me instantly—familiar, soft, and warm—wrapping around me until I can’t tell where she ends and I begin.

For a second, she’s stiff, like she doesn’t know what to do with it. And then she melts into me, her arms slipping around my waist, her cheek pressing against my chest.

God, she’s so small in my arms. She seems so fragile, but I know she’s strong. Stronger than she should’ve ever had to be.

I don’t want to let go.

When I finally ease back, her hands linger against me, and she looks up. Her eyes meet mine, soft and searching.

I don’t think. I just lower my head and kiss her.