Page 110 of Wade’s Wrath

“Why?” she asked.

His expression hardened slightly. “Because you should be able to close a door without wondering who gets to open it.”

Sarah looked down. Her eyes burned, and she hated that. She hated crying, and especially hated how easily it happened now. She'd cried enough—more than enough. “You can't fix everything.”

“I know,” he said.

“Then stop acting as if you can,” she whispered. The words came out sharper than she intended.

Ripper didn't flinch. “Okay.” Sarah looked up. That was it. There was no argument, no anger, and no wounded pride. Just okay.

“I didn't mean—” she said.

“Don't,” he breathed.

“Don’t what?” she asked.

“Don’t apologize,” he said.

“I snapped at you,” she said.

“You’re allowed to snap at me, Sarah,” he said.

“You can't just keep saying everything I do is allowed,” she insisted.

“Why not?” he asked.

“Because that's not how people work,” she said.

Ripper crossed his arms. “Maybe you've been around shitty people.” The breath left her. He looked like he regretted saying it, but Sarah didn't, because he was right. So many people had told her how to react.

Her parents cried when she called them. Her mother kept asking when she'd come home, and her father said he'd drive down immediately. The detective asked question after question. The counselor told her what trauma might look like. Doctors told her what healing should look like. Harlow told her she didn't have to make any decisions. Princess told her she could make all of them. Everyone meant well, but somehow Ripper was the only one who didn't make her feel like there was a correct answer.

Sarah looked at him. “Are you always like this?”

“Like what?” he asked.

“Strangely reasonable,” she said.

Ripper frowned. “Take it back.” She laughed, and he smiled. There it was again—that weird ease she felt around him. Sarah didn't understand it. She remembered exactly what he'd looked like in the warehouse with blood on his shirt, a gun in his hand, and his face hard enough to terrify anyone. She'd been sure he was another monster. Then he'd seen her holding that piece of wood and had put his weapon down. Not slowly because he was afraid of her, but slowly because she was afraid of him, and that mattered more than she wanted it to.

A nurse appeared in the doorway. “Ready, Ms. Mitchell?”

Sarah's stomach dropped, and Ripper noticed again. “Yes.” The lie came automatically.

The nurse smiled. “I'll grab a wheelchair.”

“No.” Both the nurse and Ripper looked at her. Sarah's pulse kicked. “I can walk.”

Hospital policy probably said otherwise. The nurse opened her mouth, but Ripper spoke first. “She can walk.”

Sarah looked at him, and the nurse hesitated. “It's standard discharge procedure.”

“I know.” Ripper's tone stayed calm. “But if she wants to walk, she walks.” Something about the way he said it made Sarah's throat tighten.

The nurse looked at Sarah. “You feel steady?”

“Yes,” Sarah said.