Page 67 of His Wounded Heart

“He died, Simon.”

I feel him kiss the top of my head and draw circles on my back with his big, warm palm. I don’t think that I’ve ever felt safer, but I know this is an illusion. But it is such a wonderful dream, and one I intend to live in a few minutes longer.

Simon lifts my legs, and I find myself straddling him. Now we’re chest to breast, core to core. So much nicer. At least it is until he tilts my head up from his shoulder. “Look at me, Baby. All the ugly is on his side. You know that, don’t you?”

“Mostly I do.” I murmur.

He cups my jaw, his thumb trailing along my bottom lip.

“Mostly?”

I struggle to find the right words. “When I feel like I’m screwing up in the present, then all this ugly bubbles up and I’m covered in this goo of poison.”

“What could you possibly think you’re screwing up on? From where I’m sitting, you’ve got it together. I’m the one acting like a fucking hermit in a cabin in the middle of nowhere.”

“About that—”

“Uh-uh, today we’re analyzing Trenda’s psyche. We’ll save Simon’s psyche for another day.”

I nuzzle against his palm and look into turbulent gray eyes. “Sometimes I catch glimpses of pain in your eyes. It worries me.”

“You’re seeing it right. Again, that’s for another day. Now tell me what’s making this all fall down on your head right now? Especially since you were basically a miracle worker just a few days ago.”

“Yeah, sure I was. You were the one who did everything. I was the one who fell apart like a loser.”

The hand drawing concentric circles on my back slips under the edge of my blouse. The warm heat of his palm lights up my entire body. I feel like an electrical storm is pulsing through my veins.

Looking into his eyes, I can see that he’s feeling it, too.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I sound like I’m out of breath.

“I’m giving you something else to think about so you’re not beating yourself up as much. Now tell me what’s going on in the present that has you so upset? Let’s see if we can wipe that away, too.”

He moves his other hand from my cheek, and instead slips it behind my neck and cradles my skull, his fingers massaging my scalp. That feels good too. I don’t ever want him to stop, even if I know what the sneaky man is trying to do. He’s trying to befuddle my brain so that I’ll tell him all my sorrows.

“So?” Yep, he’s a secret-stealer.

“It’s Bella.”

“What about Bella?” He whispers the question.

“She asked about her father for the first time ever. I’ve known for a long time that it really isn’t normal for a kid not to ask earlier, but I think she instinctively knew that it was a sore spot for me, so she didn’t. She’s like that. Sometimes I feel like she’s the adult and I’m the kid.”

“Your daughter is a little spitfire. What did she ask about?”

“She asked me on Saturday if I was ever going to marry her daddy. When I told her no, she said that it was okay, because we’re a good enough family.”

“Fuck.” I see him wince.

His hand goes higher up my top, and he presses me even closer. As he directs my head to rest against his chest, I go there gladly. This time I don’t cry, I just breathe him in. There aren’t any fireflies fluttering in my stomach, instead I feel like one of God’s archangels has gathered me close and his wings are wrapped around me.

“She said that? A good enough family?”

I nod. “Then I had to tell her he’s dead.”

“A double whammy,” he whispers the words into my hair.

When I nod my head, my cheek rubs against his soft sweater and I can feel his pectoral muscles beneath it. I have to force myself to remember what we’re talking about.