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Is it?
Is it in thisparticularcase?
It’s nowhere near the level of shit he’s lived through.
“We all…get scared sometimes, Angel Cake. Fear – much like hope – is jus’ part of what makes us human.”
Stilling my trembling jaw is impossible.
“So, I’m gonna do the same thing my ma does whenever she’s scared. The same thing my dad hates to admit he does whenhe’sscared. The same thing I pictured myself doin’ in my mind when I was out in the field,scaredI really wasn’t gonna make it home that time.”
My vision briefly blurs from the water building in my stare.
“I’mma light this.” He tips the item towards me. “Ask the angels to protect you while you sleep. And then kiss you goodnight.”
“Us,” I airily croak, poorly fighting the overwhelming current of emotions trying to pull me under. “Ask them to protectus.”
Rather than demand he doesn’t need it or insist that he’s got himself covered, Slater simply strikes his thumb against the lighter I didn’t realize he was holding, fulfils the request, and leans over to plant his lips softly in the middle of my forehead. The instant they touch, my eyelids fall shut, and I swallow the urge to sob.
He’s right.
He’s so fucking right.
Iamscared.
Scared that this wasn’t a fluke.
Scared that I’ll be attacked a second or third time.
Scared that I might actually die if it happens again.
Scared that something might happen tohim, the person I love most in the world, because of somethingIdid.
Something I didn’t mean to do.
Slater’s mouth lovingly lingers as his thumb gingerly sweeps away the tears I didn’t realize had fallen. “I will do whatever it takes on God’s green earth to keep you safe, Arley.” Heat from his whispered words wraps firmly around me like a weighted blanket. Convinces me to relax my shoulders and sink into the mattress. “Even if it means havin’ to light every candle on the whole damn planet.”
Chapter 8
Slater
**
I don’t want spam.
Not glazed.
Not with rice.
Not with mixed vegetables out of a can.
Not four nights out of seven.
I don’t want spam.
I hope someday I never have to eat it again.
“Eat, Charlie!” the man to my right barks at the same time his hand flies across the back of my head. “Your momma worked hard on this.”
