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I don’t know what it is about Bailey, but I want her to know everything about me. I want her to see the good, the bad, and the ugly. If, by some miracle, there comes a day where I might have a shot with her, I want her to know all there is to know.
There are a few things in my past I am ashamed of, but at the end of the day, my history and everything it entails shaped me into the person I am now. And I’m damn proud of who I’ve become.
“Quinn’s been cheating on me.” The words are soft, but she might as well have shouted them. I feel that gut punch for her. I know pain. I know loss. The two of them and I are old friends. I know the damage they can do to you, how they can choke the breath from your lungs until you feel yourself gasping for air. How they can carve bloody gashes into your beating heart until nothing is left but a useless lump of bloody flesh.
She’s hurting, and I’d give anything for her not to. I’d take it for her, carry its weight if I could. My stomach literally aches for what she’s going through, but experience has taught me that no matter how much I wish for it, I can’t bear that burden for her. All I can do is be there for her. Offer her my shoulder to lean on when the weight gets too much to bear.
The urge to tell her what a fuck head I think he is, is simmering in my veins, but that’s not what she needs to hear right now.
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.” The helpless look she shoots me has me dropping my free hand into my lap, curling my fingers into a fist. “Upstairs,” she says. “My grandparents used to live upstairs. For now, I’m going to stay there. I’m so stupid.” She pulls her hand from mine and drops her head into her hands. I’m already mourning the heat of her skin against mine. “I had a feeling, and all the signs were there staring me in the face, but I didn’t want to see it.”
It’s like the damn finally breaks, and her shoulders heave with the force of her sobs. Yet, they’re silent, not a sound passing her lips. It breaks something in me, and without thought, I’m up and around the table, pulling her into my arms. It has nothing to do with my feelings for her. It’s about providing comfort to someone in desperate need. She’s so lost in her grief that she doesn’t resist, instead clutching my shirt in her hands, her face pressed against my chest. If not for the shaking of her body and the dampness against my chest, I wouldn’t know she was crying.
Time has no meaning while she unravels in my arms. I should phone one of her friends—Hannah would be best—to come over and see to her, but I’m selfish. I can’t take away her pain, but I want to be the one she leans on.
*****
AFTER BAILEY CALMSdown, she’s out of it, exhaustion painting every line of her body. I’m ready to carry her up the stairs, but she somehow manages, every footfall echoing dully on the metal stairs.
I pause at the entrance, not sure what I should do next.
“I would offer you something to eat or drink, but I haven’t stocked up this place in forever. I never thought I would have to.” Her voice trails off as she looks around her, looking completely lost.
I take that as my cue, walking up to her and putting her bag down next to her.
“Don’t worry about that. You look dead on your feet.”
“That bad, huh?” The slight tremble of her lips tries its hardest to form a smile, but with a sigh, she gives up.
Brushing a loose strand of her hair back, I shake my head. “No. Despite what you’ve just been through, you’re still just as beautiful.”
Tragically beautiful but still beautiful.
Her eyes well up with tears, and I want to kick myself. Instead, I pick up her bag, grab her hand, and lead her to the bedroom.
“Go, get ready for bed,” I say, giving her hand a quick squeeze before letting go.
“Are you—”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
My shop could be burning down, and I still wouldn’t leave.
Her stiff shoulders droop and I’m not gonna lie, my heart gives a painful squeeze.
I look around the space while waiting for her and I’m pleasantly surprised. The living area is one open room, the floor a solid hardwood, a quick glance confirming that it’s white oak. Usually, I would take my time to study the warmth of the wood tones, the variations in shades that lend depth and character, and the hardwood’s grain patterns. But right now, all my attention is focused on the closed door between me and the object of my obsession.
Half an hour later, she’s in bed, on the brink of succumbing to sleep. I pull the covers up and around her, tucking her in securely. Her eyes open slightly, and she stares at me for a few beats.
“Thank you. You don’t have to stay, you know. I’ve taken up so much of your time already, and I’m sure you have better things to do than watch me being a wreck.”
No, there’s nowhere in the world I would rather be, I think while brushing the hair away from her face. Never before have I seen myself as a protector. Rather someone that you need protection from, but I want to protect her. I can’t protect her from what she’s feeling, but at least I can stay here, protect her from that fuckhead husband of hers if he tries to come here and upset her further.
“I’m going to be so embarrassed tomorrow,” she says, her eyes closed, her voice faint.
Pride. That’s an emotion I’m very familiar with, but when it comes to Bailey, no such word exists in my vocabulary. I make a sound that’s not agreeing or disagreeing, instead leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. It’s small and brief, and it’s all I’ll allow myself to do.
