Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 141385 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141385 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
The fabric stretches down and across my shoulders as she desperately grips it. Her fingers flex, and she curls into me, slowly moving until her ear is pressed against the left side of my chest. Her cheek is right over my heartbeat, and I keep quietly counting.
I push hair away from her face and stroke it, rhythmically running my fingers through the soft, golden strands. There are small knots here and there from where she was gripping it before, and I carefully work through them, easing the tiny matts apart until my fingers smoothly glide through where they once were.
“Thank you.” Her voice is little more than a hoarse whisper as she stretches her legs out.
I scoot us back so I’m leaning against the headboard and cradle her against me. “Are you feeling better?”
“Tired.” She curls her face into my chest. “I’m sorry. You were in a meeting. I—I tried to stop it, but—”
“Whoa. Hey.” I cup the side of her face, setting my thumb under her jaw, and tilt her head back so our gazes meet when I look down. “Take that back right now.”
Her eyes widen. “What do you mean?”
“You have nothing to apologise for. You had a panic attack, baby. You can’t control that. It isn’t your fault.”
“But I—” She stops, then lowers her gaze. “You’re right,” she murmurs. “It’s not… my fault.”
Has someone told her it’s her fault?
Has someone made her believe that a panic attack requires an apology? That she’s doing something wrong?
Fuck.
I know the answer to that.
The more I learn about what she’s been through, the more that simmering anger within me is fed.
I press my lips her to forehead and stare at the wall.
I know she wants revenge on her family. I know she wants to make them pay for what they’ve done to her—for things I have no idea about.
But I want to make them pay, too.
For every slight, every word, every ounce of hurt they’ve ever thrown her way, I want them to fucking pay.
“It’s okay,” I whisper, my lips brushing her forehead as I speak. “It’s okay now.”
She curls into me once more, still grasping my shirt like a lifeline. “Can you... Can you stay?”
“If that’s what you need.”
Hattie nods, and I feel it.
The moment the remaining tension leaves her body.
She sinks against me, exhaustion seeping from her every pore. Of all the ways I’ve seen her, this is the most vulnerable. A part of her I desperately wanted to see—a part I wish didn’t have to exist. Not because I hate it, but because it hurts her.
Because she shouldn’t have to deal with these intense emotions.
She never should have.
Her life should have been a fairytale. It should have been everything she ever could have dreamt of and more.
Instead, it was a nightmare. A horror movie. In ways I can’t possibly begin to fathom. In ways I will probably never know.
And, fuck.
If she’s right, if her hunch that Rosalyn was involved in her kidnapping is correct, I will burn that fucking house down myself.
If she was responsible for doing this to Harriet, her life won’t be worth living.
Hattie’s revenge will be child’s play compared to what I’ll do to her.
“Are you sure you can stay?” Her voice is small. Weak. Tired.
Broken.
As if she’s a burden.
“Yes. I’m sure.” I kiss her hair, tightening my hold on her as if it’ll bring her any closer than she already is. “Whatever you need, just tell me. Whether it’s talking, silence, sleeping... I’ve got all the time in the world for you, baby. Always will have.”
She presses her face against my chest, and her hand trembles where it’s gripping my shirt. “Can we lie down?”
I loosen my hold on her so I can move the covers back, and we slowly untangle from one another. Hattie crawls under them sluggishly, and I stand up to kick off my shoes. She burrows beneath the covers and watches me as I strip from my clothes and change into something more comfortable.
Her eyes are still a little glassy, but she’s behind them now. There’s a brightness that wasn’t there before and thank God for that.
For a moment, I truly feared I would never see her spark again.
I slip into the bed next to her and open my arms. She shuffles into my body, moving her head so I can slide my arm under her neck. Our legs entwine, her toes getting momentarily caught in the sheets before she frees them, and I hold her tightly against me, making sure to tuck the covers in as if I’m wrapping her up in bubble wrap.
“Thank you.” Her words are but a murmur against my bare chest, and she snakes her arm around to my back, hugging me tightly.
I reply with a silent kiss to the top of her head.
She doesn’t need to thank me, but she’s going to. I could say it a thousand times, but she’d still do it. Whatever she’s been told, whatever she’s been conditioned into believing… it can’t be undone overnight.