The thought makes me nauseous, as much as I try to ignore it.
His brows pull tight, his jaw flexing. “No. Yeah. I mean… I’d be lying if I said that didn’t fuck me up. I’d known Marlee since I was five. But hadn’t heard from her in over a decade.”
But did you think of her?
He exhales slowly, eyes fluttering shut for a beat before meeting mine again. “What you brought to my doorstep was hell, but... that day was already hell. It was the anniversary of my dad’s death.”
Everything in me stills. My breath catches.
This man, this strong, silent, gruff man—he’s been carrying grief in silence, walking through the dark with no one beside him for way too long.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, fingers tightening on his wrist. “You’ve been doing all of this alone for so long, haven’t you?”
His lips press into a tight line. “By my own design.”
He built a life for himself filled with punishment—a desolate lifestyle, a tiny, crappy house secluded from everyone he knows and loves, a job where he saves people but forces him to move on before he can build any real connections.
“I’m sorry you felt you had to do that,” I say, meaning it with everything in me. “I know how it feels to think you deserve loneliness.”
“You don’t deserve that,” he murmurs, face tight.
I nod against his soft grip. “Maybe neither of us do.”
Something flickers in his eyes. A crack. But it’s gone just as fast.
He leans in, pressing a kiss to my forehead and threads his fingers through mine. “Come here.”
Hand in hand, he leads me around the deep sectional and toward the coffee table.
I stop short, gaping at the sight of hair products, a handheld mirror, a diffuser-attached blow-dryer, and a lineup of carefully placed snacks. There’s even a steaming cup of tea.
Between the table and the couch is a nest of pillows and the softest-looking blankets I’ve ever seen.
“What…” I bite my lip, eyes burning, heart hammering. “What is this, Kade?”
His cheeks pinken, color bleeding into his beard. He drops my hand and rubs the back of his neck. “Went home, asked my mom if she had any girly shit for your bath. Colby got involved. Apparently,curly girlstake work.”
A laugh bursts out, and I slap a hand over my mouth.
“She’s not wrong.” I giggle, noting all the costly products I’ve wanted to try but haven’t had the funds for. Girl has expensive taste. I’m officially jealous of a teenager.
“The snacks and meds are from Mom,” he says, dropping into the corner of the couch, spreading his thick thighs. “She said they’re all safe, bland, easy on the stomach. Start with the tea.”
My body trembles. My system is in overdrive—everything in me raw and aching and wanting. No one’s ever done anything like this for me. No one’s ever thought ahead or scrambled when I have a flare-up or get exposed. No one’s even tried.
Abby does the best she can, but she has her own life, and to be honest, when I got sick and she was near, I usually kept it to myself, not wanting to be a bother. Maybe it’s the way I was raised, or the treatment I’ve received from others in the past, but it taught me to rely on no one but myself.
Having someone—multiple someones—who not only believe me, but care enough to worry, to fuss…
It’s everything.
“Thank you.” It’s all I can say. And it’s nowhere near enough.
He raises his hand between us, palm outstretched and waggles his fingers in invitation. I practically dive into it, wanting physical contact with this man more than air.
He guides me between his thighs and nods to the pillows. Blushing, I give him my back and lower myself carefully.
The shirt rides up a little, and I tug it down fast, cheeks burning.
