“What? What happened?”
My hands shook violently, and I had the urge to sink to the floor. “He hummed when he hurt us.”
22
LAWSON
“He hummed when he hurt us.”
Hallie’s words echoed in my head, pinballing off my skull with brutal pain. She’d been hurt. She’d listened to others enduring the same torture. And the monster had hummed a merry tune while doing it.
I’d been doing everything I could to keep my distance from Hallie. Not to let her into my fucked-up past. Or be tempted by everything about her. That night on the porch had been the reminder I needed that my judgment was far from stellar when it came to women, and my life wasn’t built for a relationship.
But I’d been so damn focused on myself that I’d ignored what Hallie was going through. What the murdered woman had brought up for her.
Hallie’s entire body trembled. Her legs shook so hard it looked like they might give out.
I moved then, unable to stand her fear and pain. My arms went around Hallie, pulling her to me and practically holding her up. She burrowed her face in my chest, her hands fisting my tee.
Her scent wrapped around me, the hint of orange blossom digging into me in a way I knew I’d never get out. But I didn’t want to.
“You’re safe.” I whispered the words against her hair. “No one’s going to hurt you.”
I didn’t know how long we stayed like that. Slowly, Hallie’s shaking subsided, her fingers unknotted from my shirt, and she pulled back. “I’m sorry, I—”
“Don’t.” I brushed the hair away from her face. “The last thing you need to do is apologize.”
“I freaked out. I practically climbed you like a spider monkey.”
I barked out a laugh. “I don’t think things went that far.” My hands framed her face as though moving on their own. “You okay?”
Hallie stared up into my eyes. “I’m okay. Are you?”
There were a million questions in those gray depths, but worse, there was hurt. I’d inflicted more pain on the woman who had already endured far too much. And I wanted to gut myself for it.
“I’m sorry.” My words were a rough whisper, my hands still cupping her face, thumb stroking her cheekbone. “So damn sorry.”
“I crossed a line. I shouldn’t have—”
“You didn’t. I just—I’ve got some baggage.” Understatement of the century.
“You still love her. I get that—”
“Fuck, no,” I bit out.
Hallie jerked back, not in fear but in surprise. “You don’t?”
“Not even close.” I scrubbed a hand across my stubbled jaw as I leaned against the counter, my hands missing the feel of Hallie’s face. “Things with her went bad. Really bad. And I’ve got a lot of guilt for putting my kids in that situation.”
Hallie was quiet for a moment, studying me. “I’m so sorry. That’s why you haven’t dated much,” she surmised.
I met her gaze. “I’m not sure I have it in me anymore. Too many mistakes. Too much distrust. It’s easier—better—if I just focus on my kids, my job, and my family.”
The words hurt as I spoke them. But they needed to be said. I’d caught some of the looks Hallie had sent my way. Ones of interest, of want. Ones I couldn’t let take root and grow, no matter how badly I wanted them to.
Grief played across her face. “I understand wanting to just turn it all off. It would be so much easier.”
“But you haven’t,” I said quietly.
