Iseppa? Definitely psycho.
But this man…this manfeels. He’s just exceptionally good at hiding it.
Until now.
Watching him stare out at the horizon with his long arms hung loose at his sides like an abandoned puppet, I give him the minute he asks for.
Another.
A couple more.
And then I get out of the car and go to him.
In an effort to make my presence safe for him, I get close but not too close, and use a calm, quiet, open tone to ask, “Your father’s passing is affecting you more than you thought it would, isn’t it?”
With a heavy breath, he drops his head back and looks heavenward. “I…don’t know why it is. My entire childhood, he rejected me…made me feel like nothing…”
“And in return, you convinced yourself he meant nothing to you?”
“I hate him,” he grits out. “I hate him so fucking much.”
“I’m no psychologist, Saint, but I don’t think you ever did. Or you wouldn’t be this affected.” I take a single step closer. “I think you’ve confused hating him with hating that he rejected you.”
“Fuck off,” he grunts out, but there’s no energy behind it. “I asked you for a minute. Give me a fucking minute.”
“Why? Because you don’t want me to see you be human?” I close the small gap between us. “Let me hug you.”
“Fuck.Off, Tillie.”
“Saint, you’re leading two separate lives, and in both lives, everyone relies on you. You’re taking care of everyone. Showing up for everyone. Thinking ahead and saving everyone. It shouldn’t be possible, but you do it all.” I tug lightly at his loosened tie. “But I don’t care how ingenious you are. How multidisciplinary you are. How adept you are at multitasking and balancing it all. You’re stillhuman. Even superheroes have to take off their cape sometimes, catch their breath, and find solace. So let me hug you, Santo Luciani. Youdeserveto be hugged.”
Before he can tell me to fuck off again, I loop my arms around his middle and hug him.
When his hands come up and grip my upper arms, as if to push me off, I hug him tighter, pressing my cheek to his chest.
“You deserve to be hugged,” I repeat, over and over.
Until, slowly, his grip on my upper arms loosens and, hesitantly, he curves his arms around me. A little more, and a little more, until he’s hugging me back.
With an audible sigh, he presses his face in my hair, his arms tightening around me as if he fears I might let go.
But I have no intention of letting go.
I’ll hug him all night if I have to.
I’ll be his person if he needs me.
And I’ll gladly be the one to pour into him since everyone else only takes.
If he lets me.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“I already told you.”
Tillie
BY THE TIME WEget to his loft, Saint is back to his normal self. Stolid, apathetic, and impossible to read.
