Page 340 of Hateful Games

It wasn’t until I began therapy, talking instead of keeping it all inside, that I started to feel better and in control. I wasn’t running from it; I was facing it head-on and dealing with it in a proper way. Something that wouldn’t have been possible without the support of my best friends who never left my side.

My love for writing played the biggest role in helping me grieve and heal. I poured everything into pages full of raw and unfiltered, emotional and dark, tragic and traumatizing, and finally strong and hopeful words.

As each day went by, I wasn’t crying every night.

The nightmares were all but gone.

My mind wasn’t riddled with anxiety and scars. I was free in a way I never was.

However, the one chapter I never got over, didn’t want to get over let alone forget, is now standing mere feet from me.

He’s kept his word and maintained distance.

“You’re still the most stunning woman,” he compliments in the same rich and dark baritone, raising goosebumps on my skin. He comes closer, pushing his hands inside his pockets, and rocks back on his heels. “How have you been, Rose?”

Bereft.

Missing you.

Unable to stop loving you.

I say none of those things and tuck my hair back when it tickles my cheek again. “I’ve been good. What are you doing here?”

“I can’t stay away anymore.” I suck in a breath at his confession. Before I can reply, he casually drawls, “You look like you could use some help.”

I jump at the change of topic, away from the heavier one. Because I’m still unsure of what I want. His closeness after so long has made my brain all mushy. I want to throw myself into his arms and yet run away.

It’s five in the evening on a Friday, so I ask curiously, “Why aren’t you in the office?”

“Took a half day,” he replies before probing again. “Sami said you were giving the dogs a bath. Who’s next?”

“You’re volunteering?”

“I don’t see anyone else around.”

As if I need a reminder we’re alone. “Don’t mind getting your hands and clothes dirty?”

“You already know the answer to that,” he teases. “Stop stalling.”

The safe choice would be to send him away, yet I find myself guiding him to the back near the shower stalls. His body heat warming my back. I chew my lip, pondering how he’s keeping his restraint and not touching me.

Do I even want him to?

A few minutes in his presence, I’m already off kilter. I’m not ready to become lost in his orbit. Not yet. I’ve just now begun to smile and enjoy the things I love. I want to be strong on my own before trusting to lean on someone else.

Nova makes me feel weak.

In my knees. My heart. Everywhere.

The feeling scares me.

“They didn’t get much dirty.” I point to the inseparable pair. “You can just hose their legs and they should be good. I’ll take those two.”

Nodding, he brushes past me. Our hands touching. The small contact sending sparks of electricity down my spine. I become riveted to the muscles shifting and flexing of his arms and back as he concentrates and gently guides the two dogs.

Shaking myself out of the stupor, I focus on the other two.

Peaceful silence fills the space as we finish cleaning them and after feeding, we guide them to their cages to tuck in for the night. I grab a bucket and sweeper to clean the wet floor. Only for it to be taken from my hands.

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