Page 258 of Tell Me Something True

“I want to,” he told her, so patient with her, with her lingering doubts, those fears she was working so hard to get over. “Please. Let me.”

So kind and sincere she crawled over to him, turned and then settled between his legs. His dresser was directly across from them and she could see their reflection in the mirror above it. Saw the moment he started lifting the brush.

“There are a lot of snarls,” she warned him, her eyes catching his in the mirror.

Not using conditioner the night before hadn’t done her hair any favors, and she’d been too tired to wash it tonight.

“I’ve got this,” he said, as confident in his de-snarling skills as he was with everything else. “You’ve seen Verity’s hair, right?”

She glanced at him over her shoulder. “You used to brush Verity’s hair?”

He nodded. Waited until she’d turned her head back around before getting started, not at the crown of her head as she’d feared he would, yanking the bristles through by brute force. But by gathering her hair in his fist, holding it in one hand while he worked the tangles out from the bottom with the other.

“We all did. We all learned how to braid, too.”

“A man of many talents.”

In their reflection she saw his grin flash, quick and sharp. “I have a few more up my sleeves. Thought I’d wait to show them to you when we’re both not so beat.”

She couldn’t wait.

As he carefully detangled her hair, the tension in her shoulders loosened, little by little. She’d rarely had anyone else touch her hair, let alone brush it. The few times she remembered her mother doing it when she was little, it was only because they were getting a visit from Children’s Services.

And she’d never been gentle.

Once her hair was tangle-free, he brushed it from root to ends in long, smooth strokes. She let her eyes drift shut. Kept them shut as he set the brush down and used his fingers to comb through it, his nails scraping against her scalp pleasantly.

“I told Urban.”

At his soft words, her eyes flew open, meeting his in the mirror, her questions clear in her wide gaze.

He gathered her hair and began dividing it into three sections. “I told him about my anxiety. About what happened the night of our parents’ accident.”

Her mouth parted. “Miles…” she breathed.

His gaze dropped. Stayed on her hair as he braided it, his voice full of emotion when he continued. “He said it wasn’t my fault. That he didn’t blame me and that no one else did, either.” Leaning to the side, he picked up the hairband she’d set next to his phone. Tied it around the end of her braid, his throat moving as he swallowed. “And Willow gave me some recommendations for therapists she thinks can help me.”

Forget blossoming or blooming. That emotion in her chest burst open into something bright and bold and beautiful and new.

And all for him.

Turning to face him, she knelt between his thighs, her hands cupping his cheeks. “That must have been hard for you,” she said, wanting to acknowledge the work he was putting in. The effort.

Wanting him to acknowledge it, too.

He let out a short laugh. Lifted his gaze to hers once again. “It was. But you helped me see that asking for help isn’t weakness. Helped me remember that I can always count on my family. That they love me no matter what and I can trust them with everything. Even my mistakes. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“You could have. But I’m glad you didn’t have to.” She kissed him. “I’m so proud of you.”

His hands went to her waist, and he lifted her enough that he could cross his legs beneath her. Settled her on his lap again, this time tugging her ankles around to wrap behind his lower back. “I was coming after you.”

“What?”

“I was coming after you,” he repeated. “At your apartment. I was going to do everything in my power to find you. To try and fix whatever happened that made you want to run away.”

Stunned, she lifted her trembling hand to her mouth, her heart skipping a beat. Remembered how he’d raced around the corner of the house like a man on a mission.

That mission had been to find her.

---