Page 134 of Unexpected Hero

“It’s just...” Her exhale is heavy and ragged enough for me to hear it a few feet away. There’s a quaver to her voice when she continues, “I’m sorry for calling you that. But I don’t need you to protect me or help me. I’m not a charity case or a project for you to fix. I’m not broken.”

Her words reach around me from behind, squeezing my throat until I can barely breathe.

Lettie might bend with the wind, but she’ll never break.

Before I go, I need to see her face. Just one more time while she’s actively looking back at me, acknowledging me as a person. As someone sharing the space with her. Worthy to exist in her presence.

Like I’m real.

Like I matter.

Even if she hates me, at least she’ll be looking at me.I won’t be invisible to her.

Just once more.

Keeping my hand on the doorknob, I peek over my shoulder to soak up the intensity of her eyes and how they pierce into me.

For a moment, I pretend it’s not disgust, hatred, or annoyance she sees in me.

But something worthwhile.

All too soon, the moment is over.

“Of the two of us, only one is broken, Lettie.And it’s not you.”

Chapter 26

In the arms of an angel

LETTIE

It’s odd how you can wish for something with every fiber of your being, but when it comes to fruition, you ache to toss it back into the abyss from which it came.

Take, for example, my newfound freedom from James’s overbearing and distracting presence.

I wanted it. It’s here. And I hate every fucking second of it.

It’s been three days since I saw him.

Three days since he threw me over his shoulder and gave me the best orgasm of my life, which then triggered an embarrassing shame spiral.

Three days since he comforted me so tenderly, pulling me out of that dark place where all I felt was regret and guilt over what I’d chosen to do with my body.

Three days since I called him trash and kicked him out of my hotel room when Irealized he still saw me as a weak, fragile charity case who is too weak to stand on her own two legs.

And three agonizing days of crippling remorse for how callously I treated him.

Considering he lied about the no-dating rule and sees me as a snowflake, I should be thrilled that he hasn’t visited Bask. Ecstatic that he’s not looking over my shoulder. And pleased as pie that he’s no longer insisting on walking me to my door like a toddler with a wandering problem.

Sadly, I’m not experiencing any of those things.

Instead, I’m steeping in a soup of negativity. It’s got a lovely broth of depression, thick and viscous, filled with chunks of anxiety and morsels of sorrow that soak up the boiling brown liquid. It’s just one big stew of general melancholy.

General Melancholy, reporting for duty.

Heh. I can’t even muster a grin at my dumb internal joke.

Every time someone enters Bask, my frame straightens and my chin lifts until I’m more or less impersonating a dog hearing a car pull into the driveway. If I had a tail, it’d be wagging. But sadly, it’s not my master coming home. Ironically, it’s often someone else’s master.

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