Page 26 of Guarded from Corruption

But I don’t say that. I just nod, my throat too tight to speak.

Niall exhales.

Then he wraps his arms around me. Hugs me to his broad chest.

One big hand cups my nape, the other moves in slow strokes up and down my back.

He rests his cheek on my head, his breath feathering across my hair.

As I snuggle into his embrace, my heart fills.

His lips press to my head, and my breath catches.

Somehow, I know this hug is different.

CHAPTER EIGHT

NIALL

It’s hard to keep my eyes off her.

Whenever we’re in the same room, my gaze inevitably drifts over to Jade. And when we’re not, I’m thinking about her. I’m wondering how she’s feeling and if she’s holding up okay.

I’m hoping the next time I see her, I’ll be met with a genuine smile instead of the small, tight one she pastes on when she’s struggling and doesn’t want me to know.

I could attribute it to simple concern for my sister’s best friend.

I could say I’d be worried about anyone who’d been through the same things as Jade.

But I’d be lying to myself if I did.

The protectiveness I feel for Jade is more intense than anything I’ve felt before.

Whenever she looks sad, my mind races with ways I can try to cheer her up. Another crossword book. A new Kindle so she doesn’t have to use my old one. Her favorite meal—I remember Shea mentioning how much Jade loves grilled cheese with bacon and tomatoes, so I’ve stocked up on enough ingredients to feed a small army.

I’m like a guard dog stationed on the bedroom floor, ready to leap into action at the first sign of another nightmare. At the first terrified sound, I’m up and perched on the side of the bed, holding Jade’s hand and murmuring soothing reassurances like you’re safe and I’m here and I won’t let anyone hurt you.

When I even think about what those monsters did to Jade, my fury is so intense, I’m breathless from it. And I’m struck with a rabid need to do anything to keep her safe.

It’s not just the protectiveness, though.

All the things I liked about Jade before are still there, just a hundred times more. How smart she is. How she’s quietly funny; teasing me with a tiny, quirked smile and a sparkle in her eyes. How inquisitive she is, always wanting to learn something new.

I like how she asks thoughtful questions and really listens to the answers; not drifting off halfway through or getting impatient like a lot of people do.

I like how kind Jade is. Generous. Even though she’s struggling to get through her own trauma, she offered to help us get ready for launch, insisting she wanted to keep busy.

Not that I’m letting Jade get up on a ladder and paint—she’s still a touch too pale and shaky in my opinion—but if putting together a bookshelf helps distract her, I’m all for it.

And that’s something Jade definitely needs. Distractions.

In the short time Jade’s been here, I’ve quickly noticed her little habits—fussing with things until they’re arranged just right, cleaning the kitchen multiple times a day, checking the locks three times before she goes to bed—but I haven’t said anything about it. I don’t want to make her uncomfortable about something that’s clearly out of her control.

Last night, as I watched her straighten the books on my shelves again under the auspices of looking for something to read, I wanted to hug her so badly. I wanted to smooth the fine worry lines from her forehead and reassure her that the shelves looked perfect. That it was okay to relax.

But I’m not sure I’ve earned that privilege. A hug when she asks is one thing, or when she wakes from a nightmare, but to do it spontaneously? No. Not yet, at least.

Maybe in time, now that we’ve talked things through. Now that I’ve apologized again and reassured Jade that I never blamed her. Now that the uncomfortable tension between us is easing.

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