Page 154 of Just This Once

“God. Thank God,” I breathed and yanked her into my arms, more grateful than I could express.

“I probably didn’t even attend a full two months’ worth of sessions,” she went on. “I never really connected with anyone, except maybe Waverly. And I gave Liz enough grief for making me go in the first place that she gave up trying about as soon as she started.”

“Good,” I told her, keeping her trapped in my embrace. “Because this was one time where your being difficult probably saved you from a lifetime’s worth of trauma.”

“I’m not difficult,” she uttered indignantly. “I’m just always right. It’s not my fault everyone else seems to have such a big, damn problem with that.”

I laughed and pulled back enough to press my brow to hers. Tucking a piece of her hair behind one ear, I murmured, “It’s not you being right so often that’s the problem,” I countered. “It’s just fucking annoying when you make sure we all know it.”

She grinned and rolled her brow against mine. “Whatever,” she murmured lovingly, touching my face before the skin around her eyes wrinkled with sadness. “Poor Waverly, though. Is she okay now?”

I shrugged. “She seems to be. She’s kind of adopted the emo outlook on life, and that appears to get her through. That and giving Dugger a hard time at the library.” I snickered, only to fall serious again. I knew I shouldn’t tell Hope the next part, but it felt good to let some of it off my chest. “She had a rough go after her parents found out, though.” Taking Hope’s handand smoothing my fingers over her knuckles, I confessed, “She overdosed on some pills and tried to end it all.”

With a horrified gasp, Hope slapped a hand over her mouth.

“But I’ve kept track of her through the years, and she seems better—healthier—these days.” With a sad shrug, I admitted, “I keep track of them all.”

“So you know the name of every girl who was?—”

When I nodded, Hope shuddered and sank closer to me. “You’re the new owner who bought and took over the center to rebuild it to what it is today, aren’t you?”

I kissed her hair without answering because she already knew the truth.

“I was wrong,” she decided, smoothing her hand up my chest. “You’re not a sweet, compassionate man. You’re quite possibly the best person I’ve ever met.”

“Jesus, Trouble,” I warned irritably. “Stop.”

“Stop what?” she asked, not understanding.

Tightening my arms around her, I whispered, “How’re you doing this to me?”

“Doing what?”

Not able to verbalize it, I gripped her hair and kissed her brow with emotion.

She shuddered as if finally understanding, but she didn’t answer. I don’t think she knew how either.

36

HOPE

Parker woke before me on Sunday morning, rustling around on the other half of the bed.

With a tired grunt, I burrowed deeper into my blankets in an attempt to recapture my dreams.

“Good morning,” he greeted sweetly, touching my shoulder and pressing a kiss to my hair before smoothing down the unruly locks and then testing my brow for a temperature. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

I huffed out another disgruntled sound that caused him to chuckle.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” He kissed my hair again and then patted my butt gently as he sat up. “Go back to bed, Trouble. I’m gonna take a shower.”

“Mmph,” I answered to let him know I’d heard him, and I sighed wistfully into my pillow as he crawled off the bed and crossed the room, shutting the bathroom door behind him.

From there, I drifted, soaking up REMs like a dehydrated plant that sucked all the water from its soil. I’d just been so exhausted lately. I needed this.

But I’d barely gone unconscious again when a notification from a nearby phone chimed. And then chimed again. And again.

Groaning, I swatted out my hand to make it stop.

---