Page 77 of Hero's Heart

And then they’d also used the book to convince the psychiatrist she was having a breakdown. That the art history textbook was some sort of delusion of grandeur. That she’d been raped and traumatized during her captivity and that the book signified she wasn’t handling it the way she should: by having an immediate abortion.

And then the mifepristone pills had started showing up. William and Clarice were adamant that her pregnancy be terminated. Sloane wasn’t sure they wouldn’t force her to take them.

That was when she’d gone out the window and ran.

“They were never going to let me go to college,” she whispered. “I had to leave.”

Callum’s brow furrowed, concern etching into his features. “There were other things too, weren’t there? Stuff you’re not telling me.”

Staring down at her hands, Sloane wrestled with the urge to tell him everything. To pour out the whole awful story and finally unburden herself.

Callum had already shown her more kindness and understanding than anyone else in her life. Maybe he would listen without judgment. Understand that when she’d done the criminal things she had, it was because she hadn’t known what she was doing.

Surely that was forgivable, right? Not understanding that you were breaking the law?

Because, yes, there was a lot of stuff she wasn’t telling him about her life with the Gettys.

All she’d known for sure was that when she’d found out she was pregnant, she knew she couldn’t stay there anymore. She was not going to let her child be raised anywhere near the Gettys.

And that was really why she was here, wasn’t it?

She’d loved the picture Callum painted of Oak Creek and, even more, wanted to have a true relationship with him. But the real reason she was here was because she knew he would protect his child. He would not allow the Gettys to force her to have an abortion. And if they made good on their threats and had her sent to jail for what she’d done when she was younger, Callum would keep the baby and make sure it was okay.

Callum might hate Sloane when it was all said and done, but he would protect his own child.

“Hey.” He ran a hand down the back of her head. “It’s okay to tell me. Whatever it is, we can work it out together.”

She opened her mouth to spill it all, but the words wouldn’t come. Some sort of deeper instinct held her back.

For once, they had no dire threats hanging over them. No one was chasing her. Her family couldn’t hurt her here. Right now, in this room with Callum, she had a chance to experience something precious and untainted.

Sloane knew it was temporary. Eventually, the truth would catch up with her. But until then, she desperately wanted to wrap herself in this cocoon of normalcy and warmth. To feel, even just for a little while, like an ordinary woman enjoying time with a very special man.

One who had bought her flowers.

Meeting his patient gaze, she managed a tiny shrug. “Someday I’ll be ready to talk about it. I promise. But not tonight. Is that okay?”

His expression softened with understanding. “Of course. Whenever you’re ready, I’m here.”

Gratitude swelled in Sloane’s chest. Once again, Callum was showing her that he wouldn’t push for more than she was willing to give. He would let her reveal herself at her own pace. The realization made her feel cherished. Safe.

“But I do have one request.” He got out of the bed and walked gloriously naked across the room.

“As long as I can wait until tomorrow morning to clean the kitchen.”

He laughed and continued out of the bedroom. He came back a few seconds later, a book in hand.

“The kitchen can definitely wait until we get to it tomorrow. Tonight…we read.” He held up a copy of the same art history textbook. “I got myself one too.”

Resettling next to her in bed and opening the book across their laps, Callum began flipping through the glossy pages. Bright paintings and sculptures flashed by. Sloane leaned closer, the heat of his body seeping into her side.

The simple domesticity of the moment made her ache with yearning. Was this what a real relationship could be like? Quiet moments and easy companionship?

As he paused on a favorite impressionist piece, Sloane let her gaze linger half on the lilies blooming on the page, and half on Callum’s strong, tanned fingers gently tracing the edge of the paper.

For now, she would let herself drink in this tranquil moment. Memorizing every detail, Sloane told herself that even if it couldn’t last forever, having this experience at all was a gift. One she would treasure.

Chapter 27

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