Page 91 of Shea's Hero

It’s not that he’s being unpleasant to me; far from it. He’s done everything, checking my wrists approximately a hundred times, bringing me plates full of food and snacks, calling my work to smooth things over, and even taking me into the shower and insisting on washing me even though I’m perfectly capable of doing it myself.

But something’s wrong.

I get that he’s upset about all of it, just like I am. I have a feeling those awful men will be featuring in my nightmares for a while, and I’m not sure I’ll feel safe driving on that road for a very long time.

It’s more than that, though, and I have a sinking feeling I know what it is. That’s why I need to force Oliver to talk about it before he does something crazy like insisting we break up under the auspices of protecting me.

That never made sense when I’d see it happen in the movies. The guy makes some proclamation about how the only way to keep the woman safe is to leave her. How does that help? Now she’s alone, probably depressed and distracted, and more vulnerable than if he’d just stayed with her to begin with.

Well, that’s not happening with Oliver and me.

And I’m not letting it go past today. We’re going to talk this out, and this time, I’m going to support him, just like he’s done so many times for me.

He’s been fussing in the laundry room for the last fifteen minutes, which I know is more than enough time to throw in a load of clothes. I have a feeling he’s staring out the window instead, with the same gloomy look I’ve spotted at least half a dozen times since we got back here.

So I send Jade a final text telling her I’ll call tomorrow before putting my phone down on the coffee table. Then I push up off the couch and head down the hallway in search of Oliver.

Just like I suspected, he’s standing in front of the window with his back to me, his shoulders slumped and hands shoved into his pockets. Before I say anything, I just look at him, my heart aching to see him looking so forlorn. This isn’t typical Oliver, confident, shoulders held high, and a smile always a second away from appearing.

Did he look like this after I broke up with him?

The thought of it brings a physical pain, like something stabbing into my chest. Without thinking, I clap my hand to my heart—not like that’s about to do anything—and a tiny whimper of dismay escapes.

Oliver whips around, concern all over his face. “Shea. What’s wrong?” He scans me quickly, then steps forward to take my hands in his. “Are you in pain? Is it your wrists? Something else? Should I call Cole?”

Just as he’s lifting my hands to inspect my wrists, I stop him. “No. I’m fine.”

His forehead creases. “But you made a sound?—”

“I know.” Tugging him out of the laundry room, I lead him back into the living room. “But I’m not in pain. Not like that.”

“Shea. I don’t understand. If you’re hurting…”

“Come sit down.” I practically push him onto the couch and climb onto his lap, turning so I’m sitting across it.

His hand raises to brush my hair from my face. “Love. You’re scaring me. What’s wrong?”

“I made a sound because I was sad,” I explain. “Seeing you like that. I don’t like it.”

“Seeing me like what?”

“Sad. Quiet. In your head.” Pausing, I lean over to kiss his cheek. “Something’s bothering you. I can tell. So I want to talk about it.”

“I’m fine,” he replies quickly. A muscle in his jaw twitches.

“No, you’re not. I’ve known you long enough to tell.”

“Shea…”

Holding his gaze, I take a deep breath before I say, “I’m scared, Oll. And we need to talk about it.”

“Shit.” Guilt sweeps across his face. “I’m so sorry. Here I am messing around doing laundry when I should be with you. After all those meetings… I should have pushed them off. Of course you’re scared. What can I do?”

“Not about that.” Catching his hand, I thread my fingers between his. “Yes, what happened earlier was scary. But that’s not what I’m talking about.”

“Then what?”

Crap. Is this going to come out sounding crazy? “I don’t want you to break up with me,” I blurt out.

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