Page 68 of Fool Me Once

When she spins to face me, her cheeks are red and blotchy, and under her eyes are swollen, so I grab a washcloth, wetting it lightly before patting it on her face.

“Sorry,” she whispers, looking down. “I didn’t think I’d have that sort of reaction.”

Tossing the washcloth into the hamper, I cup her cheeks. “Don’t say sorry to me, Firefly. Not ever.” I kiss her forehead. “I’m sorry you lived through that. I’m sorry I didn’t save you.”

Tears cloud my vision, and I inwardly curse my emotions because today is about her, not me. I have to keep it together for Gemma.

Bringing one hand to my face, I wipe my tears away before returning it to her cheek. “I think you saw enough of it to confirm it’s you. I don’t see any reason why you have to watch another second of that fucking nightmare.” I press my lips to the top of her head, keeping them there. “I’m so sorry, Gem. I’m so, so fucking sorry.”

Not only do I not want her to watch that bullshit, but I also don’t know if I, myself, can stomach it either.

I’ll never forgive myself for leaving her, only for her to live through that. Gemma Jones was stuck in a nightmare while I was here, in Maine, living out my dreams as a professional hockey player.

And I’ll spend my life making it up to her.

Idrive home unhurriedly because what the fuck do I have to hurry to? No girl. No dog. Hell, I don’t even have a fucking goldfish. I probably shouldn’t get one either because what the fuck does a goldfish even do? Exactly. Nothing.

I talked to my brother, Silas, earlier. He only lives a few hours from Saylor now and met up with her for dinner. He said he was worried about her and that she seemed off, and even though she tried to sell him on her loving South Carolina, he didn’t buy it.

I’m going to see if I can get any information out of Gemma, which will probably be pointless because when it comes to Saylor and Gemma, they will ride or die for each other. So, if there’s something Saylor has told Gemma but doesn’t want anyone else to find out, I’m fucked because there’s no way Gem would tell me.

It’s been less than a week since the investigator flew here from California to meet with Gemma, and I haven’t recovered from the footage I saw—and I know I never will either. It’s kept me awake at night and made me physically feel sick. I feel like a failure, not only because I left her, but because I failed at being her friend too. In the times she needed me the most, I was here, living out my dreams as a Bay Shark. When I was at the most exclusive clubs, choosing a puck bunny to take home on my arm, she was probably getting choked or kicked.

My hand grips the steering wheel tighter as that same sick feeling settles in my stomach, making me cringe.

Gemma isn’t in Portland right now. Lori and Will came and got her, taking her home to visit and to make a plan for moving forward. Before she met with the investigator, I’m not sure if either of us would have felt comfortable with her being home. But I think it’s made both of usfeel better, knowing that, now, Richie is being watched day and night and he likely won’t be coming to Maine to find her.

Pulling up to my gate, I punch in the code, and slowly, it opens. I drive down my short driveway and squint my eyes when I see figures sitting on my steps.

A stupid-ass grin spreads across my face as I take in Gemma and Storm waiting for me. It’s not the sight of them that has me grinning like an idiot, but the duffel bag and few boxes stacked beside her. That could only mean one thing.

She’s coming home.

I slam my truck into park and open the door eagerly, well aware of how pathetic I look, but not giving a fuck. Pushing my door shut, I suddenly feel nervous as shit, and I stuff my hands into my pockets and head toward them. Right away, Storm’s tail begins to wag, and he runs toward me, nudging his nose against my palm, like he always does.

“Hey, buddy,” I whisper, patting his head.

Even though I’ve seen him a bunch of times since she moved out, this time just feels different.

“What are you doing out here, Firefly? I thought you’d be at your parents’ for a few more days.” My feet crunch on the snow-covered asphalt. “You should have gone inside; it’s cold out here.”

She shrugs a little bashfully and a bit playfully. “Figured this made more of a statement, you know? Sitting inside the warm house didn’t seem as grand of a gesture.” Her smile grows broader. “And I was at my parents’, and then … I asked my mom to bring me back to Portland and drop me off here.”

Even though she’s bundled up with a hat on and her jacket zipped high, I watch her cheeks redden.

“It’s not that bad out,” she peeps. “Refreshing really.”

She asked her mom to bring her here, not back to Kolt’s apartment.

I try not to get ahead of myself or get my hopes up too high as to what this could mean, but, fuck, it’s hard when it comes to her. I’ve missed out on so many years with Gemma, and I don’t want to be apart anymore. Every day gets harder and longer, and I’m just ready to have her here with me.

“Bullshit. You’ve always been a wimp in the cold.” I grin before tipping my chin up. “What’s going on?”

She pushes herself off the steps, walking toward me and stopping only an inch from my body. She raises her chin, angling her head to look at me, and smiles. Reaching in her pocket, she takes out a small piece of light-blue glass. It’s got some roundness to the sides, but could have been left in the sea for a lot longer to smoothen it up more.

“I found this a few days ago. I—I went looking for sea glass and actually picked up a piece. It was the first time in a very long time that I held one in my hand.” She blows out a breath.

“The reason why I never wanted to go combing the beaches for sea glass anymore was because the last memory I have of my collection was having it heaved at me. I ended up needing stitches that night.” She pushes her hat and hair back, and on her scalp, there’s a scar.

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