Page 81 of Tattered Edges

I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth as I hesitated.

I didn’t want to burden him, but I didn’t want to lie, either.

The truth was, I really did want his company—but it scared me to admit how much.

Instead, I replied, “I’m kind of tired.”

“Sweetheart?”

“Hmm?”

“I know you and me together is still a new concept—but you’re no stranger. If you think I can’t tell something is wrong, then you still have no idea how captivating you are and how well I’ve come to know what you sound like when you’re happy as opposed to when you’re upset or frightened or sad.”

I was certain my heart had skipped a beat while all the air in my lungs left me in a whoosh as I breathed, “Oh.”

“Do you want company?” he repeated. Then, before I could answer, he said, “I should warn you, if you say no, I’m likely to ignore you.”

This made me laugh, and the momentary spark of joy felt like a gift in and of itself.

“Okay,” I whispered.

“Right. I’ll be over in a few.”

We disconnected, and I got out of bed. I was in a pair of barely-there cotton shorts, and my Stanford crewneck sweatshirt. I didn’t bother changing. I tucked my feet into my slippers and made the journey down to my building’s door, unlocking it for Rory before returning to my flat.

Ten minutes later, his soft knock against my front door alerted me to his arrival.

When I opened up for him, craning my neck a little to look into his blue eyes, it struck me how much it meant that he’d shown up. It shouldn’t have surprised me. It wasn’t the first or second of fifth time—but he kept saying yes.

“Darling? Are you going to let me in?”

I didn’t let him in but reached for him instead. As I pressed up onto my tiptoes and wrapped my arms around his shoulders, he responded in kind, fully engulfing me into his arms. He then lifted me from my feet, inviting himself in before shutting the door behind him with his foot.

“Couch or bed?” he asked me.

“Bed,” I whispered.

He turned, locked the door, then reached for one of my knees. I followed his lead, circling my legs around him as he carried me up the stairs to my bedroom. He laid me down, then signaled for me to let him go, so I did. He was gone only long enough to remove his shoes, and then he was stretched out next to me, his head propped up against his fist.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“She took the photo,” I murmured, frowning when I realized how silly it sounded when I said it out loud. “Maybe it wasn’t mine to begin with.”

“What photo?”

“There was a family photo. It was likely fifteen years old, but it was on Sawyer’s desk. It’s the only picture I had of him, and it’s gone.” Feeling self-conscious, I dropped my gaze down to his chest, absentmindedly tugging on one of the buttons of his shirt as I continued, “I probably shouldn’t care so much, but—after everything—I don’t know.”

He reached over and tucked a bit of hair behind my ear before resting his hand around the side of my neck as he replied, “Now that I think of it, there’s a chance I’ve got one or two in a box somewhere.”

“What?” I muttered, lifting my eyes in search of his.

“I’ve got a few boxes in storage. Some of Henry’s old things. They were mates for years. No doubt there’s photo proof. I’ll have a look for you.”

“Really?”

“Of course.”

My nose began to tingle as my eyes filled with fresh tears. “Thanks.”

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