Page 116 of Deacon

“What’s wrong? You want them, I’ll go get them for you,” I say. “I’ll break in and get them while Aiden’s out.”

She shakes her head, lashes wet. “No, it’s all gone. Aiden got mad and smashed it. I know it’s silly, but it took me so many years to build that.”

I don’t speak. There’s an ugly, violent thing in my chest.

“I think that…broke my heart a little bit,” she whispers. “I can’t get over it.”

Hand on her head, I hold her tight. Her body shakes, her tears bleeding through my shirt. I hope my heart sounds even to her, because inside, rage like I’ve never felt pours through me. It’s not silly. It’s devastating.

Some things are sacred. This innocent little thing that brought her so much joy is one of those things.

I can’t fix this, but I can make sure Aiden pays.

I brush the hair from her temple. “You cry it out if you need to, sweetheart,” I say. “Then, let’s get dressed. I have something upstairs I want you to see.”

She lifts her tear-stained face. “Upstairs? We are upstairs.”

“There’s an attic.”

She wipes her face, brows creased, and sinks back against my chest. Her tears slow. Her body melts into me, and I feel her trust emerge. It’s like an animal crawling out of a cave, blinking in the sun, ready to shoot back inside at any second.

Trust, love—these things take time, but we’ll get there in the end.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

FREYA

I’m shattered, but it puts a few pieces of my heart back together when he holds me and lets me cry into his chest. Nobody but Deacon has ever held me while I cried.

Outside, I hear the wind pick up. The weather is about to change. It flips the leaves the way it does back home, showing their pale undersides in a ripple. His heart beats faster than normal, beneath my ear. I count it, taking a breath every three beats until the tears slow.

He doesn’t tell me it’s silly to grieve for my collection.

I think I misjudged him. He’s not like Aiden at all. Yes, he’s big and strong and rough, but in Deacon’s case, that’s not a bad thing. He seems to have the darker side of himself under control.

I think that’s alright. I think there are different kinds of men like him, and they’re not all bad like Aiden.

Sticky from tears, I peel my face off his shirt. He clears his throat and turns me in his lap, shifting my legs apart to wrap around his waist. His hand comes up, and I don’t flinch.

He wipes my face with the side of his tattooed finger. How many times has Aiden flicked me in that same spot? I don’t know, but I do know now that Deacon would never ever use his hands to hurt me.

He lifts me to my feet. “Let’s go,” he says.

I nod, and he weaves his fingers through mine. We go into the hall, but instead of turning at the staircase, he opens the door to reveal a set of dark wooden steps leading up into an airy room. It’s not like any attics I’ve been in before. The air smells faintly of fresh paint, and there’s no mustiness.

My breath catches as we ascend into the attic. It’s huge, with a tall, peaked ceiling with a heavy central beam. There are four panels of skylight on either side, letting in the gray sky overhead.

It’s what’s inside that drags me back down to Earth. At the far side of the room is a vast, plush couch, and behind it runs a wall of empty bookshelves. There’s a desk to the right, huge and stacked with empty collection cases. Above it are rows of felt-bound journals.

I step into the center of the room, speechless. I’m dimly aware of the soft rug under my bare feet as I turn in circles.

Finally, I stop. There’s a lump in my throat when I meet his eyes.

“Do you like it?” he asks.

My face crumples, and I nod, tears slipping out. He’s beside me in a second. His arms go around me, pulling me into the safety of his broad chest.

His hand strokes down my hair. “This is your space,” he says. “Just for you, sweetheart.”

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