Page 189 of Redeemed

I place a lingering kiss on her forehead. “I’m sorry, little fawn. You deserve better than that.”

Her eyes turn misty, and she throws her arms around me. I’m not used to her being this affectionate, but maybe her old feelings for us are coming back, too.

God, we’re all a mess, aren’t we?

“Thank you,” she whispers. “I never wanted to marry Isaiah. Running away was the closest I could get to a divorce.”

“I know.” I squeeze her tight. “None of this is your fault.”

She presses her lips together and avoids my gaze. What Colton told me earlier pops into my head, and my stomach sinks to the floor.

She was never enough for him.

“Haven. Tell me you know that.”

“Can we just deal with your arm?” she asks quietly.

I almost tell her we’re not doing anything until she tells me she knows she’s blameless in all of this. The only thing that stops me is seeing the same timidness in her eyes that showed up when Isaiah was yelling at her. This is something that we can discuss later.

So I move to the nearest bathroom and pull out the first aid kit under the sink. I’m in the middle of looking for an appropriate bandage when Haven bats my hands away.

“Take the hoodie off. I can do this.”

I do as she says, but only because a part of me wants her to take care of the cut for me. There’s something satisfying about knowing that she wants to.

As she gets to work cleaning the cut, I watch her silently. She was brave today—braver than I expected her to be. Sure, she ran from Isaiah, but she didn’t shy away from the fight. If it wasn’t for her, I’d probably have a much deeper stab wound to deal with right now.

That’s what I get for throwing myself into a fight without a strategy. All I could think of was keeping Isaiah away from Haven. It clouded my judgment, and that’s not good. She needs me on the top of my game, especially since Isaiah will be back.

“Where are Colt and Xan?” I ask. We should probably come up with some kind of plan since Isaiah knows who Haven is staying with now.

“They heard you pull in and went downstairs so we could talk.”

Oh.That’s much more thoughtful than I gave them credit for.

Haven places a large bandage over the cut and washes her hands. She spends an odd amount of time doing so, scrubbing until her skin is bright red.

“Hey. They’re clean.” I shut the water off and hand her the towel.

She stares at the towel but doesn’t take it. “What if I’ll never truly be safe from him?”

“As long as I’m alive, you will be.”

She lifts her head, and the look she gives me—half shock and half hope—tears my heart in two. I don’t want her to live in fear for the rest of her life.

“I think we need to get your mind off Isaiah.” Taking the towel, I dry her hands and hang it back up. “Come on.”

We don’t return to the living room, instead going upstairs to the loft. I settle us on the couch with her sitting next to me, her legs slung over my lap. I keep one arm around her while I pull my phone from my pocket.

“What are you doing?” Haven asks.

“Giving you a distraction.” I open up Instagram and navigate to a page dedicated to posting baby animals. “Here.”

Haven gasps when I angle my screen toward her so she can see a video of a kitten playing with water. “Oh! It’s so cute.”

I scroll to the next video, and then the next, until Haven’s body has melted into mine and her head is resting on my shoulder. At some point, I switch over to funny videos, mostly so I can hear her laugh. I want the threat of Isaiah to fall from her mind, even if it’s only for an hour or so.

Just as I’m swiping from one goofy skit to another, Haven perks up.

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