Page 88 of One Spicy Summer

The shame is crushing. I look away, blinking hard.

But then he’s there, kneeling by my side. "Hey," he says roughly. "You’renota failure. We all fall, Prez. Getting back up? That’s what matters."

I bite my lip so hard it almost bleeds, trying not to cry.

"I couldn’t even deliver a healthy baby. Dropped out of ballet. Stole from you. I hate the woman I am, Rafe. Sometimes I wish I was dead."

It slips out before I can stop it.

Raw. Ugly. True.

"You’re too good for this world," Rygaard says immediately, like he’s been waiting to jump in. "You make us all better, Presley. If you left? We wouldn’t survive it."

Now I’m full-on bawling.

"I’m supposed to hate you all," I sniff. "Shut up." I look at them, Rygaard, Rafe, Agatha and wonder how they can still love me. "I’m not good," I whisper.

"Nope," Agatha snaps. "We’re not doing that pity party shit. If you’re gonna throw a bitch fit, uninvite us. Keifer tried to kill you. But this bitch ain’t dead. So we’re gonna get your ass better, drag his ass out, and fuck his whole world up."

God, I love her fire.

"Agatha’s right," Rafe says, standing up. "Rygaard’s lined up a therapist. Twice a week. You’re not doing this alone, Prez. Not anymore."

He offers his hand.I don’t take it.

But maybe… maybe I don’t have to fight so hard anymore.

Maybe it’s time I let myself lean on someone else.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Rygaard

July

It’s been almost six weeks since Presley’s been under my roof and in my care. She’s doing better than anyone could have imagined.

Watching her from the kitchen window, soaking up the hot Texas sun, I think about how we got here.

At first, everything was great. She was in good spirits, eager to get back on her feet and take control of her life.

But then we started weaning her off the hospital meds, and the recreational stuff slowly flushed from her system. That changed everything.

She hated us, wished we were dead, wished she were dead. She didn’t understand how we could be so cruel.Yada yada.We’d heard it all before. And no matter how much she begged, pleaded, or cried, we couldn't give in to her darkness.

Looking at her now, I’m so damn glad we didn’t.

She’s been seeing her therapist twice a week, sometimes more if she needs it.

My Princess still has a long road ahead of her, but she’s a tough, little thing. Not only is therapy going well, but so is her physical therapy for her busted leg. Most days she’s on her crutches. Some days, when she’s more tired, I make her use the walker, no matter how much she protests.

"I look like somebody’s fucking grandma," she mumbled once, while I fought to keep a straight face.I had to remind her that little ole grandmas didn’t cuss like sailors.She flipped me off and smiled, and that smile told me everything was going to be okay.

Today, I took the day off because it’s her six-week anniversary, and I wanted to make it special.

Started it right with breakfast in bed, which, of course, she fought me tooth and nail. But I won. She thinks I don’t have a soft spot for her anymore. If only she knew how bad I actually have it.

Tonight, I’m going to show her.

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