Page 126 of Defiant Beta

“And you have a frustratingly small one.” I stifle a yawn, fighting sleep. The fear of falling into a nightmare makes me shiver. If I freak out again, I don’t want him to see. Once was enough. “I-I’m okay now,” I stutter, though I’m not cold. “You can leave.”

Vincent closes his file and sets it on the nightstand.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Putting my work aside to focus on something that matters more.”

“What?”

A yawn sneaks up on me, and I miss what he says, but it sounds almost like, ‘you.’

As my eyelids get heavy, he’s sitting beside me.

When my eyes fly open just before I fall asleep, terrified that I’ll plunge into another nightmare, he’s still there, stroking my hair. Concern softens the hard angles of his face.

“You’re safe, Della Jackson,” he says quietly. “Nothing can hurt you here. You’re safe.”

Something sticks in my throat. Pain. Fear. The memory of what was done to me and the sense that a piece of me is broken forever.

He takes the hand closest to him, squeezing it. Strength and warmth in those calloused fingers. “You’re safe.”

I want to tell him that he doesn’t need to keep repeating himself, but hearing him repeat those two words helps. Maybe it’s the hand he’s squeezing in his larger, warmer one that does the most to comfort me.

I believe him.

I believe him like I've rarely believed anything else.

My eyelids flutter shut.

Chapter 38

Della

I blinkmy eyes open as sunlight streams through my windows.

I’m alone and there’s a deep crease in the bed beside me, a sign where Vincent sat last night. When I touch it, the space is slightly warm, as if he left not that long ago.

Sitting up, I stretch out the kinks in my neck. On my way to the bathroom to wash up, my eyes snag on the dresser, and I make a detour to investigate Vincent’s comment from last night.

The top two drawers are half-empty. Just stuff from Everleigh.

I never looked at the drawers below that. I never had a reason to. They were empty.

I pull the third drawer open.

It is not empty.

Neither is the one after that, nor the next one down.

All arefullof clothes.

Sweatpants, T-shirts, shorts, jeans, and sweaters. Lingerie that makes me blush when I picture Vincent at a lingerie store picking them out for me.

Curious, yet not expecting much, I cross to the closet, open the door, and stare. Dresses, skirts, and slacks fill all the rails. Shoes are lined up on the floor in a neat row.

All with the labels still attached.

All look like they are my size.

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