Page 69 of Charmed

Sobs wracked her whole body, and he was this close to losing it, too. He'd never had a woman cry on him before, and the fact that the particular woman in question was Fiona Ironclad Galloway was like catching an atom bomb with his gut.

She pounded a fist against his pec, then clutched his tee, her face buried in his breastbone. Probably cracking it by the level of hurt radiating from behind the spot. Her shoulders shook and her hands balled in his shirt and she emitted the most god-awful noises he'd ever heard. He held the back of her head, an arm banded around her, and pinched his eyes shut.

Her legs gave out. He caught her before they both went down and managed to carry her the few feet to the bed.

They lay facing one another, her clinging to him with only a dim lamp to chase shadows. Her hair was spilled across his bicep, her face pressed against his neck, and her arms were trapped between their bodies. He shifted the slightest bit trying to give her room to breathe, and wound up tangling their legs more. She never looked up or stopped her torrent. He wasn't sure she even knew what day it was, never mind whose arms she was in.

Regardless, he ran his fingers through her hair and massaged her scalp. "I've got you, Fi. You're okay."

He wasn't okay, though. Not an iota. The very thought of her in pain was the equivalent of running his innards through a blender. To actually witness the phenomenon? Sheer agony. He had to wonder how many times through the years she'd cried alone, shouldering her burdens until she could let go by herself.

Tough outer shell, gooey inside. That's exactly the kind of person she was, despite the act. If he'd learned nothing else the past few months, it was that she gave her all in everything she did. And that included her wide array of emotions. He hoped like hell this moment of sentiment didn't set back the progress they'd made. Knowing her, she would put her defenses back up with shackles and padlocks, or she'd accept the minor relinquish of control and move on.

Could go either way. Unpredictable was her middle name.

After eons, her sobs transitioned to shudders and faded to a whimper. Though her body relaxed against him, she didn't lift her head or speak. In fact, she barely seemed to be breathing.

The silence stretched so long, he figured she'd fallen asleep. Stroking her hair, he contemplated how to snatch the blankets by the foot of the bed to cover them when she finally stirred.

Easing away a margin, she stared at his chest with red-rimmed eyes and wet lashes while her swallow clicked. Her lips parted like she was going to say something, but no words emerged.

"Don't be embarrassed, babe. You've been teetering close your breaking point all week."

"I'm not embarrassed." Her gaze refused to meet his, and his gut tightened. "I'm mortified."

"Aren't you the one who told me crying isn't a weakness?"

The longer she went without answering, the harder his heart pumped. Her claim back in his pool house suddenly seemed like a platitude. Until he dug deeper. Looked closer. She didn't lie, not even when she should to spare feelings. And there was the culprit. Her humiliation wasn't because she'd wept. It was because she'd let someone else see her doing it. Namely him.

He followed her gaze, glancing down at his tee. It was damp from her tears. "It's just a shirt, Fi."

A trivial shake of her head was all she offered, but it appeared involuntary.

Fine. He eased onto his elbow and removed the evidence, tossing the tee on the floor. "Just a shirt, babe. It can be washed."

"Can it scrub the memory, too?"

He tucked his finger under her chin, forcing her to look at him. "If that's what you want, I can forget the past hour." He doubted it. Plus, when he'd first walked into her room, she had a text ready to go, asking him to come. In her own twisted way, she was seeking comfort from him. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really."

"Okay, then. We won't talk." He smiled because A) she hadn't kicked him out of her bed when she'd come to her senses, and B) her shield was still down, proving she was willing to let him in.

Confusion wrinkled her brows. "Why do you do that? Most of the time, you push and push until I'm ready to kill you, needling at me to get a response. Then, you switch around, letting the situation go with a shrug. You could be working this moment of vulnerability to further your cause. Why aren't you?"

"First, I don't have a cause, other than to complete the tasks and maybe have you moan my name every night for the next millennium like you tend to do when you're coming unglued. Emphasis on the coming part. Second, you aren't vulnerable. At least, not when you're with me. I would never use anything that happens between us to betray you or share whatever you deem to show me with the rest of the world."

He sighed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "And third, I'm following your breadcrumbs. I push when you need pushing, shove when you need shoving, and drop the rest when the situation permits. A lot of that stems from you driving me crazy, for the record. But, tonight? Talking about what set you off? It's redundant to me. I can already imagine what you went through and how you'd feel. Forcing you to rehash it won't make you feel better. It's already on a loop in your mind."

Not an eyelash of hers fluttered or a muscle twitched as she stared at him with a cross between shock and what-the-hell.

Interesting how she seemed more surprised he could read her than the fact he'd been proving it all along. She made him several yellow kernels short of a box of Fruity Pebbles and called it a successful Wednesday, could downshift his moods across the emotional wheel without a crank, and kept him forever guessing where her tirades would land next, but none of that meant he didn't understand her.

"Speaking of shoving..." Reaching across her, he snatched a tissue from her nightstand. He dabbed at the remaining wetness around her eyes and on her cheeks while he spoke. "We are going to talk about what happened at my house this morning. We already established this is a relationship, but what Kaida said was upsetting. Explain."

Irritation sparked in her turquoise depths. "My sister should keep her mouth shut."

"Nice deflection." He put the tissue in his pocket and, because he needed to touch her, he stroked her cheek with his thumb. "Kaida could've been more tactful about the conversation, but I think she's worried you'll hurt me. Her and I have gotten to be pretty great friends."

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