Page 115 of Faking It With the Small-Town Bad Boy

still be within your right to be furious. It’s okay. I’m a little worried

about your hands, though. I wish you’d get out of the shower so I can

help clean up those scratches.”

“I want to sit here and wilt,” she breathes, her words like fog on a

cold Sunday morning by the willow tree. I can only imagine the

haunting beauty of the sight, but I’m hopeful I get to be around here

long enough to see it. “Can I have some space, Percy? Please. I’m

not… I don’t know if I’m okay to be around you right now.”

I kiss her temple and nod, fighting to stand with my jeans soaked.

“Of course. Just try to be easy on yourself, darling. I’ll be downstairs

when you’re ready to get out, and I’ll make some dinner, okay?”

She nods but doesn’t look at me. She’s refused to bring her eyes up

this whole time, and I worry that whatever Ryan said and did has put

her in this despondent stupor. I don’t like that he has the ability to do

this to a woman. But when I catch my reflection in the mirror, I see

my face and catch the same expression on my furrowed brows and a

downward frown.

Truth be told, Farrah put me in a worse spiral than just throwing

around my kitchenware.

My tonsils still ache for the flow of liquor. If the roles were reversed,

and Leah walked in on me contemplating a sip of whiskey, I’m not

sure she’d be able to talk me down from feeling like a monster or a

drunk if she tried.

She needs space, so I grant her that and head downstairs to clean up

the aftermath of Ryan Jones. Then maybe, just maybe, I can find

some bandages to help her when she’s receptive to having help. The

timing of that is up to her.

It’s her world that’s crumbling. All I can do is grab my broom and

hope she comes out the other side at least half as amazing as she was

when she went in. The world can’t afford to lose a beautiful soul like

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