Page 113 of Imperfect Player

I refute her statement, my head shaking. “I don’t deserve your love.”

“Well, you have it regardless. So let me in.”

She doesn’t just mean my house. She means inside me. Into the dark places that I don’t even want to go. Yet there she is ,willing to go there with me. Hold my hand through it.

Guilt rises inside of me.

Opening the door further, she steps inside. She places her purse on the table next to the door and scratches Baker’s head.

“Want me to take him for a walk?”

“No.”

“Want me to make dinner?”

“No. Everly, stop.”

“Stop what?”

“Trying to fix me. Trying to fix something that’s irreparable.”

“I’m not. I just . . . ”

“Want to pretend everything is normal when it isn’t?”

She nods her head.

“I just want to be here for you, but honestly, I don’t know how.”

“You’re already doing it.”

I press a kiss to her forehead.

Even though I know she should go, I can’t find it in me to push her away. I need her. I love her.

“I said I’d cook for you,” I tell her, making my way to the kitchen.

My hands yank both doors of the oversize refrigerator open.

“Okay, let’s see what we’ve got to work with.”

Nothing. There is nothing to work with because the thing is practically empty.

“We can order pizza,” she suggests.

I shake my head. “I said I was going to cook for you.”

It might be a challenge to do considering the slim pickings in the fridge, but for Everly, I’ll do it. I’ll even succeed.

As I pull ingredients from the fridge, Everly hops up onto the island counter and watches me work. Our conversation is light, comical even, despite the fact that I owe her plenty of explanations—starting with why I forgot our plans.

She doesn’t ask though, and I use that as a copout to not have to explain myself to her. Don’t ask, don’t tell. Her lack of questioning is my escape from having to tell her about the demons that trouble me on the regular. The very demons that don’t seem to exist when she’s around.

It’s why I won’t let her go, won’t walk away from her when I know it’s the right thing to do. I need her.

“When you opened the fridge, I really thought we were going to have to order something,” she says, taking the plate I extend to her.

“Probably should have.”

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