I tightened my hold, lifted her higher, and pressed my lips to her temple. “You’re wrong. You have always been.”
She burrowed her face deeper into my jacket.
Aster wept.
My heart cracked in half.
“I’ve got you,” I promised as I carried her to the elevator door. I managed to punch in the code, and thank fuck, it was already right there, the doors opening with a gush of warmth.
Aster shivered when we stepped inside, and I held her as the elevator whisked us to the top floor. My arms tightened around her as I carried her to the door and let us into my apartment.
It was dark inside except for the fire and the single light over the sink where Gretchen was doing dishes. She spun around. Her eyes widened and worry filled her face. “Oh, dear lord. What happened now? You are some kinda mess, aren’t you, sweet girl?”
She started our direction.
“I’ve got her.” I sent Gretchen a look that made her stop in her tracks. I continued across the floor.
Gretchen hesitated. I knew firsthand it went completely against her nature not to help.
“You let me know if you need me. I’ll be right here.”
“I know, Gretchen. I’ve got this. Just go to bed,” I instructed as I carried Aster the rest of the way into my room.
She continued to tremble and shake, her head burrowed so deep in my jacket I got the reckless sense that she might be able to build a home there.
That right there was where I was going to get destroyed.
I was the sucker in this fool’s game.
But it didn’t matter. It didn’t fucking matter. Nothing did except for her.
It was dim within my room, a chill in the air, winter pressing at the windows. I set Aster on the edge of my bed. “Sit right there.”
I moved for the fireplace and flicked the switch. Flames leapt to life. I wound out of my jacket as I made my way back to the woman watching me through the flames.
Wary.
Hurt.
But her breaks? They were bone deep. Wounds I couldn’t see but knew without question were there.
Her shoulders slumped but that fierce bravery she’d always worn fired from her eyes.
I believed her wholeheartedly.
She would find a way to do this on her own. Walk away if it meant her freedom. If it meant mine.
If it meant we wouldn’t have to hurt each other all over again.
Staring at her, I knew it was already far too late for that.
The first time I’d seen her, I’d known I’d never set my eyes on anything more beautiful.
The girl was better than any flower or rainbow or piece of priceless art hanging in a museum.
Aster Rose was my poetry.
Kneeling in front of her, I tried to keep my shit together. “Tell me if you’re hurt.”