Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 25068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 125(@200wpm)___ 100(@250wpm)___ 84(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 125(@200wpm)___ 100(@250wpm)___ 84(@300wpm)
“There’s no pain.”
“Then it’s the inside kind of pain,” he says.
“I’m not normally a crybaby,” I reassure him, swallowing past the lump in my throat. “Tears don’t do anything good anyway.”
“My grandma always said that tears are the first step toward healing,” Nash answers his voice soft. “What’s making my girl sad?”
It’s the second time he’s called me his girl. It’s the thousandth time I’ve wished I could really be his. “I just...you’re a nice guy, Nash. Looking out for me. That’s all.”
He doesn’t say anything. Instead, he waits patiently and it’s strange, to stare into his gaze knowing that he doesn’t see me back. Maybe that’s why I find the courage to say, “I’ve never been taken care of much, and sometimes, you do nice things for me and it’s...overwhelming.”
“My girl hasn’t been well loved,” he says the words like his own heart is breaking in two. Like my pain is somehow becoming his pain.
“Not everyone deserves to be loved,” I point out. I know it’s reserved for the good people, the ones that can follow the rules and understand how relationships work. Those that don’t have to fight and claw and kick for every scrap of food and every safe place to lay their head.
He settles on the cold tile of the bathroom floor and pulls me into his lap. I go willingly, needing him to hold me. “My girl deserves all the love in the world.”
“I’m not a good person,” I admit in a broken whisper. “I take things from other people. I lie and cheat and steal. I do whatever it takes to get by.”
He puts his hand on my head, cradling me against his big chest. His voice is a quiet rumble when he says, “That just makes you a survivor, honey.”
“No, there’s something wrong with me. I wasn’t adoptable. The social workers could never find a home for me. No home for little Randy.” Then I’m crying again, wetting his shirt and getting snot everywhere.
But Nash doesn’t get mad at me. He just strokes the back of my head. “That’s right. Cry it all out.”
I sob harder than I ever have in my life. Just when I think I’m done, I start again. But eventually, the storm passes, and I’m left with little hiccups. I wait for Nash to push me away, to get disgusted by the mess I am but he doesn’t. He’s cradling me close and rocking us together. He’s singing a song under his breath, a soft melody about love that blooms after the harsh winter.
I don’t know how long we stay together for, but I can’t move from this spot. I don’t ever want to. For the first time in my life, I don’t feel alone in my pain, and I soak in the feeling.
“You have a nice voice,” I finally tell him when he’s ended the song.
“So do you,” he says. “I spent so long, feeling your presence and wishing I could hear it. Now I can.”
The lights flicker twice before they finally click off for good. All of the normal electronic hums that I can hear in his home like the heating and the dryer stop. I shudder in his arms. “I don’t like the dark.”
He squeezes me tighter. “I’ll keep you safe.”
“Do you have a flashlight?” As soon as I ask the question, I cringe. “Sorry.”
“There might be one on my phone,” he answers without sounding bothered by my question. I’m learning that Nash is easygoing about his blindness. He doesn’t seem to hold it against people when they forget because it’s pretty easy to forget. He’s not Nash, the blind guy to me. He’s just Nash and his lack of sight is only a small part of him.
He stands with me in his arms and carries me back to the bedroom despite my protests that he doesn’t have to. He ignores my words and just keeps cradling me close. He sets me on the edge of the bed and passes me his phone after he’s unlocked it.
“You try to figure out the flashlight function and I’ll grab something to clean this mess up.”
“I can—”
With the light coming through the bedroom window, I can see the scowl on his face, and it makes me smother a laugh. I finally realize he’s doting on me the same way he does on his doggies. “I’ll figure out the flashlight function and you’ll get something to clean up this mess.”
When he’s gone, I try to find the flashlight but what I find has me sucking in a deep breath. There’s a text message from the sheriff. Tried to call. Storm should ease late tonight. I’ll be at your place in the morning to take the thief off your hands.
My breath catches in my throat. I’m not so sure that Nash would turn me over to his friend after what we’ve shared today. But it’s time for me to stop running. Time to finally face my past and what I am. It’s the only way I’ll ever be free. I type a quick message in response. Sounds good. She’ll be ready.