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‘Please don’t cry,’ he begs, squeezing me to him, his low tone now sincere and unforced. ‘I can’t bear to see you like this.’

I say nothing, my sniffles preventing me from speaking, even if I knew what to say. Which I don’t. The best part of my existence has revolved around avoiding a cruel world. But Miller Hart has taken me and put me in the centre of that world.

And I know I will never escape.

His face is buried in my hair, and he’s humming that comforting melody. It’s a desperate attempt to pull me round. He feels my despondency. He’s worried, and when he’s hummed for minutes upon minutes and I still haven’t ceased weeping, he growls low and stands with me secured against him, then carries me quietly into the bathroom.

He positions me on the toilet, with no need for precision, and pushes my matted hair from my face with the utmost care to avoid my sore cheek. I finally allow my stinging eyes to lift along with my head to face him. His blue eyes reveal horror as they focus on the side of my face, and he takes a deep, calming breath.

‘Wait,’ he orders harshly as he retrieves a facecloth from a small pile beside the sink and runs it under the cold tap. He’s kneeling at my feet quickly, the cloth coating the palm of his hand. ‘I’ll be gentle.’

I nod my acceptance and wince before he’s even connected the cool cloth to my face.

‘Shhh.’ The chilliness hits my tender cheek, making me recoil on a painful gasp. ‘Hey, hey, hey.’ His other palm reaches for my shoulder to steady me. ‘Let it settle.’ Taking a deep breath, I brace myself for the pressure I know he’s about to apply. ‘Better?’ he asks, searching for comfort in my eyes. I can’t find the energy to speak, so I give a pathetic nod, depriving Miller of my eyes when I clench them shut in pain. Everything feels heavy – my eyes, my tongue, my body . . . my heart.

Reaching up, I rub at my tired eyes, massaging into the sockets rigorously with the heels of my hands, hoping to work away the lingering visions, not just of this evening’s outburst but of all Miller’s recent rages and the horrid images of him shoving coc**ne up his nose. I’m being naive and ambitious.

‘I’ll get some ice,’ Miller murmurs, sounding as pitiful as I feel. He takes my hand and replaces his with mine gently on my cheek before he pushes himself from the floor.

‘No.’ I grab his wrist to stop him leaving. ‘Don’t go.’

The hope that flickers through his blank eyes spikes guilt. He falls to his haunches and rests his palms on my knees.

‘You do coc**ne,’ I state, not making it a question. There’s no scope for denying here.

‘Not since I’ve met you, Olivia. There are many things I haven’t done since I’ve met you.’

‘You quit just like that?’ I know I sound cynical, but it’s not something I can help.

‘Just like that.’

‘How bad?’

‘Does it matter? I’ve stopped.’

‘It matters to me. How often do you use?’

‘Did I use.’ His jaw ticks and his eyes clench shut. ‘Once in a while.’

‘Once in a while?’

Blue eyes slowly appear again, pouring with regret, sorrow . . . shame. ‘It helped me get through . . .’

I gasp. ‘Oh God.’

‘Livy, I’ve never had a reason to stop doing any of the things I did. That simple. I don’t need any of it any more. Not now that I have you.’

I drop my eyes, confused, shocked and hurt. ‘Who’ll crucify you?’

‘Many.’ He laughs nervously, and it prompts my eyes to find his again. ‘But I’ll never give up on us. I’ll do anything you want me to,’ he vows.

‘See a doctor,’ I blurt without thought. ‘Please.’ He can’t possibly deal with all these problems. He can’t be beyond help. I don’t care if he’s been told that before.

‘I don’t need a doctor. I need people to stop interfering.’ His jaw is tight, just the mention of meddlesome people spiking the rage that’s so very worrying. ‘I need people to stop making you overthink.’

I shake my head on a sad smile. He doesn’t see it. ‘I can learn to deal with interference, Miller.’ I have to. Miller will take all of the interference personally. Maybe it’s paranoia. Drugs make people paranoid, right? I have no idea, but it’s a problem and it can be fixed, I’m certain. ‘It’s you who’s making me sad.’

His hands halt their calming rubs on my knees. ‘Me?’ he asks quietly.

‘Yes, you. Your temper.’ Cassie’s hate is unpleasant and mystifying, but it didn’t make me feel hopeless like this. That’s his doing. ‘I can help you, but you need to help yourself. You need to see a doctor.’

Blue eyes deepen as they explore my face, and he drops from his crouching position to his knees. I look down at him, immersing myself in the tranquillity that his telling gaze always offers, like right now, even when we’re in such a mess – when Miller is in such a mess – the comfort I’m feeling is immeasurable. He squeezes my thighs before he takes my hands in his and brings my knuckles to his soft lips, all the time maintaining the consuming connection of our eyes. ‘Olivia, do you understand the extent of my feelings for you?’ His eyes close tightly, robbing me of the comfort I partly survive on. ‘Do you comprehend it?’

‘Open your eyes,’ I demand softly, and on a strengthening inhale of air, he lazily pulls them open. ‘I comprehend the extent of my feelings for you. If this is how you feel about me, then I get it. I understand, Miller. But you don’t see me attacking anyone who threatens us. Our united front is enough. Let us do the talking.’