Page 90 of Almost Rotten

Sawyer’s here, yet I’ve never felt more disconnected.

She ran from me tonight.

She saw me. I overreacted. And she took off.

I want to be her safe place. I want to be her home.

Yet everything I do seems to drive her farther away.

I’m fucking this up.

I know it. Noah knows it. But I don’t know what else to do. To try. To say.

Tension thrums through me painfully by the time I step into the shower. Sawyer and Noah are already standing beneath the hot stream. He’s holding her against his chest, her back to his front, his large hands trailing all over her body in an effort to warm her.

Her shoulders shake with emotion, which I can handle.

What I can’t fucking take?

The way her eyes flare with trepidation when I crowd their space.

Before I can utter a single word, she’s on me.

Soft, trembling arms circle my neck as she buries her face in my chest.

“I’m sorry,” she sobs, her body shaking as I loop my arms around her and hold her close.

She’s here.

She’s okay.

My nervous system hasn’t gotten the message, but she’s in my arms now.

She’s here.

I’m desperate to make her stay.

“I’m sorry,” she chokes out again. “Mercer, I’m so sorry.”

Peering down at her, I slick back her hair with both hands.

She won’t meet my gaze. She’s wrecked. Well and truly shattered. The spark behind her eyes is nonexistent. Her usual poise and posture are nowhere to be found.

With a shuddering exhale, she slumps between me and a distraught Noah.

“Shh. You’re okay, honey,” he soothes.

His hand brushes over my arms as he draws a path up and down her spine.

“Her skin’s warm, but she’s still trembling,” he murmurs.

He’s concerned about her physical well-being, the way the cold rain has soaked her and the prickers have torn through her skin.

My concern goes so much deeper.

That soul-level spark. All the fire and spirit that make her who she is. Where have they gone? What has that boy fucking done?

Cupping the back of her head, I pull her to my chest, moving them both closer.