Page 52 of The Souls We Claim

I need my whole autonomous nervous system to come down off DefCon One.

Perched on the end of the bed, I realize I’m still shivering. A key rattles in the lock, and I watch nervously, even though I know it’s Halo. When he steps inside, I keep my eyes on the floor out of habit.

“Eyes up,” Halo says as he comes to stop in front of me. He offers me a water bottle. “Drink as much as you need.”

I do as he says, chug after chug, until I’m about halfway done. Tension thrums through me. But it’s no longer from thoughts of Brandon. It’s Halo’s presence. He’s watching me carefully. When I offer him the bottle back, anxious to slide into bed and pretend tonight never happened, he gently nudges the bottle back to my lips. “You drank that so fast, you must be dehydrated. Drink some more, Arianne.”

I do as he says because I don’t want to admit to him that I’m just trying to get out of his orbit before I do something really reckless like kiss him.

When I’m finished, I screw the lid on and place it on the narrow side table next to the bed. “I’m done.”

Halo crouches in front of me, his eyes narrowed slightly. “You need to find your backbone, kitten. I know life has taughtyou that when you use it, bad things happen. But that’s not statistically true.”

“Someone set fire to your father’s house, someone attacked your home,” I say. “Bad things do happen.”

“I’m talking about relationships. Bad things happen when you interact with your husband. He’s the bad thing. Ninety-nine percent of the people you meet in the world won’t respond like he did, even if you piss them off. So, in future, when someone like Brandon makes you feel uncomfortable, you just need to outright tell them and leave the situation.”

So, in future…

I can’t ever put myself in a position where a man has so much power over me again. But there’s a piece of me sad that there won’t be a me and Halo.

“It’s rare a man will hit you,” Halo says, interrupting my thoughts. “Maybe you should join Niro’s Self Defense Sundays for the old ladies. Teach you how to fight back a little. Give you some confidence.”

I think about what Halo is saying. “I don’t know how I ended up in this place where I’m scared of my own shadow. My default is to run. To hide. To avoid confrontation at all costs. Even at work, I was the same. You know they threatened to fire me if I went to my sister’s funeral, and I actually debated not going?”

Halo tucks my hair behind my ear, and it sends little shivers down the spine Halo was telling me to find. It’s a reminder that, anatomically speaking, I still have one. “You ever see a baby giraffe try and stand for the first time?”

“That’s random. And no. I don’t think I have.”

Halo smiles. “Their legs are way too long for their body, and it takes a while to find their center of gravity. They wobble around, unsteady, until finally they find their feet.”

The image of a baby giraffe stumbling around, even as it celebrates being born, comes to mind. “I’m the giraffe in this scenario?”

“Yes. Prettier though. Less yellow.”

The compliment washes through me. I’ve been starved of them. I can’t remember the last time Patrick uttered a nice word to me.

“You think I’m pretty?” I ask.

Halo places his palm to my cheek and rubs his thumb over my lower lip. “Real fucking pretty and you know it. Gorgeous, even. Climb in,” he says, tipping his chin in the direction of the pillows.

I do as he says, the soft cotton sheets smelling of him as I climb beneath them.

“What if Brandon comes back?” I ask. I hate how quiet my voice is.

Halo tucks the sheets in around me. I never thought I needed that singular comfort, but it makes me feel treasured. I wonder if that might be part of his reluctance about the idea of us. That I love these almost childlike gestures of which I am under no illusion stems from a childhood that didn’t include them.

“I’ll lock the door when I leave. It opens from the inside, so you won’t need the key.”

I glance at the door.

Halo rubs a hand across his stubble, then shakes his head.

He removes his cut and hangs it on a hook by the door. Next, he removes his T-shirt and puts it in a laundry hamper, which strikes me as odd.

Who would have thought a biker had a hamper in his room?

I try not to look, but it’s hard to not stare at the way the ink and muscles in his back move as he does. Halo places a palm to the wall and allows his head to drop for a moment. He seems uncertain, and I wonder if there’s anything I can do to help. Ieven make a move to lift the sheets to climb out and go give him some comfort when he turns to me.