Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 81279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
“Maybe… Maybe I could carry you downstairs, like before? The security office is in the basement,” Saint tells me, squeezing my arm, as if he were worried I might faint and roll all the way down.
I bite my lips not to scream and take a deep breath through my nose. “I appreciate it, but it would only make me feel like even more of a failure.” I force my foot forward and put it down on the first step but nausea rises in my throat and I’m right back up. “Fuck.”
He’s still, watching me as the mall turns into the darkest of caves. This is a test, and I’ve already failed it. I will always fail it.
In my nightmares, Miles Brown always wins, and that’s never going to change.
“It’s not your fault,” Saint finally whispers, stroking my shoulder. I don’t know if he’s too disgusted to touch me or afraid that I’ll break, but both of those options are horrible.
“Maybe I could—” go down on all fours? Backwards? Slowly? How humiliating would that be? I’m getting frantic, because he will see how impractical it is to take me anywhere, especially to a job where my issues can be a liability. I sigh, and my shoulders sag. “Falling down was so quick, I barely remember the moment itself, yet whenever my brain forces me to think back to it, it feels like… like I never even landed. Does that make sense? Like I’ve been falling for years now.”
The same warm hands that baked bread for us earlier and which held me back at the store, now cup my face and lift it, so I look at him. I shiver, prepared to see annoyance, but his eyes watch me softly, as if I haven’t lost any of his respect.
“I’ll catch you.”
I swallow the lump in my throat, because I have to harden. I can’t cry over every little thing. But his eyes are so intense I know he means it.
To anyone else, he’s just Saint, but to me, he is my patron saint. If I were Catholic, I would have chosen him at confirmation, and carried a photo of him in my wallet.
I get to my toes and kiss the fabric covering his lips. “I trust you with my life.”
He shivers, then his arms cradle me against him, and we kiss again. There might be a barrier between our lips, but every touch feels so intense I swear this moment is going to be forever ingrained into my memories.
He presses his cheek to mine and sighs, stroking my back so very gently, as if he’s not afraid of all the ways in which I could fail him. “Then maybe I could bring him to you?”
I glance down the stairs, calculating. I need to face Brown so badly, and Saint’s giving me the chance. “You’d go there alone?” I ask even though he has over a decade of experience doing such things on his own. It’s me who’s out of his depth.
When he shrugs, spreading his arms, it’s the most adorable gesture I’ve seen him make. “It’s just one guy. If that’s what you want, just wait for me.”
“But if you’re in trouble, do the special whistle, okay? I’ll come, I don’t know how, but I will.”
I roll my eyes when he pets my white woolen beard.
“You can count on me, Santa,” he says and dashes down the stairs before I can smack him. I can’t see his grin, but I somehow know it’s there, that his eyes glint even in this darkness. Because of me.
As I watch him descend, then disappear, a predator in the night, I lean against the railing and wait. To think that what led me here, to this moment, was the letter I wrote out of spite. A letter even my therapist didn’t want to finish reading, but Saint did. He read it over and over, excited by my uncompromising need for revenge. If I’d known whose hands it would fall in, I would have signed it with three kisses.
I might be struggling with the steep stairs, but my blade is sharp and ready. Miles Brown will feel my wrath, and I will meet his eyes before I kill him. I will show Saint that I’m capable, even if there’s still a learning curve ahead of me.
As I wait, I’m struck by the strangest realization.
There might be danger hiding in every shadow, but I’m no longer afraid of hands reaching for my neck or shoving me to my death. Not anymore. And while Saint isn’t here to watch my back, I can still sense his presence in every passing second. His pulse is normally so slow when I lie with my ear to his chest, but when it speeds up my man becomes a powerhouse everyone should be wary of. Everyone but me, of course.