It's Never too Late

“You aren’t drinking your wine.”

Picking up her glass, she sipped and said, “You aren’t drinking yours, either.”

“I want to know what’s going on.”

To her credit, she didn’t immediately assure him that everything was fine. She didn’t say anything, which wasn’t like her.

“Is it the nightmares? Did you have a bad night last night?”

Or had something else happened to her? A crime that merited calling the sheriff? Dear God, had she been raped?

Shaking her head, she smiled. Sort of. Her entire expression looked...broken. “I haven’t had a nightmare in over a week. I’m out here tonight because I have to speak with you about something.”

“Addy, whatever is wrong, we can deal with it.” Did he sound as lovesick as he felt?

How did a guy who didn’t believe in love feel lovesick?

“I know we haven’t known each other long, but I think you’ll agree that we’ve got something between us.”

He held her gaze, and she nodded.

Feeling like he’d won a battle in a war he hadn’t yet been drafted for, he marched onward, as any good soldier would do. “I’m not the type of guy who shies away from trouble,” he told her. “If nothing else, I’m your friend. I’ll do whatever I can to help you in any way I can. I just need to know what’s bothering you.”

“Would you please quit being so damned nice?” It was her voice, in a tone he’d never heard.

Her eyes glistened and Mark didn’t want to hear any more.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

ADDY COULD DEAL with her own pain. She’d survived being nearly burned alive by her father. Survived listening to Ely’s screams—and then the silence as her brother died. Survived losing her mother. And knowing that her father had set them all on fire.

She had no idea how to deal with knowing she’d caused someone else pain—someone she loved. If nothing else, this moment was teaching her something very clear about herself. She was nothing like her father.

“At least tell me this...” Mark’s gaze was shadowed, but his concern was obvious as he turned toward her.

“What?”

“Did something happen to you today? Were you...molested in any way?”

“No! Of course not. I’d have told you...”

She stopped when she realized she’d pretty much admitted that she was withholding information from him.

Mark stood.

“Where are you going?”

Leaving his nearly full glass of wine on the table, he motioned toward his side of the duplex they’d shared for such a short time. In some ways that time seemed like forever.

A forever that she wanted more than anything else in life.

“I’ve got homework to do.”

“Please, stay.”

Watching her, his hands in his pockets, Mark didn’t move—either to leave, or to sit.

“Please,” she said again. She owed him this. Now. Before a new day dawned and he heard about it from someone else.