No Gentle Giant (A Small Town Romance)

She doesn’t need to know Eli exists.

Whatever’s coming for me, I can handle, just as long as my son stays out of it.

When we pull up at the inn, I’m jolted the second I realize Eli’s not home—until I remember he’s staying over at Zach’s tonight.

If he were anywhere else, I’d be running to grab him right now.

Luckily, Zach’s father is a ridiculously strong ex-military bruiser who makes me feel small.

Nothing’s happening to Eli on Leo and Clarissa Regis’ watch. I’d bet my life on it. And considering the state we’re in, it’s better if he’s nowhere near me tonight.

That’ll buy time to figure out if that lunatic we chased off wants to defy common sense and come back for round two early.

Inside, Felicity lets Shrub down to gallop across the living room, then slumps down on the sofa and buries her face in her hands, sighing through her fingers.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m so sorry I dragged you into this.”

“Too late for apologies, woman, and I don’t need one last I checked. There’s been some dragging, yeah, but we’re both getting dragged along by shit someone else set in motion a long time ago.” I settle down next to her, and reach over to touch her wrist, gently urging her hand down from her face. “Talk to me, Fliss. I need you to come clean. I need to know what’s really going on. Everything.”

She lets her hands fall with a shaky sweep, just looking at me.

Her eyes start welling over again, pale blue-violet refracting and blurring before she looks away sharply, her lips tightening.

“Where do I even start?” she whispers.

“The beginning,” I coax. “Let it all out.”

“I...okay.” She scrunches her hands in the hem of her pretty little lavender-checkered dress, her nails biting into the tops of her thighs. “Paye—Paisley Lockwood—she’s the head of a crime outfit. From what I’ve gathered, it’s a big one that runs through most of the Pacific Northwest. The Lockwood syndicate. Her father, Kurt Lockwood, used to be the boss...and my father worked for him.” Felicity gulps in a soft, upset breath. “I don’t know the full extent of Dad’s involvement. There’s some new stuff I just found out tonight. But my whole adult life, ever since I took over The Nest, Paisley’s been claiming Dad owed her big-time and if I didn’t pay his debt with every penny I had, she’d hurt my mother.”

Her breaths roll out of her in a rough shudder, and hot tears spill down her cheeks.

She scrubs at her eyes, her nose, her skin, like she just wants to slough off her body and be someone else.

“You’re okay. Give me more,” I whisper, laying my arm over hers and finding her hand.

“I never knew what my father did that racked up so much debt, but...once we found the gold, I knew it had to be a major part of it. When Flynn mentioned that heist, it was all but guaranteed. Earlier tonight, she told me he swindled them out of millions, that...that he killed her father, and...” Voice breaking, words choking, her eyes strain toward the ceiling. “...and she killed him in retaliation. Pumped him full of a heroin overdose when he’d been trying so hard to stay clean for us, and then...”

I get the picture.

I don’t need the words.

And she can’t seem to get them out anyway as she bursts into deep, rasping sobs that shake her to the bone, burying her face in her hands like she can hide them from me.

I don’t want her to hide.

I want to give her shelter where she can face the truth, no matter how blinding or harsh or unforgiving it might be.

Slowly, I reach for her.

She flinches at first, shaking her head, mumbling something I can’t quite make out.

I hear the words don’t deserve you.

“Stop right there. Come here,” I growl.

She falls against me, and I tangle her up in my arms and let her sob her venom out.

There’s a resilience to Felicity Randall, strong like a spiderweb. On the surface, a web looks fragile, so delicate, but it actually holds pounds of tensile strength on strands thinner than a human hair.

Brush it the right way, though, and it’ll snap.

And I think tonight, Fliss found out secrets that pushed her to the breaking point.

It’s my job to salvage what’s left, to make sure she doesn’t shatter and blow away with the ferocious wind that’s coming down on us.

So I hold her.

I let her cry and be vulnerable.

I wish I could take it all away.

I wish it were as simple as snapping that hissy little viper’s neck.

It sounds so fucking complex, and even if her old man had the best of intentions, there’s a part of me that also wishes I could drag him back from the afterlife for a man-to-man and ask him what the hell he was thinking.