More of You (Confessions of the Heart 1)

But there was something deeper about her. Something that made me feel like she knew more than any little girl her age should.

I knelt down at the side of her bed. “If it’s okay with your mom, someday, I will. I think we need to get the porch fixed first.”

She grinned wider. “Oh-kay.”

Like that explanation totally satisfied her. Her mind innocent enough that she didn’t have to consider the fact that I wasn’t going to be there that long.

That her mother hated me. That she was going to hate me more when she found out what I’d done.

“You wike unicorns?” she suddenly asked. “I’s want a story about unicorns. The magic kind. Good magic, not bad,” she said, all too seriously. “Bad’s bad.”

I almost laughed.

Of course, she did. The proof of it was painted all over the front of her shirt.

Shit.

What did I think I was doing? Coming here like this?

I hadn’t exactly thought this through, had I?

Definitely hadn’t even begun to ponder what it might be like being here and having all of this rubbed in my nose like a fucking tease.

My life back in Atlanta had been nothing but long, grueling days taking over companies, building some back up and selling others, building and destroying and building, over and over, going after every fucking dollar I could make.

When that left me empty, my nights were wasted on expensive bottles of scotch and any nameless, willing bodies I could find, fucking myself into oblivion.

Like it might hold the power to erase what I’d left behind.

The proof of it was huddled right there, grinning up at me like I might be a good guy. Someone she could trust.

Not the pathetic piece of shit who was responsible for getting her and her mother into this situation.

Not that Joseph hadn’t done a bang-up job of getting them there, himself.

“All right then, no bad magic. Just good magic. Do you have a book like that?”

Warily, I glanced around, catching Faith who was standing at the doorway like this was causing her as much grief as it was causing me.

I ripped my attention from her and turned it back on the little girl. She was frowning at me. “No, silly.”

There she went what that adorable drawl, dropping the ‘l’s’, looking at me like I was crazy. “You tells the story in your head.”

Right.

Okay.

I gulped all the uncertainties down and made up the most ridiculous story I could conjure.

One about five magic unicorns who protected a little girl. A little girl who wandered and got lost.

About how scared the unicorns were that they couldn’t find her.

So what if I hid a message right in the middle of it.

She’d scared the hell out of both of us today.

I wanted to beg her never to do it again.

But it was what Mack had called and told me about this afternoon that left me vibrating with barely contained rage.

The need to hunt some fucker down barely controlled.

Someone had been in Faith’s car. Left another threat.

Right out in the fucking open.

The only thing I wanted to do was stop this. It made me feel worthless that I didn’t even know where to start.

The only thing I could do was be here.

A soft giggle filtered from Bailey, something like belief in her gaze where she had her head angled to the side, staring back as I let the story fall from my tongue.

“You a magic unicorn?” she asked me like she’d plucked that message right out of the story. “You gonna sway aww the bad dragons?”

A clusterfuck of emotions ripped at me from all sides.

“I’m going to try,” I told her.

I still wasn’t sure how to deal with them, but I knew I had to push through. Deal with this, with this feeling, until I knew they were safe.

I owed them that.

I owed them everything.

I could feel Faith behind us.

Watching us.

Could feel the torment radiating from her.

I wanted to stand. Go to her. Tell her everything was going to be okay.

That I was going to take care of them both.

“You better get to sleep now,” I told Bailey, agitation swelling.

She climbed down under the covers. “You be here in the morning?”

“Yeah, I’ll be here in the morning.”

“You make me breakfast?”

God, this kid.

Deeper and deeper.

“Sure.”

“Pop Tarties?” It was all eager, hopeful question, like she was wondering if I could even manage that, or maybe she was just like I’d been as a kid, stealing every sweet I could find.

I locked the direction of that thought down fast.

Mock offense had me dropping my mouth wide open. “What? You don’t think I can cook you a real breakfast?”

Her head shook, letting me know my cooking skills were definitely being called into question. “Grampa says toasters are made for men.”

The second she mentioned him, old hatred ripped through my veins.

Spite and animosity.

A bolt of a memory that cut through me like a bullet. A slap of words that had stung like a bitch.