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“I surrendered to the reality that I wasn’t her hero. I was the villain. So our story could never have a happy ending.”
It takes a man with a good heart to recognize when he’s the monster in someone else’s story. The courage it takes to break his own heart to save another’s proves he’s not really a monster. He’s a hero.
“You give me hope for manity.” “What the hell is manity?” “The male part of humanity.” “So you mean men.” She furrows her brows. “I have no idea what I’m saying. You just tossed my salad so well, I’m making up words.”
Somehow, she found the bolted door where I keep all my vulnerable things locked behind and kicked it right off its hinges.
“You ever hear that saying, ‘Birds of a feather flock together?’” “Yeah?” “It’s true. My flock is made of predatory night birds with sharp talons and cold hearts.” My voice drops. “And I’m the worst of them.”
Your heart isn’t cold. It’s warm, and it’s beautiful. You just keep it on ice so nobody can melt it.”
“I think you’re beautiful. All your parts. All your broken pieces. They’re beautiful to me, and so are you. So if I never get the chance to tell you again, I’m telling you now that if you and your monsters ever decide you need a home, you have one in me.”
“Be careful what you wish for, baby. And if I ever say I love you, be afraid. Because my love isn’t soft. It isn’t pretty. It’s the monster hiding under your bed in the dark.”
The master of mindfuckery strikes again.
“I’m yours. I belong to you, Cole McCord, come what may.” He closes his eyes. When he opens them again, they burn with a new—darker—fire. “Good, baby. Because you offered this monster a home, and he’s taking you up on the invitation.”
