“Callie,” he whispers. His palms are calloused, but his touch is gentle, barely brushing my skin. I want more. “You hold me like I’m this fragile thing. You don’t have to be scared to touch me. I won’t break.” His eyebrows press together. “But you are fragile, Callie.” My lips tug downward. “You think I’m weak because I let someone hit me.” “No.” His fingers push into my hair, and he cradles the back of my head, gripping me tighter. “You’re not fragile because you’re weak. You’re fragile because life is fragile.
