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by Jennifer Hartmann

“You’re too young to be so jaded.” “Am I?” Our gazes tangled and snared. “I wish that were true. But being jaded doesn’t come with age; it comes with hardship. And hardship can blow through like a stormfront, destroying everything in a blink. Five years old, fifteen, fifty. Doesn’t matter. Once you’re caught in the funnel, you never stop spinning out.”

“Yikes. I guess I’m the romantic.” The laughter fizzled out, and Reed blinked at me before ducking his head. “You say it like it’s a bad thing.” “Feels like it is sometimes. It makes a person soft and hopeful in a world that’s hard and painful.” “Maybe the world needs more people like you.”

Human beings were so damn resilient. We saw color through blackened vision, latched onto hope in hopeless places, and loved with every damaged piece of our broken-down hearts.

“You risked too much.” “You’re worth it.” Shifting in his seat, he inched forward, his grip on my hand tensing. “No one’s ever stood up for you like that before, have they? No one’s ever fought. And that’s bullshit. You deserve to have someone in your corner, fighting like hell for you. For your honor, your worth. I want to be that person.” He stared at me with an intensity that etched lines across his entire face. “I’ll be that guy…even if that’s all I’ll ever be.”

“Falling for you has been the easiest thing I’ve ever done,” I confessed through the anguish. “Everything else? Painful. Torturous. Difficult beyond belief. But loving you…” The anger died out, flatlining to a dead pulse. “Effortless.”

“Yes, Halley, I’m in love with you. I think I proved that when I threw myself under the bus and completely destroyed my relationship with my daughter to protect you. To keep her from hating you,” he gritted out. “So, yes…I love you. I love you fiercely, wholly, selfishly and unselfishly, more than I ever fucking should.