Wild Eyes (Rose Hill, #2)

by Elsie Silver

There’s something about having nowhere to be and no one to impress that is profoundly freeing.

Quick to anger and quick to let go. Can’t say the kid didn’t get my temper.

“No, fancy face. Those”—he points at my face, finger flicking from side to side—“are wild eyes. The eyes of a woman who just chose fight over flight. Don’t smother that. Keep ‘em and you’ll come out on top. Trust me.”

“Breathing is overrated. I’d rather be drowning in you.”

You don’t love someone only when it’s convenient or easy. You love them when it’s fucking awful and the world is falling apart around you.”