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Do I want him to touch me? God, yes. But what I want and need are two very different things. I’ve learned that the hard way.
My heart warms. God, she’s just like me. Rhodes is her whole world, like my dad was mine. I pray she doesn’t lose him.
If I run, he’ll know how much of an effect he has on me. If he touches me, he’ll know too.
“What can I say to get you to see what I see when I look at you?” I swallow my pride. If he’s being sincere, then I guess I will too. I lower my shackles, and a quiet, sad laugh leaves me. “I’m pretty sure that every time you look at me, you’re reminded of how we met. You probably see nothing but desperation and selfishness.” “I wish that’s what I saw,” he admits.
“This is every bit of real, baby.”
“I hope you know you’re mine after this,” he mumbles. “I know everyone else already thinks you’re mine with that ring on your finger, but I need you to know it.”
How healing would it be to be accepted into a family like this?
“Fine,” I say. “I love you.” I do. I really think I do.
