Voice thick, I manage to ask, “Do you like it here at least?” Even though her leaving tore my heart out, I need her to be happy. If she wasn’t, that’d just feel worse. She hesitates. “I do. It stops the voices in my head from getting too loud.” I cover her hand, rings of turquoise, her bright, bold tattoos. Surprise crossing her face, she tenses, but she doesn’t pull away. My thumb brushes over the delicate bone in her wrist before settling over her tattooed knuckles. Electricity zips between us. Our gazes clash. Hell, if we lock eyes for longer than seven seconds, we’re either fighting or
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