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I can’t torture someone who won’t fight back.
I mean, seriously. Do these men ever get completely dressed?
Kaleb’s black hair against his sun-kissed face. Jake’s toned shoulders and narrow waist. The veins in Noah’s forearms and . . . I straighten, swallow, and turn around, quickly leaving the room. I need to get out of here.
Loooooove the tribal tattoos. Wonder which tribe he belongs to. I almost snort.
If you don’t put yourself out there, you don’t hurt.
Your parents never gave you anything sweet. That’s why you’re not.
But I don’t want to stay here and be noticed, either, because their world is just a little worse with me in it.
Everyone contemplates suicide at some point, even if it’s just for a minute. And one thing is usually the root cause. Loneliness.
She needs a lot, and all of them are things you can’t buy. She needs to laugh and get drunk. She needs to be tickled and cuddled and carried and teased. I don’t want to see her cry, but if she does, I want her to know there’s comfort. She has a home.
I’ve lost the stomach to live in a way that isn’t genuine.
It’s a feeling. A feeling. Not a place.
He doesn’t have anyone in that house to really connect to. I never really saw that before.
I wonder if he even realizes. He let me hear him.
“I was going to make love to you,” he repeats. And I finally get it. Not screw. Not fuck. He was going to make it matter.
“I’m actually the only man in this house who hasn’t hit you,” he states. “And I’m the one you don’t want. What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Credence. I’m close enough to read it now. It means “belief as to the truth of something.”
“I can’t believe you’re here,” I tell him just above a whisper. “You actually left Colorado.” “It was time,” he says. I suck in a breath, his words hitting me like a truck. What? I slide off the tire and turn to face him, not believing what I just heard. Deep but soft. Clear and strong. He spoke. Kaleb spoke. Walking around the tire, he steps toward me. “My home is where you are,” he says quietly.