He held me. Not an MC princess of a notorious motorcycle club. Not a slightly trashy but rockin’-it university student with a juvie record. Not a murderer. Not even Harleigh Rose as anyone else knew her. Just Rosie, stripped of her thorns and even of her petals, just a seed of self. And he held her preciously, protectively and patiently as if he would do it forever and never fade or fail.
