I stare at it, closed in his palm, and realize what he’s suggesting. What he’s offering. I pull inward in shame. Sel’s hand cups my kneecap, holding me in place. “It’s all right, Bree. I’ve already told you. I want you to feel safe.” He gently tugs my tear-stained hand forward and flips it over, pressing the closed pin into my palm. “If that means being with him right now”—his brows lower and tighten together, swallows audibly—“then so be it.”
THIS HAS MY SPIDEY SENSES TINGLING
