Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 60848 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 304(@200wpm)___ 243(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60848 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 304(@200wpm)___ 243(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
“Your hands,” she said softly, tracing a callus with her thumb. “They’re so strong.” I swallowed hard, fighting the urge to pull away. Not because I didn’t want her touch, God knew I did, but because her delicate touch felt undeserved. These hands had taken a life, had hurt people, had done things I wasn’t proud of. And now they were being held with such tenderness. “Yesterday,” she continued, her voice steady despite the pulse I could see fluttering at her throat, “when you hugged me. That was the first time in years I’ve felt truly safe. Not just physically safe. But… at ease.” Her gaze met mine, direct and unflinching. “I didn’t have to be on guard. I didn’t have to be wary about what might set you off, what might trigger a storm. I could just… breathe.” Christ, she was gutting me. And that I’d been the one to give her that feeling, however briefly. It humbled me.
“I’ve never wanted to hurt anyone who didn’t deserve it,” I said, my voice a low rumble. “And I’ve never wanted to protect anyone the way I want to protect you and your daughters.”
She nodded, her gaze dropping to our joined hands. “I know. That’s what scares me. Because I want to believe in that. In you.” She looked up, her eyes vulnerable but determined. “And I haven’t wanted to believe in anything, or anyone other than my girls, for a very long time.”
I hesitated, searching her face for any hint of doubt or reluctance. Finding none, I leaned forward slowly, giving her every chance to pull away. She didn’t. Instead, she met me halfway, her free hand coming up to rest against my cheek, brushing her fingers over my beard as she leaned in. The gentle touch nearly undid me.
Our lips met, and this time there was nothing tentative about it. Not like yesterday’s brief, chaste contact. This was deliberate, deep, a seal on something unspoken but understood. Her lips were soft under mine, yielding yet demanding in their own quiet way. I cradled the back of her head with one hand, careful of my strength.
Time seemed to stop as we kissed, the background noise of the video game and the children’s occasional shouts fading to a distant hum. I felt the slight tremble in her fingers against my face. There was hunger in the way she kissed me -- hunger, and a willingness to put herself in my care.
When we finally broke apart, I pressed my forehead against hers, our breath mingling in the small space between us. Her eyes remained closed for a moment, dark lashes fanned against her cheeks, and I memorized the sight, wanting to remember her exactly like this, open and unguarded.
“I don’t have much,” I said, the words rumbling up from deep in my chest. “Never did. But everything I do have is yours and the girls’. I’ll take care of you.” I brushed a strand of hair from her face, tucking it gently behind her ear. “Provide for you. And protect you with my life.”
It was a vow, as binding to me as any oath I’d ever taken. More so, because it came not from obligation or expectation, but from something raw and real that had been growing inside me since the first moment I’d seen her with her daughters.
Penny’s eyes opened, meeting mine with a clarity that took my breath away. “I believe you,” she whispered. Three simple words, but coming from her, they might as well have been a declaration of love.
In the background, the video game continued, electronic music punctuated by sound effects and the occasional happy shout. I liked the sense of normalcy the kid’s noise created. It made me feel like maybe I could have a family of my own. Maybe.
I glanced over Penny’s shoulder and caught Zelda’s gaze. She’d turned away from the game, her controller temporarily forgotten in her lap as she watched us. For a heartbeat, I expected to see disapproval or suspicion in her eyes. Instead, I found something that looked remarkably like… relief? Maybe even approval.
She held my gaze for a moment longer, her expression thoughtful. Then she gave me a small, deliberate nod before turning her attention back to the game. That tiny gesture hit me with the force of a physical blow.
I looked back at Penny, who was watching me with a mixture of hope and caution that made my heart ache. “Your daughter just gave us her blessing,” I said softly, a hint of wonder in my voice.
Penny glanced over her shoulder just in time to see Zelda fully absorbed in the game again, though a small smile played at the corners of the girl’s mouth.
“She likes you,” Penny whispered. “God knows why. She doesn’t like anyone.” The attempt at humor didn’t quite mask the emotion in her voice.