Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 139259 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 696(@200wpm)___ 557(@250wpm)___ 464(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 139259 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 696(@200wpm)___ 557(@250wpm)___ 464(@300wpm)
“You can,” I say without hesitation. “I know you can.”
She looks away again, and I watch as her shoulders rise and fall with another shaky breath. “Why are you so sure?”
Because you’re the strongest person I’ve ever met.
Because I’ve watched you handle things no one else could.
Because even when you’re scared, you don’t stop moving forward.
But I don’t say any of that.
Instead, I shrug lightly, trying to keep my tone easy. “Because I’m always right.”
That earns me a faint laugh—a real one this time. The weight in the air lifts just a little.
“You’re insufferable,” she mutters, but there’s no heat behind it.
I grin. “You’d miss me if I wasn’t.”
Her lips press together, but I see the way her shoulders relax, even just slightly. She glances back at the door, her expression tightening again, but this time, something is different about it—like she’s steeling herself, bracing for the fight.
“Ready when you are,” I say softly.
She doesn’t answer right away, but she nods, just barely. And as she moves closer to that door, I stay beside her, ready to catch her if she falls.
I watch as she takes a tiny, almost imperceptible step forward. Then she steps back, groaning at herself.
I offer her my hand. “Focus on me. You don’t have to go in there.”
“I do.”
“Then I’ll go in there with you.”
She hesitates, and my eyes search hers.
All while never breaking our gaze, she takes my offered hand. Her soft fingers brush against mine.
“One step at a time,” I remind her, guiding her toward the door as I open it.
I can feel her shaking, the tension radiating off her. Each step is a battle, but like the tough girl Molly is, she does it.
Together, inside the utility room, I switch the light on, making sure to leave the door wide open.
“I swear, it wasn’t always this bad.” Her voice is quiet, almost apologetic.
“You don’t have to talk about it, Molly,” I reply, glancing at her.
“But I feel like I owe you something.” Her gaze drops to the floor, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve.
“You don’t owe me anything.”
She exhales sharply, brushing her hair back with a trembling hand. “I feel like I’m losing control. And I hate it. Things that used to scare me and didn’t for a while are back. Irrational fears.”
“Such as?”
“Closed spaces.”
“That I figured.”
“Heights. Sometimes.”
“Like flying?” I ask, tilting my head slightly.
“No, that was a fear of losing control.” She shakes her head, her lips pressing into a thin line. “I mean like heights, when I have no control.”
“Got it.”
I don’t really understand, but I don’t want her to stop talking, so I don’t chance it by asking her to explain.
“And so much more I don’t even know where to begin.” Her voice cracks slightly, and she turns away from me.
“I understand,” I say softly.
I don’t. Not really.
But if she’s talking, I’ll listen.
“I lied when I said it’s creeping back little by little. It’s storming in, and I can’t stop it,” she admits, her tone heavy with frustration.
“Maybe you should—”
“No. I’m fine. I’ll get through it. I did before.” Her voice is final, resolute, the kind of tone that closes a door.
I nod, not wanting to set her off again. Whatever is triggering these bouts of panic, I don’t want to make it worse.
Molly steps away from me, rummaging through a bin on the shelf. Her movements are quick and almost frantic. She shakes her head, clearly not finding what she’s looking for.
Then she stops, her back stiffening as she looks up.
Right then and there, I know that what she needs is too high for her.
Moving to where she stands, I reach out, grabbing the box just out of reach, high enough that she would have needed a ladder if I weren’t with her.
“Let me.”
Her mouth opens as if to object, but then it shuts.
Once I bring down the box to her level, she goes through it and grabs two bottles of skate polish, then nods at me when she’s done.
I place it back on the top shelf and turn to face her.
Her chin is tilted down, and I reach out and place my hand under her chin, making her meet my stare.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
My fingers trail across her jaw.
I want to kiss her.
I want to forget everything between us.
I close the space between us, my heart pounding louder than any words I could say. There’s been nothing—absolutely nothing—I’ve wanted more than this.
I hesitate for a fraction of a second, watching her, searching for any sign she’ll pull away.
But she doesn’t.
Her chest rises and falls, her lips parting like she’s waiting for me, too.
That’s all it takes.
I tilt my head, bending down, and crash my mouth to hers. It’s not soft or sweet—it’s heat and hunger, a collision we’ve been building toward for far too long.