“My mom died,” I find myself whispering. “And everyone blamed me.”
“Why? How could that have been your fault?”
“She was killed by a shifter from out of town,” I tell him. Why the hell am I telling him this? This is something that I hate talking about. It’s something I never talk about. I don’t tell anyone about my problems or my issues, and I especially don’t tell anyone what happened to my mom.
“So you’re scared of me because I’m new?” He raises an eyebrow. Again, there’s no judgment. How does he do that?
“Yes.”
“What happened to your mom?”
“I told you.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“It was a random killing,” I tell him, and that’s the part that hurts the most. “She was in the wrong place at the wrong time. She was going to the store to buy cold medicine because I was sick.”
And I’ve never stopped blaming myself.
If I hadn’t been sick...
If she hadn’t gone out...
If only...
“A mugging gone wrong?”
“A robbery.” I think I’m going to feel sick. I never talk about this. Ever. I never tell anyone what happened and I never open up. Not to my friends, not to my relatives, not to anyone.
So why am I telling him?
/> Robert cups my cheek with one of his hands.
“I’m not that man, Meredith.”
“I know.”
“And I’m sorry for what happened to your mother.”
“Thank you.”
“Did they find the guy?”
“Another shifter...took care of the problem.”
It had been a city-wide kerfuffle. It had been chaotic and wild and horrifying, but the shifter had been put down and would never hurt anyone else again.
“So you’re safe. He’s not going to come after you.”
I look up at Robert, blinking.
Safe?
I suppose that I am safe.
But I don’t feel it.
“I haven’t felt safe in a very long time,” I whisper.