“I don’t want your pity,” she finally whispered. There was no missing the grief coming through on the words or the way they cracked with the sob she was trying to hold back.
Funny, considering it was me who’d never wanted this girl to pity me.
She was the one who’d made me strive to be better.
Change my situation.
Made me see I didn’t have to be another victim of circumstance.
I dropped my gaze to the ground, hands on my hips, my chest heaving.
Knowing I wasn’t equipped to handle this.
What I felt and what she was going through.
The impact of her grief and my regret colliding might send the rest of the house crashing to the ground.
I had to suck it up and lock that shit down. Remember why I was there.
Standing at the base of the steps, I looked up at her. Her little girl had pried her head free of her mother’s chin, her eyes wary and curious as she peered out at me.
A tremor rolled through my chest.
I tore my attention from the little girl and turned it on Faith, which wasn’t exactly helping matters, either.
My eyes narrowed in emphasis, praying she’d get it. “Pity you? I don’t pity you, Faith. Does it kill me that you’re going through this? Am I worried about you? Do I want to go on a mission to track down whoever is threatening you? Do I wish I could fix it? Yes. But there’s a big difference between the two.”
Those chocolate eyes swam with moisture, and she hiked her little girl up who was sliding down her body, running her hand over the back of her head.
I wasn’t entirely sure which of them she was comforting, the two of them clinging to the other, each the other’s support.
“You can’t say those things to me.”
I stepped onto the bottom step, hand clenching the railing to keep myself from getting any closer. From rushing the rest of the way onto the porch and pulling her against me.
Was surprised the rickety wood didn’t bust in two from the force.
Because my muscles flexed and contracted and tightened.
Body roaring. Demanding I make a claim.
Mine.
She’d always been mine.
“I’m only speaking the truth.”
The little girl popped her thumb from her mouth, grinning up at her mom. “The truth is good, Mommy. Always, always tell the truth.”
Her tiny voice nearly bowled me over, the little thing dropping all her L’s. It sent her voice into this sweet, innocent drawl.
Guilt blazed a path through my insides. Hurt lining the middle of it. My head trying to shut the little girl out, ignore her, hate her like the bastard I was while my spirit threatened something I couldn’t allow it to feel.
“We’re barely making it, Jace. Barely surviving. I can’t have you here making things harder on us.” Somehow there was an apology in her voice, as if she were the one who should feel ashamed.
“And the only thing I’m here for is to lighten some of that load.”
Stupidly, I took another step up, getting closer to her and that little girl who sent a tumble of fear sliding beneath the surface of my skin. “Please, Faith. Let me help you. Let me be here until Mack figures out who is doing this.”
She blinked, turning her head away. It was almost like she couldn’t keep looking at me and hold her ground. “It feels too complicated. Everything’s twisted and mixed in a way it never should have been.”
Knives.
I felt them slicing right through the center of my chest.
She’d always been so honest. So damned, brutally honest.
Wearing that beautiful heart on her sleeve.
And I’d been the asshole who’d reached out and plucked it free.
Smashed it in the palm of my hand.
I’d known it then.
I knew it still.
“I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life, but coming here, helping you . . . helping her?” I gestured with my chin toward her child. “It’s not one of them.”
What was I doing? Saying?
But I couldn’t stop it. The worry that bound up inside me.
“Jace.” Faith blinked a bunch of times, bouncing the little girl like she was an infant, like she was trying with all her might to keep her emotions at bay. But tears streaked from her eyes and raced down her cheeks.
Fuck.
I was a fool.
Because I reached out and caught one. Remembering the way it’d felt when I’d had that same soft skin of her cheek pressed to my bare chest, the girl running her fingers over my abdomen as she’d dreamed her dreams, her voice a whisper in the darkness.
“Let me help you,” I murmured, my thumb lingering on her skin for a beat too long. “Please.”
Helping her with the house was an easy excuse to get close to her. A way to be around to look out for her.
But there was something about the thought of fixing this place up that felt like I was making amends. Atoning for a sin.