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"Sully."

"Hear me out," I continue, lifting my hand and allowing my fingers to grasp the thick braid over her left shoulder. Her hair is soft and cool to the touch, and I see the goose bumps that rise on her neck as I draw them down the length. "I hate that any man has touched you. Much less touched you in anger and made you afraid."

I see her shoulders lower a bit, even as her chest lifts and expands as she draws in a deep breath.

"I hate that violence is a commonality we share," I whisper, stepping close so that my lips brush the top of her dainty ear.

Another shiver racks her, and I take it as a good sign. "But when I look at you? Make no mistake. I see a fighter, not a victim. I see strength and resilience, and it makes me imagine how strong our kids will be when we get to that stage of our lives."

She huffs out a breath at my audacity, and I grin, lowering my head to press a kiss to her cheek. "I see you, Violet Greene. I see my girl. No one else."

She allows her body to lean into mine just a bit, and I revel in the feel of her knowing it's a huge move for a woman who doesn't want to want anyone. Earning her trust and discovering this softness in her is everything. Means everything.

I'm not alone in knowing our connection is too strong to ignore. And with every kiss and confession and lean—I'm making progress. I kiss the top of her head and then her temple, barely managing to refrain from drawing her into the kiss I really want.

But now isn't the time. I've said what I came to say, and she needs to process the fact I'm not going anywhere. She needs to rest, knowing I'll be around when she wakes up. Ready and waiting. “I have questions I want to ask you about your ex.”

“Sully...”

“Will he come after you? Stalk you? Is that why you freaked out?”

She swallows hard.

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

Not the answer I wanted. Because that maybe is a yes if I’ve ever heard one, and she doesn’t need to say anything else. She’s scared. And he’s why.

I lock down the desire to wrap her up and carry her away, and I nod. “You’re safe now. Go inside and get to bed so you can dream about me. I know for a fact I'll be dreaming about you tonight."

Chapter 22

Violet

* * *

Jasmine leaves as soon as she showers and changes and packs a bag. She's spending the night with her boyfriend, and to be honest, I look forward to having the house to myself. I need to process Sully's words and the fact he seems determined to stick around despite what I told him.

I'm not sure how I feel about that. I mean, a part of me likes that he didn't run away because of my issues. But there's that fear. That niggle of distrust that he will. Eventually he will. And where will I be then?

Shaking my head at myself, I trudge into the kitchen. I want food, a long bath, my coziest pj's and my bed, in that order.

I fix some scrambled eggs and settle in at the counter, randomly wondering what the chef at Haven would think of me adding ketchup to the top before I gobble them down while staring at the beautiful pink sunflowers Sully gave me.

My gaze then shifts to the roses, and a chill runs down my spine.

You looked beautiful last night.

Who'd sent them? I know it wasn't Jas because neither one of us has the extra spending money right now. Our parents? Did Jas send them a photo? Who was it? I don't want to call Jas and freak her out with my paranoia. She'll think she has to come back and sleep here if I do.

There's not even a name on the card of a florist to call to get details.

Unsettled, I rinse my plate and add it to the dishwasher, then move to the door and double check that it's locked. After that, I grab my sunflowers and cell and carry them to the bathroom with me, leaving them both on the small stool sitting beside the tub for a book or drink. The faucet is next, and I plug the drain and dump a hefty amount of Epsom salts into the tub before going to get underwear and pj's.

I leave the light on in the hallway instead of the one in the bath, feeling the need to establish a quiet, dim spot to regroup. With that in mind, I light a candle and leave it burning safely on the sink.

I take deep inhalations of the lavender-scented air, hearing my counselor's voice in my head as I pinch the acupressure point between my thumb and forefinger. The flower delivery has me on edge, and I can feel myself spiraling into a state where panic and paranoia are setting in.

I won't go there. Not right now, anyway.