She leaned forward and dropped her forehead into the curve of his neck. “I really want to tell Ryan about us. I’m ready.”
His arms around her tightened, then he reached for the remote and clicked off the TV. “I want to tell Mel about us too.”
“Melody? Your cousin?”
Her eyes were still adjusting to the dark of the room, and she couldn’t see his expression, but she felt his lips brush her temple. “Uh-huh.”
“I assumed you had,” said Verity. “But, yeah, great. And I’d love to meet her.”
“About that . . .,” said Colton, letting his voice trail off.
His tentative tone made Verity wary, and she wondered what was going on. Stiffening a little in his arms, she leaned back, wishing she could see his face. She’d become adept at reading his expressions, and she felt a little lost lying next to him in the dark. Then again, he’d turned off the TV, and she wondered if it was by design. Maybe he didn’t want her to see his face. Maybe he had something to tell her that she wouldn’t want to hear.
“Colton . . .?” she prompted. When he didn’t saying anything, she grimaced. “Don’t you want me to meet her?”
“Yes,” he said, pulling her closer.
She believed him, but something didn’t feel right. She thought about what she knew of Melody and suddenly realized it wasn’t much. She was younger than Colton, and they’d grown up together. She had epilepsy. He loved her and felt protective of her and spent one or two nights a week visiting her. He’d mentioned a caregiver once so Verity assumed that she had a nurse on call for when she had seizures. But she suddenly realized that she didn’t know where Melody lived, and she didn’t know what she did for work. She didn’t even know what Melody looked like, and now she wondered what he hadn’t been sharing with her . . . because, whatever it was, she sensed it wasn’t insignificant.
“What aren’t you telling me?” she asked.
“At first I didn’t tell you, because I don’t tell anyone,” he said softly. “Not the guys I know at work. Not Sandy. No one.” He paused. “Then I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want the idea of Mel to scare you away . . . to overwhelm you.” He cleared his throat. “And there are some realities about her life that you may not like, but . . .”
She blinked, feeling confused and a little panicked. “But what?”
“But I won’t change those realities, because, no matter what you think, she has a good life. She’s happy.”
“You’re kind of scaring me,” said Verity, detangling herself from his arms and reaching for the light on his nightstand. The brightness made her squint as she sat up and crossed her legs, staring down at Colton, who was now lying on his back looking up at her. “I know she’s epileptic—”
“She has Down syndrome,” said Colton bluntly, his steady gaze unwavering. “She’s, uh, she’s a lot like Ryan.”
And suddenly everything—everything—made sense. The way he’d taken her and Ryan under his wing and helped them get jobs, how he hadn’t treated Ryan like a freak or looked at him funny, the way he’d beat the crap out of those guys at the motel, the reason he’d been charged with battery . . . and the reason he’d been acquitted.
Melody, his sweet place, his cousin, to whom he was devoted, was like Ryan.
“Colton,” she whispered, her throat filling with a lump so thick and big, she could barely speak around it.
Over the past few weeks, he’d introduced her to a new TV show—Game of Thrones—which she loved, and a line that stuck with her was, The night is dark and full of terrors. For Verity, who had inherited the care of Ryan, sometimes the world felt dark and full of terrors. Oh, she did her level best to meet challenges head-on and keep her chin up, but with a brother like Ryan counting on her, there were times when she ran out of steam to stay positive, and then the world could seem like a cold, cruel, and unforgiving place.
But since the moment Colton walked into her life, everything had changed. The world had become full of possibilities—bright and safe in a way she’d never known. And now it all made sense. They were kindred spirits, Colton Lane and Verity Gwynn, and her heart burst with the certainty of it—that the earth had turned his face to hers at