Driftwood Bay (Hope Harbor #5) - Irene Hannon Page 0,27
Murphy was willing to say for her.
And add a few of her own.
Molly was crying.
Again.
Stomach twisting, Logan stared at the dark ceiling as her muffled sobs seeped through the wall between their bedrooms, then squinted at the digital clock on his nightstand.
Midnight.
He took a long, slow breath.
So much for the corner he’d thought they’d turned after the fiasco at the preschool yesterday. Even though she’d clammed up again on the ride home, she’d stuck close to him for the remainder of the day. She’d even let him hold her hand while he read her a bedtime story.
Today? Back to square one.
With him at least.
But the friendship she and Toby had forged continued to blossom.
Thanks to her admission yesterday at the preschool, however, he had a better grasp of why she was standoffish.
Fear could be a strong motivator.
And who wouldn’t be afraid after all the people you’d loved and trusted to take care of you disappeared? How could you have any confidence it wouldn’t happen again?
He totally got that.
Because the truth of the matter was, it could—not that he intended to leave the earthly realm behind anytime soon, but neither had his mom.
So how could he convince Molly it was okay to respond to his love and affection? To let herself love and trust again?
Another strangled sob ripped at his gut, and he swung his sweatpants-clad legs to the floor.
Enough.
He couldn’t lie here and listen to her misery without taking some action, even if she was unreceptive.
Pulling on the T-shirt he’d tossed onto his dresser last night, he padded into the hall.
Stopped.
What was he going to do once he entered her room? Nothing he’d tried so far to reach her had worked. Why should tonight be any different?
But if he didn’t break through soon, he was going to have to get serious about setting up some counseling for her.
Rubbing his damp palms together, he closed his eyes.
Lord, I know I haven’t been your most diligent disciple these past few years, and prayer hasn’t been high on my priority list, but if you could help me out here, I’d appreciate it. I can’t do this on my own. Please show me how to reach Molly, and give me words that will comfort her.
Flexing his fingers, he continued to her room and paused again.
Her sobs had stopped, but the dim light spilling in from the hall confirmed she hadn’t fallen asleep. Though her eyes were closed, the sheet was clenched in her fingers, her body was rigid, and her respiration was too rapid for slumber.
She’d sensed his presence and was trying to hold herself still, hoping he’d go away, as he had last night.
Not happening.
If neither of them were going to sleep, they might as well stay awake together.
He crossed to her bed and settled on the edge beside her. Smoothed back the hair from her damp cheeks. “It’s okay to be sad about Nana, sweetie.” He tried for a soothing, gentle tone. “And it’s okay to be scared about what could happen next. I’m sad and scared sometimes too.”
She didn’t speak, but a shuddering sigh quivered through her—and her eyelids flickered open.
He waited in silence, stroking her forehead, wrapping the fingers of his other hand around the tiny fist clamped on the bunched sheet.
Several minutes ticked by, the faint clatter of Toby’s paws on the kitchen tile the only sound in the house as the pup did one of his nocturnal circuits.
Slowly, in tiny increments, Molly’s body began to relax and her breathing evened out.
She was drifting off to sleep.
Logan waited a few minutes, then started to rise.
Instantly she groped for his hand, and her eyelids fluttered open. “Don’t go.”
Her request was sleep-garbled, more instinctive than intentional, but pressure built in his throat anyway.
All these months, he’d been waiting for her to say something—anything—to suggest she wanted him in her life.
This plea may have been subliminal—but he’d take it. The subconscious was often a truer barometer of emotions than conscious behavior.
From a practical standpoint, though, he couldn’t sit up all night.
He eyed the twin bed. It wasn’t designed to accommodate his large frame—but Molly took up only a small part of it, and he could cope with cramped quarters for what was left of this night.
“Can I lay next to you, sweetie? It’s kind of lonely in my room.”
“’Kay.” She scooted over.
Another step forward.
If she let him stay with her tonight, maybe she’d be willing to sit on his lap tomorrow—or initiate some sort of physical affection.