directions, I find the restroom easily enough. Knowing she needs to calm herself down, and also because I’m half terrified she’s going to barrel out of there and throat punch me for daring to show up, I decide to wait for her to come out on her own. Taking up a position directly across from the closed door, my heart thuds nervously as I attempt to look casual, leaning back against the wall.
The muttering and deep breathing suddenly stop, and I hear the water in the sink turn on briefly. Bracing myself, I watch the door swing open, and it feels as if all the air is sucked out of the room.
Fuck, she’s so beautiful.
Standing in front of me in tight, faded, ripped blue jeans and a black sweatshirt riding low on one shoulder, her gorgeous violet eyes widen in shock when they lock on my face.
“Hey, Star.”
With those two small words that weigh more than almost any others I’ve ever said, she’s across the hall and in my arms, crying an ocean of tears against my chest.
Holding her tightly, I can’t think of a single place I’d rather be.
Chapter Four
As much as a big part of me would like to stay cuddled here indefinitely, I push myself away from Poe’s firm chest and the comforting steady beat of his heart. The large patch of tear-damp fabric over his left pec is a little embarrassing, and I give him an apologetic, watery smile.
“Sorry about—,” I gesture toward his hoodie and sniffle unattractively. Ducking back into the restroom, I yank a tissue from the box Sally keeps on a shelf by the door. “And about this.” Hiccupping, I point a finger at myself briefly before blowing my nose and grabbing another tissue to scrub the inky trails of mascara from my face.
“No need to be sorry about any of that.” He pushes off the wall and moves to the restroom's doorway, reaching to grip the top of the doorframe with both hands and leaning forward slightly.
“That sounded like you think there’s something I need to be sorry about, though.” I stare at the top of his hat as he keeps his head lowered, apparently finding the intricate pattern in the beat-up linoleum fascinating. The silence between us stretches like a wad of sticky bubble gum while we both stand silent, locked in this odd moment of insecurity and uncertainty.
I sniffle again, and he raises his head to look me full in the face, still not moving from his position holding up the doorframe. My breath hitches sharply, partially in surprise, and the rest out of guilt when I see the hurt clouding his eyes because I know in my heart I’m the cause of it.
“You didn’t have to leave that way, you know. I would have left with you, taken you anywhere you wanted to go.” His voice is low, but I hear the accusation and the anger hiding beneath the words loud and clear.
“Yes, I did.” Taking a few steps back, I lean against the pockmarked white porcelain pedestal sink and fold my arms across my chest. Chewing the side of my lower lip, I fight a quick internal battle and abruptly realize I’m so fucking tired of keeping everything bottled up. Before I can formulate the best way to say what I need to, the words just tumble out of my mouth. “I couldn’t stand the mix of pity and disgust I knew I’d see in your eyes. In everyone’s eyes.”
Rage and embarrassment rise up the sides of my neck to my face, flushing the skin of my too-pale cheeks.
“I started out as just the charity case, dragged to town by her lonely aunt to fulfill some sort of familial obligation. That probably would have faded in time. But that night, I became Poor Little Stella. The trash bag daughter of a missing on-the-run mother and the sadistic fuckwad who raped her and beat her bloody in a dirty barn eighteen years ago. I mean, that is what happened, right? That is who I am?”
The steel returns to my spine, and I feel like, by giving a voice to all of the pent-up emotions I’ve been refusing to acknowledge, I can finally breathe again.
“Broken Little Stella. Roofied and assaulted in the same fucking dirty barn I was conceived in.” The laugh that erupts from my throat is choppy and harsh, and now I’m practically yelling, my fisted hands dropping to my sides. “Is that supposed to be some kind