Meet Cute (Love, Camera, Action #5) - Elise Faber Page 0,35

even care. They’re feeding on it, consuming it like it’s some funny meme or a hair dyeing video. And a man is fighting for his life in the hospital because I shot him.” A beat, her angry stare almost a physical lash as it landed on me. “And you’re part of it. Both of you.”

Words escaped me.

I didn’t have words that would take that angst away, that would make what she said any less true.

Because she was right.

But being right didn’t negate the fact that we had to do something, and we needed to do it quickly.

I pushed up from the couch, felt the barest blip of hesitation when she shot cold, hazel eyes in my direction, then promptly ignored it. She was upset; she was in pain—if the lines fanning out from the corners of her mouth were any indication—and she was in a new scenario with absolutely no clue how to proceed.

Anyone would be feeling adrift and angry and uncertain.

So, I ignored that blip of wavering and just took her in my arms.

“You’re right,” I said, finding the words much easier with her close, her head tucked beneath my chin, the strands of her hair, still damp from the shower, brushing along my arm. “Of course, you’re right. This whole situation is fucked. People wanted to sell every consumable portion, to push papers and views and ads and merch, but none of that changes the fact that I would have very likely been seriously injured last night, if not for you.” I cupped her jaw, tilted her head back. “I might have died, if not for you.”

Her lips parted. “I’m sure—”

“Did it seem like any of them were coming to my aid last night?”

“There was that one girl—”

“One,” I said. “Yeah, and what good would that have done me? Her standing on the opposite side of the road, camera poised as a man ran at me with a knife.” I stroked my thumb back and forth across her cheek. “You saved me, and besides protecting you from this media storm, that’s the only thing that matters.”

“Why?” she whispered.

“Because no one has ever done that for me before.”

Her brows pulled together. “What do you mean?”

“My parents were drug addicts, Pretty Eyes. They were sick and so wrapped up in their addictions that they couldn’t think of anything but getting their next fix.” I shrugged, not to dismiss it, exactly, since it was my experience, but because . . . that had been my experience. I was used to it. I couldn’t say that it wasn’t completely painless, because, fuck, it did hurt sometimes. But I’d long ago learned that it was over. They had both been gone for a long time. My mom had OD’d right in front of me, my dad had left me to the system and disappeared. For all I knew, he’d succumbed to the drugs just as my mother had.

That kind of trauma left a hole.

That kind of trauma had left me feeling empty for a long, long time.

Then I’d met Maggie, and she’d filled in a little of that crevice, right along with Pierce and Artie, Eden and Damon, all of them continuing to backfill the emptiness. Now, I wasn’t quite so hollow.

But now, I was much more aware of what I’d lost, what I was still missing out on.

That longing was real and intense . . . and made me aware of exactly how precious this woman in front of me was.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“It is what it is,” I told her. “They’re gone now, have been gone for a long time.” I sucked in a short breath, released it just as rapidly. “But the thing is that I don’t remember a time when a person protected me from harm.”

Those pretty hazel eyes flashed. “Maggie—”

I nodded. “No,” I said. “You’re right about that. Maggie is a good person, and she has weathered many a professional storm with me. She’s one of my closest friends for sure, but”—and here I admitted the truth that I’d held deep in my heart—“it’s not quite the same as what you did, because you’re not on my payroll.” Guilt creeping in, I glanced over my shoulder to catch Mags’ gaze, to apologize, even though it was a painful fact I’d long held close, but she wasn’t in the room.

She’d gone.

And my heart squeezed, knowing that she was a good friend, the absolute best, even as the understanding of what I’d admitted still held true.

I loved Maggie.

I just .