tucked close to hers.
Mona sniffed a little as she leaned back to look up at him. “My sweater’s ruined.”
****
THANK GOD SHE gave him something he could fix. A problem that had a simple solution.
“Come.” He carefully tucked her into his side, grabbing the drink he made her on their way from the kitchen. He owed Shawn for giving him the heads-up Mona was on her way. It gave him a little time to prepare.
For her and for himself.
He led her down the hall and through his room to the bathroom. Classical music played softly through the speaker in the ceiling and a dozen candles bathed the room in a soft glow. The tub was filled with steaming water to warm any chill she might still be feeling.
It was all he could offer her.
Nowhere near enough.
Mona saved everything that mattered to him today. She saved Helen. She saved Amelia.
And she saved herself.
Pierce gently took the glass from her hand, setting it on the counter. “Let me help you.” She watched him with soft eyes as he worked the mangled remnants of her still-damp sweater off her uninjured arm before slipping it over her head and carefully down the arm Eli bandaged.
Mona’s eyes went to her next layer of clothing. “I ruined two sweaters.”
“I will buy you all the sweaters you want, Love.” He struggled with the second sweater. It was more fitted than the first, making the removal process a little more tricky.
But eventually it was off.
He carefully helped her out of the rest of her clothes, tossing anything that might be salvaged into the hamper in the corner of the room, before helping Mona into the tub.
She lifted her bandaged arm, hooking it over one side to keep it from touching the water. Her body relaxed back against the slanted end, head going to rest against the towel he placed there. Her face rolled toward his. “Do you take many baths?”
He shook his head. “I do not.”
Mona’s eyes left his to roam the space. “You seem pretty versed in the best practices.”
“I asked Helen.”
Mona smiled. “I’m glad you’ll get to be close to her again.”
“Me too.” Pierce took the washcloth he’d set out and dipped it below the water, wringing it out before squeezing on some body wash.
Mona’s eyes went from the bottle in his hand to his face. “That’s mine.”
“It is.” He passed her the cloth, tipping his head to the tray sitting on the corner ledge. “Everything you need should be there.” Pierce watched as Mona carefully worked the soapy cloth over the blood-streaked skin of her arm and shoulder, being careful to avoid the bandage. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”
“I think I can manage.”
He leaned in to press a kiss to her head. “Call if you need me.”
“Is that an open-ended offer?” Mona leaned her head back as she ran the soap over her neck.
“Completely.”
She smiled up at him. “Good.”
Pierce went back to his bedroom, making sure the clothes he’d brought from Mona’s room were clearly visible where they sat on the bed, before going out to the kitchen to finish their dinner.
He’d just pulled the chicken from the oven when Mona silently stepped into the room.
She was always so quiet.
But her presence was unmistakable.
“Do you feel better?”
“I’m warm.” Mona’s socked feet padded across the floor as she went to the box sitting in the center of the island. “What’s this?”
“It’s Amelia’s. Things of hers from when she was young. Some of my sister’s belongings.” There were few things he’d brought from one life to the next, and most of them weren’t his. “I should have given them to her long ago.”
Mona pushed up on her toes to look inside. She reached in to pull out the single item that belonged to him, flipping open the front cover on the journal, her blue eyes skimming the page.
She turned to another page, this one halfway through the book.
Then another.
“You need to give her this now, Pierce.” Her gaze met his. “She needs to know the truth and this is the best way to offer it to her.”
“I’m not sure she has much interest in anything I have to say.” He’d lost Amelia’s trust before he ever had it, through wrong decisions and mistakes he never should have made.
“I don’t disagree.” Mona ran her hand down the front cover. “But this isn’t coming from you. This is coming from a boy not so different from her.”
The journal was his outlet over the years. All the