Page 185 of Ranger's Wildflower
She gives a quiet laugh that doesn’t sound much like laughter. “That’s comforting.”
My mouth twitches.
“Sorry.”
“No, it’s okay.” She closes her eyes for a second. “At least you’re honest.”
I study her profile.
The stubborn little lift of her chin.
The way she tries to be brave even when she’s exhausted.
The way she doesn’t ask for comfort, even when she clearly needs it.
“Tessa.”
“Hmm?”
“You don’t have to pretend with me.”
Her eyes open.
She goes still beside me.
I can almost see the words landing inside her.
“I know,” she whispers.
But her voice says she’s still learning how to believe that.
A beat passes.
Then another.
Finally, she says, “In prison, if people saw weakness, they used it.”
My hand stills on her shoulder.
She keeps talking, quiet and steady, like if she doesn’t stop moving through it, maybe it won’t swallow her whole.
“So I learned to keep everything flat. My face. My voice. My reactions.” She swallows. “You cry alone. You panic alone. You break alone. Because if anybody sees it, it becomes theirs.”
Something hot and vicious moves through my chest.
Not at her.
At everyone who ever made her live like that.
At every person who taught her to carry pain like it was contraband.
My arm tightens around her.
“You’re not there now.”
She laughs softly again, but this time it’s sad. “I know that in my head.”
“Your head’s gonna take a while to catch up.”
