Page 48 of Hunting Little Hope
I gathered her up, one arm across her back, the other cradling the back of her head, and she folded into my chest without resistance.
Another sob broke out of her, shattering my heart into a thousand pieces.
“What happened, little one?” I asked quietly.
She shook her head against me.
“Did someone hurt you?” I asked, my heart in my throat.
Another shake of the head, but this time she burrowed in even deeper.
“Is this about Troy and Archie?” I took a stab in the dark.
That made her flinch.
There it was. She didn’t answer, but she didn’t need to. All she did was continue to cry, not so quietly into my chest as she clutched at my shirt. And that told me more than words would have.
I exhaled slowly. “Alright,” I murmured. “Everything is going to be okay, sweetheart.”
Her breathing was uneven. Shallow and on the edge of spiraling again.
I moved us deeper into the room and sat on the edge of her bed, pulling her onto my lap as if it were the most natural thing in the world. She curled into me, knees tucked up, bear trapped between us.
My hand moved into her hair, my fingers sifting through the soft waves, slow and steady. “Breathe with me,” I instructed softly. “Inhale, hold for a beat, exhale.”
She tried with me, but another sob moved through her body, and her crying started anew.
I tightened my hold just enough for her to feel it.
“You’re okay,” I said. “Whatever it is, we’ll sort it. But you’re okay.”
Her fingers fisted in my shirt.
“I don’t know what to do,” she whispered, voice cracking.
Well, that was something at least. And it was certainly honest. “You don’t have to decide anything yet,” I replied.
Another sob wracked her body before the words tumbled from her lips. “I don’t want to be that girl anymore.”
My hand stilled for half a second. Was she saying?—
“You don’t have to be anyone you don’t want to be,” I told her finally, refusing to give in to the spark ofhopeat her words.
As if those were the magic words she’d been waiting for, her crying finally slowed, turning into hiccups and then slow, exhausted breaths.
I kept the rhythm of my hand steady, brushing over her scalp, through her hair, and down her back.
Seconds moved into minutes and her weight grew heavier as her breathing deepened.
When I chanced a look down, she was fast asleep, clutching the bear to her chest.
Careful not to jostle her, I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone.
I typed one-handed.
Lee:
I’m with her.
