Page 136 of Cinder
“What?”
She blinks like she doesn’t even realize she's said anything odd.
“I just mean some things are better in small doses.” A shrug. “Like glitter… or me. It can be unlucky to hold on for too long.”
Absolutely fucking not.
Her words hit me hard, because all I can think about is Penny standing barefoot in my kitchen every morning, twirling my daughter while she belly laughs. Penny asleep against my shoulder on the couch. Penny sitting between my legs at the lake while the world fell quiet for a minute.
I don’t want any part of Penny in small doses.
My hand tightens around hers before I can stop it. “Penny.”
“What?” she asks, smiling faintly like I’m being dramatic.
“Who told you that?”
Her expression flickers for half a second, and she laughs softly under her breath then looks down at the table.
“My stepmother used to say I wasn’t really lucky…” Her gaze stays fixed on the table now. “That bad luck followed me around.”
“That’s bullshit,” I spit, and her eyes flick back up to mine, startled slightly by the force of it. “She just buried that idea so deep in your head, you think it’s true.”
She looks away again.
“My mom died, then my dad. Then the company…” Her voice softens further. “Buildings failed, people got hurt. My relationship imploded.” She huffs a small laugh. “My stepmother said I was the common denominator.”
The common denominator.
Jesus Christ.
The guilt in her voice twists inside me, because I recognize it like for like. She thinks she should’ve been able to hold everything upright with her bare hands.
“She sounds like an asshole.”
“She wasn’t wrong all the time.” Penny traces the condensation on her water glass. “I mean… things do tend to go bad around me eventually.”
A sharp irritation moves low through me, because it’s obvious she’s heard this shit so often, she doesn’t even hear how cruel it sounds anymore.
“Penny, listen to me carefully.” I wait until blue eyes meet mine. “You’re not a curse because terrible things happened to you. Your mother’s death wasn’t your fault, and neither was your dad’s. Or the company falling apart, or your cheating ex being a piece of shit.”
My grip tightens around her hand before I even realize I’m doing it.
“You’re not responsible for all that just because somebody spent years convincing you that you are.”
The restaurant noise hums around us, but her eyes stay on mine.
“And if something matters?” I lean forward again, holding her gaze. “You don’t avoid it because you’re scared it could hurt someday.”
Her breath catches softly, and for the first time since this conversation started, she doesn’t immediately try to deflect it away.
“You really believe that?”
“Yeah, Pen, I really do.” My thumb strokes once over her knuckles. “And you know what firefighters do when something matters?”
“What?”
“We run toward it. Even if it’s dangerous, even when we’re scared. If it matters, it’s worth the risk.”
