Page 80 of This Reckless Home

Truth be told I haven't been sleeping well since the Noah rescue. Since she told me about handing over two hundred thousand dollars to racist cunts. Since she confessed Liam's father was holding a gun to her head. Since I watched her threaten Mr. Marshall without flinching. Then watched her trembling hands afterwards.

I'm heading to the kitchen for water when I hear it.

Quiet crying. Coming from the living room.

Blossom.

I know it’s her, something inside me just knows that she is in pain. Different from mine. But pain none the less. I should give her privacy. Should let her have this moment.

But my feet are moving before I can think it through. A string in the centre of my chest pulled towards her like an inevitability.

She's curled up on the couch in the dark, arms wrapped around her knees, face buried. Her whole body shakes with sobs she's trying to muffle.

And pressure builds in my chest, making each breath a battle.

I go to her, but she doesn’t even fucking look up, so lost in her own mind. The couch dips as I sit down.

“Flower.” My voice is soft. Pained. But she still jumps, wiping her face quickly as if I haven’t already seen her tears. Haven’t felt them like my own wound, seeping sadness and devastation from us both.

“I’m fine—” she tries, breaking off.

“You're crying in the dark at 2am. You're clearly not fucking fine, Flower.”

Fresh tears fill her eyes, dancing on the edge of her lower lashes.

“I don’t—” A sob catches in her throat. “I don't deserve you. Any of you. But especially not you, Steele.”

“Blossom—”

“I gave money to people who would hurt you. Who'd kill you for existing. Who'd hurt Noah, Mitchel, Anna—” it’s like she can't breathe. Can't get enough air as the words tumble past her lips. “How can you even look at me?”

“Hey.” My strong, dark hands turn her to face me. “Listen to me.”

She tries to pull away, but I won't let her. This shit is too important, and even if there is not going to be a resolution tonight, or ever, I need her to hear me on this.

“What you did—paying that man—it sits wrong with me.” My voice is steady. Honest. “I won't lie about that.”

She flinches, and I let my words sink in for a moment. The truth is the only thing that will help us now. And I won’t sugarcoat what she did. I can’t. Nor the hurt that she caused me, others who didn’t deserve it.

“The money still hurt people.” I dip down, briefly closing my eyes until my forehead presses against hers. “But don't you dare punish yourself by pushing me away. That's not your call to make, Flower.”

“I thought you couldn't forgive me⁠—”

“I’m not giving you absolution.” My voice is firm. Resolute. “I can't do that. It’s not mine to give. But I respect that you still think about the harm. That you didn’t forget the cost.”

It feels like I can breathe a little easier.

“You're not perfect. Neither am I. But you're mine. And I'm not letting you go.”

She sits with that, and I let it really sink in. Opposing truths and all. I can’t let her go. I’m still hurt by what she did.

“But you've been so distant⁠—”

“Because I needed time to process. Not because I was leaving.” I pull back, trying to look into her eyes to get her to believe me. She nods, but her gaze stays distant, like she’s agreeing because it’ll help prevent more pain.

She won't meet my eyes.

Fuck.