Wild Love (Rose Hill, #1)(40)
He says nothing, but I can feel his gaze on me.
I shrug. “So I can give you their contact information, but I doubt they’ll have many nice things to say about me.”
I blink, and two fat tears lurch over my lashes. I imagine the sound of them in my head. Bloop, bloop.
With a forced smile, I reach up to wipe them away.
Ryan hadn’t known what to say when they fired me. I’d cried, and he’d assured me something better would come along.
Ford doesn’t give me pretty words that do nothing to make it better. Instead, he reaches for me gruffly and tugs me against his chest. One strong arm clamps over my shoulders and the other wraps around the back of my head, like he’s shielding me.
For the second time tonight, I feel his fingers in my hair. And for the second time tonight, I take a deep inhale of his heady, masculine scent.
For the second time tonight, tears fall.
And I don’t stop myself from nuzzling against his chest. His cotton shirt soaks up my tears and I roll the silver chain hanging from his neck between my fingers. I feel the pendant against my cheek.
“I’m a mess. My life is a mess. I got fired. I’ve spent two years of my life with a perfectly decent man, and I don’t know how to tell him I’m not in love with him anymore. I’m living in my brother’s shitty bunkhouse and cooking on a hot plate. I eat chips every day. I’m swimming in a sea of student debt. I feel guilty all the time, for abandoning my life, for running away, for failing. And I’m so tired, Ford. I’m so fucking tired.”
His stubble prickles at my scalp as he presses a kiss to my hair and nuzzles his cheek on the top of my head. “Just rest for a minute then, Rosie. I got you.”
His words only make me cry harder.
I don’t know how long we stand here while Ford lets me fall apart in his arms. Taking all my anguish so I don’t need to carry it around myself.
His hand never stops stroking my head. Even when my tears run dry.
I feel spent. Dopey. Like I could fall asleep right here.
“Lately, I’ve wondered if I’d have been better off rising above the whole thing,” I say against the safety of his chest. “Ignoring it.”
I’m talking about the job, the assault, and he knows it.
His arms tighten around me, and his voice comes out like pure venom when he says, “No one should ever have made you feel like it’s your job to rise above this. You’re allowed to process however you need to, Rosie. But me? I’m going to ruin them.”
Ford’s rough words wash the anxiety from my body, and I sigh. “Please don’t tell anyone. Only you and Ryan know. And I don’t want to rehash this all.”
He stiffens and his voice is chill when he asks, “And what did Ryan do about it?”
“I don’t need anyone to do anything about it,” I answer vaguely, burying my face against him even harder, like I have only once before in my life. I was scared then too. “Just telling you feels good.”
His only response is to kiss my hair again and hold me for a few more seconds.
Then Ford lets me go and walks me to my door like a perfect gentleman. And when I crawl into bed, I don’t replay any of his words. With that secret off my chest, safe in Ford’s capable hands, I finally relax and sleep like the dead.
Because as much as I don’t need a knight in shining armor to defend my honor, I’m relieved I have one who feels compelled to do so.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
FORD
I’m tired. Tired from a night spent researching Stan Cumberland and Apex Construction Materials—all of which I found on Rosie’s LinkedIn profile. After I put the Rage Against the Machine version of “How I Could Just Kill a Man” on full blast in my AirPods, I went on a hunting expedition to find out everything I could about the guy.
I just dropped Cora off at school. This morning, she got to talk to her mom on the phone again. She found out we’ll be able to go for a visit soon, and that news lightened her entire demeanor. Then she talked about Rosie the whole way to school. A literal stream of consciousness. I have never seen the girl talk more.
It affirmed the fact that we are probably both obsessed with Rosalie Belmont. The only difference is I’m not the one wearing her bright-pink scrunchie this morning.
Cora is.
I can’t help but smile as I watch her bounce into school. Black and gray from head to toe, but with a blinding pop of pink to tie off the thick braid hanging down her back.
I think about watching Rosie go back to leave that scrunchie for Cora. A token of something I wasn’t privy to. And I don’t need to be. Seeing the way Cora smiled when she came down this morning with it in her hair was enough to know it meant something to them.
I spend the drive back to work running through the list of emails I need to respond to. The calendar I need to create based on a recording studio that has a constantly changing completion date. The inroads I need to make with different labels so that the music I produce doesn’t just languish here in the mountains. The contracts I need to draw up, the orders I need to sign off on, the bills I need to pay for both the studio and the bar.
All that is to say, I spend the drive stressing out about all the things in my life I can’t control. So naturally, when I walk into work, the first place my eyes go is to Rosie’s desk. It’s empty, which is just as well. She doesn’t need me panting around after her when she already has so much on her shoulders. I hope she slept in.