Page 118 of The Beekeeper

“Is she okay?” I asked quietly, watching every muscle in Blaze’s back ripple as he stood shirtless in front of the kitchen sink, filling a glass with water.

Saying nothing, he turned off the faucet and chugged half of the glass before facing me. He looked like a man who’d gone one too many rounds in the ring against a fighter who was twice his size, and was still going back for more.

The sight of him broke me, like I wasn’t a mess of broken pieces around him already, all of them taped together by habit and hurt. I guess all those months pretending I wasn’t in love with Blaze hadn’t been for nothing; they were practice for this past week.

I wasn’t a liar, but it wasn’t a lie to act like my heart wasn’t broken, it was simply survival.

“She will be,” he said and drained the rest of the glass. “The doctor confirmed she’s allergic to bees and said she should carry an EpiPen with her.”

I’d seen Nox blow up like a balloon from a bee sting too many times as a child to not only recognize an allergic reaction when I saw it and know what to do, but also know it would all be okay. So, what Blaze said now was exactly what I’d expected to hear, but it wasn’t what I wanted to know.

“I’m glad it’s nothing more than that,” I murmured, watching him stare into the bottom of the empty glass like he’d expected to find tea leaves and a different fortune waiting for him. “And she did okay at the urgent care?”

“You could say that,” he chuffed. “I think that whole shift now knows more about bees than they ever thought they would.”

I bit my lip but I couldn’t quell my smile. “I bet.”

Paisley was tough—tougher than a six-year-old should’ve ever had to be, and that was why she wasn’t really the one I was worried about.

I came out to the kitchen because I was worried about him.

“Lou said…she told me what happened.”

Blaze instantly frowned.

Someone at the urgent care had tipped off the press. Lou texted me that Wade had to go over there; that Blaze had sent Paisley out the back entrance with his brother while he went out the front and into the throng of paparazzi. I knew what kind of fresh hell that would’ve put him through, especially after the scare he’d just endured, but it was the only way to protect his daughter: to sacrifice a piece of himself for their story, so that was what he did.

I watched my social feeds light up with the story. Health scare after custody battle. Depending on the poster, Blaze was either the sexy single dad our hearts should bleed for, experiencing this scare after they’d tried to take his daughter from him, or he was the incompetent playboy who was cleared to raise a child for less than a week before almost killing her. And then there was every shade of gray in between.

“Fucking vultures,” Blaze muttered, and hung his head the way I imagined Prometheus did after every visit from the eagle that tore his insides to shreds.

Between Paisley’s allergic reaction, the urgent care, the reporters, and having to tell Paisley they would be moving—again—it was Blaze I was worried about. He was the reason I came out here.

Before I could stop myself, I went up to the counter and rested my hand on top of his clenched fist. The touch jarred him, his head snapping up to mine.

“Are you okay?” I asked softly, knowing I was treading on an incredibly thin tightrope.

The look on his face when he heard Paisley’s scream, it had haunted me all afternoon. Like someone had ripped his heart right out of his chest. And even though it had felt like he’d done the exact same thing to me, I couldn’t stand the thought of leaving him to process this alone. Especially learning that wasn’t the end of it. He couldn’t process Paisley being okay because he’d had to deal with the press. And he couldn’t process that before he’d had to tell Paisley they were moving.

Blaze made a sound, something between a chopped exhale and a strained laugh. “I’m not even sure I know what the hell that means…what the hell ‘okay’ even feels like anymore.”

“Then what do you feel?” I asked quietly, afraid to speak—to breathe too loudly and cause him to pull away.

I understood he’d relied on a lot of people to clean up his messes before, but I wished he’d see that no one was asking him to punish himself by trying to shoulder all of this on his own.

His Adam’s apple bobbed several times before he spoke. “Like it’s not enough. Like whatever I do, it’s not enough.” His voice cracked apart, the sound of a man who felt like he had nothing left to give.

“Paisley is okay. You made sure of that. You always make sure of that.”

He let out a deep breath and shook his head. “Did I?” he asked. “Because when she screamed, you were the one who ran. I…froze.”

“It was for a second, Blaze,” I told him softly. “I know it doesn’t feel that way, but you froze for a literal second before you were coming toward us.” His head shook faster like he was fighting the urge to believe me. “You did everything right. You were there for Paisley when she needed you. You made sure she was okay. You kept her safe.”

His shoulders finally slumped, and it felt like I’d almost beaten his demons back, but then I had to go and tighten my hold on his hand. It was so slight, almost like a twitch of my fingers, but it was enough.

It was enough to see that we were treading right along this line that we’d both agreed not to cross again.

Slowly, he drew his hand away, a different kind of tension filling his body. His jaw ticked as his eyes skated over me, the hunger in them as familiar as it was primitive. Just like my body’s reaction. The flush of heat. The prickle across my skin. The ache between my thighs.