Page 166 of Where We Stay

“Cover your ears,” Mal instructs her, holding her hands a few inches apart and looking at me. “Tell me when to stop.”

Fuck, I got lucky with this lot.

* * *

Just before the cab arrived, I finally sent Dean the message I’d spent three days avoiding.

ME: Can we talk tonight?

He never replied.

The cab ride home clears my head enough for everything the girls said to start circling again.

Before coming to Hartwell, I never let anyone close enough to have something to lose. I told myself it was about protecting myself, but in reality, it meant no one could ever hurt me again.

Then Dean came along and fucked that plan entirely.

G and I pay the driver and climb out of the cab. That’s when I see the truck parked outside my cottage.

Dean’s truck.

He’s sitting on my porch steps with his elbows resting on his knees, staring down at the ground. My heart stops, and of course, he looks up the second I close the car door.

Apparently, that’s his answer.

“Oh, shit.” G lets out a small laugh beside me. “I’m leaving before I witness something disgustingly emotional.”

She pulls me into a quick hug. “Love you, babe.”

“Love you too.”

G heads toward her house while Dean rises from the porch. He approaches me slowly, like he’s afraid moving too quickly might make me run again.

“You came,” I say.

“You asked.”

For a moment, we simply stare at each other.

“Before we talk, I need to apologize,” Dean says.

“Dean—”

“Let me say this.”

I nod and wait.

“I saw you were scared, and all I could think about was fixing it. I thought if you told me what happened, I could make it go away.” His jaw tightens. “I pushed when I should’ve listened. I’m sorry.”

“You were trying to help.”

“That doesn’t mean I handled it right.”

My throat begins to burn.

Dean draws in a slow breath. “You don’t have to tell me anything tonight. You don’t owe me your story.”

His eyes hold mine, steady and certain.