Archer's Voice (A Sign of Love Novel)(34)

I lifted her slightly and laid her back on my couch, her head propped on the pillow at the end. My arms were sore and cramping from holding her in the same position for so long, but I didn't care. I would have held her for the rest of the night if I thought she needed me to.
I drank her in, still so beautiful even in her pain, her long, golden brown hair lying in loose waves and her green eyes shimmering with tears. Didn't fight who, Bree?
The man who tried to rape me, she signed and my heart crashed to a stop before resuming a fast, erratic beat in my chest. The man who murdered my father.
I didn't know what to think, what to feel. I certainly didn't know what to say.
I didn't fight him, she repeated. Not when I saw him holding the gun on my dad and not when he came for me. My dad told me to hide and that's what I did. I didn't fight, she said, her face filling with shame. Maybe I could have saved him, she said. He killed my dad, and then when he came for me, I still didn't fight.
I studied her, trying to understand. Finally, I said, You did fight, Bree. You survived. You fought to live. And you did. That's what your dad was telling you to do. Wouldn't you have done the same for someone you loved?
She blinked at me and then something in her expression seemed to relax as her eyes roamed over my face. And something inside of me felt like it released too–although I wasn't sure exactly what.
Bree's tears started to fall again, but the distant look of agony in her eyes seemed to dim just a little bit. I scooped her back up and held her against me once more as she cried quietly, and more gently this time. After a little bit, I felt her breathing deeply. She was asleep. I lay her back on the couch again and went and got a blanket and covered her up. I sat there with her for a long time, just staring out the window, watching the sun lower in the sky. I thought about how Bree and I were so different… and yet so similar. She carried the guilt of not fighting when she thought she should have, and I carried the scar of what happened when you did. We had each reacted differently in a moment of terror, and yet we both still hurt. Maybe there was no right or wrong, no black or white, only a thousand shades of grey when it came to pain and what we each held ourselves responsible for.


CHAPTER 14

Bree

I woke up and pried my eyes open. I could feel that they were swollen. The room was dim, just a single standing lamp on in the corner next to one of the built-in bookcases. I was lying on a worn, leather couch and an older, wooden coffee table sat in front of me. The curtains on the window were open and I could see that the sun had set completely.
I moved the blanket that was over me to the side. Archer must have done that. My heart squeezed. Archer. He had taken care of me. He had saved me.
I sat up, and despite my sore eyes and the spot on my forehead that was slightly tender to the touch, the rest of me felt pretty good, rested. Surprising since I had turned into a wild animal when that net came down on me. I had realized very distantly what was happening as Archer was removing it from my body. Why there was a trap set on his property, I wasn't sure, but figured it had something to do with his uncle.
God, I had freaked. I was embarrassed now. But somehow I felt relieved too. Somehow I felt… lighter? When I had realized I was being carried and looked up into Archer's concerned eyes, I had felt safe, and so the tears had finally fallen.
I was interrupted in my thoughts as I heard Archer's footsteps behind me, returning to the room.
I turned around to thank him, an embarrassed smile on my lips, but when he came into sight, I froze. Sweet mother of all that was holy. He had his hair pulled back, and he had shaved his face.
And he was… beautiful.
I gaped.
No, not beautiful. He was just masculine enough to take the edge off what otherwise would be full-on male prettiness. His jaw was not hard, slightly square, but not in an exaggerated way. His lips were wider than they were full, a beautiful light, rosey color.
With his hair pulled back and his facial hair gone, I could see how his eyes and nose fit perfectly in the portrait of his face. Why had he ever hidden it? I had known he had a nice face somewhere under all that shag, but not this. I had never imagined this.
Just as I was about to speak, he moved closer to me, into the light and it was then that I saw the scar at the base of his throat–pink and shiny, the skin raised in locations and flat in others. It stood out harshly against the beauty of the features above it.
"Archer," I breathed out, staring.
He paused in his movement, but didn't say anything. He stood there, uncertainty in the expression on his face and in the way he held himself, rigid and unmoving. And I could do nothing but stare, spellbound at his beauty. Something pulled tightly inside of me. He had no idea. None.