Dare Me(44)

I nod in confirmation and set my cup on the coffee table in front of us.

“It’s more than him being gone,” she says, her voice breaking. I reach out and pull her hand into mine, giving it a gentle squeeze. “A lot of people lose parents, and I know I’m far from the exception.” She takes another deep breath. “He killed himself on my birthday.” Tears threaten to spill over the bottom lids of her beautiful green eyes. “I was there, Holt. I heard the gunshot. I found him on the floor of our barn, the hunting rifle next to him. You could still smell the gunpowder, and he was missing half of his head.”

My eyes widen in horror. Evelyn told me the details, but with Saige’s emotion, it’s almost as if I’m hearing them again for the first time.

She swallows hard. “I remember every vivid detail. The shirt he was wearing, the watch on his arm, the way he kissed me before he walked down to the barn. I’m so sad at having lost him, but I’m so f*cking pissed at him at the same time.” There’s a spark of anger in her tone. “I needed him, and he quit. He f*cking quit.”

“Saige . . .” I search for something to say, but she stops me.

“No.” She firmly shakes her head. “Don’t tell me suicide is a mental illness. He wasn’t mentally ill, Holt. He lost all of our money, his entire life savings, and every tangible item he owned, in some ridiculous money scheme with his coworker. This man was supposed to be his friend, his mentor, and he robbed him blind and essentially left us homeless. He killed himself because he felt like he failed us.”

I swallow hard against my dry throat. Seeing Saige shuffle between hurt and anger kills me.

Her tone hardens again. “We moved back to North Dakota because we didn’t have a dime to our name, and he took the easy way out. He killed himself . . . on my birthday.” Her voice cracks and tears spill down her cheeks. “I miss him and I’m so angry with him all at the same time,” she barely chokes out.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper and rub her hand. There’s so much I want to tell her, but right now is not the time. I need to just be here for her and listen.

Her face twists in disgust and she closes her eyes as she speaks. “I saw his brains, Holt. I will never forget—” Her voice cuts out, and she stops talking as she’s overcome with emotion.

“Come here.” I pull her into my lap, and she buries her face in the crook of my neck. Her body shakes as she sobs uncontrollably, clinging to me like a little child. “It’s okay,” I whisper repeatedly as I comfort her. It takes her some time, but she finally settles down and pulls herself out of my lap.

She positions herself next to me on the couch and pulls my hand into hers. “I don’t sleep well because I dream of everything I saw in the barn. My therapist says it’s PTSD, and that with regular therapy, I should be able to cope and deal with this—but with me moving to Chicago; I haven’t been going to a therapist until now.”

“And the session this morning was . . . ?”

“Intense.” She exhales loudly. “Digging up every little detail I can remember and rehashing it all over again with a new therapist.”

I nod in understanding.

She continues, “But good, I guess, too. The more I talk about it, the more I seem to process everything. I’m hoping that someday, I’ll be able to tell the story and it won’t send me into a tailspin.” She forces a small smile and takes a sip of her coffee. “I need to apologize to you for what happened the other night. I took more Ambien than I should have because I just wanted to sleep—I wanted my mind to shut off and it had the opposite effect. Then when I woke up and you were there, I was hurting, but I was also embarrassed.” She looks away from me.

“You never have to be embarrassed with me,” I tell her, rubbing my thumb across her soft cheek.

“I know. But it’s humiliating, and I should’ve never treated you the way I did, and I’m sorry,” she says, regret filling her eyes.

“What can I do to help you?” I would do anything to take away her pain, her fears, and her anger.

“Just be patient with me. All of this is new. Chicago . . . my job . . . you.” She looks at me and her face twists in concern as if she’s just offended me.

I squeeze her hand. “I’ll be as patient as I need to be, Saige. I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you’re happy and healthy.”

“And stop being so perfect.” She smiles and nudges me with her foot.

I chuckle and run my hand through my hair. “I’m hardly perfect.”

“Holt. You are the epitome of perfect. You own your own aviation company, you could be a body double for Henry Cavill, and grace the cover of GQ tomorrow. But more than that . . . none of that defines who you are.” Her eyes soften and her lips hint at a small smile. “You are caring, and kind, and amazing . . . and sexy.” Her eyes sparkle when she says that.

“Say it again.” I love when she opens up.

“Say what?”

“What you just said.”

She grins. “You’re sexy.”

“Come here.” I reach for her hand and pull her closer. “Kiss me.” And she does. She presses her full lips to mine and kisses me like I’ve never been kissed. It’s soft and sweet and everything Saige encompasses rolled into a perfect kiss.