The Memory of You (Sanctuary Sound #1)(98)

“In here!” Her voice rang out from the vicinity of the kitchen before she triggered an electric screwdriver. Her jubilant tone gave him a pause. But the appointment tomorrow . . .

Dread and doubt shackled his ankles, slowing his trek through the living and dining rooms. When he arrived at the kitchen, Steffi was pulling a narrow upper cabinet off the wall.

“Need help?” he asked, reaching out.

“Nah,” she grunted while navigating the cabinet to the ground without dropping it. “I’ve got this one.”

Here, relaxed and doing work she loved, she looked invincible—unlike a woman whose body had been abused. Images of her bruised legs and battered head flashed through his thoughts, prompting yet another moment of intense hatred of the men who’d brutalized her.

When she turned to greet him, her cheerful face penetrated his heart like that drill on the counter. He strode to her without a word and wrapped her in a hug.

“I like this greeting,” she mumbled against his chest. He could practically feel her smiling as she snuggled inside his embrace. “But where’s the pizza? The rumbling in my stomach might bring the walls down. That’d require a little more reno than I can afford.”

He squeezed her harder, as if his holding her tight might keep her—and them—from breaking. In truth, he might be trying to keep himself from falling apart before he finished what he’d come here to say.

“What’s going on?” she asked, her playful tone slipping to concern. “Did something happen today?”

He shook his head—not that she could see it. His throat constricted, cutting off all words.

She stroked his cheek. “Something did happen. I can tell. Is Emmy okay? Did you argue with Val?”

“No.” His voice wavered. He paused, reticent to upend her whole world. “They’re both fine.”

“Then, what?” She held his face with both hands, her thumbs stroking his cheeks.

He glanced around, searching in vain for someplace comfortable to sit and talk. The dim, empty old rooms foretold disaster, but he couldn’t turn back now. Like Pandora, he had to face the consequences of his curiosity. “We need to talk.”

She stepped back and hugged herself. “Uh-oh.”

“No, not like that.” He reached for her hands.

“You’re making me nervous. I’ve never seen you look so . . . so sick.” She kept hold of his hands and jiggled his arms. “Just spit it out.”

If only it were that simple. He had rehearsed this in his head, but in person, nothing he’d planned seemed right.

“First, I need to tell you that I love you.”

The unplanned declaration lit her eyes and surprised them both. He would’ve rather not made that declaration now, when something so explosive would quickly overshadow the beauty of the moment. Yet nothing he’d said in recent weeks or months had rung as true in his heart.

“That must sound strange after so little time . . . two dates?” He kissed her hands. “It hit the instant I saw you on my mom’s porch, but at the time, it filled me with anger. The resurgence of old feelings after the way you’d hurt me made me feel pathetic, so I pushed you away for a dozen reasons, including fear.”

“Fear?”

“Of being hurt again. Of being foolish . . .” He shrugged. “But then you called me out and asked to be friends. Inserted yourself into Emmy’s life and eventually mine. You’re so bold. And brave.”

“I haven’t felt very brave. Desperate, maybe, for this second chance. Grateful, recently.” She tugged him close and kissed him. “I’ve been holding my breath since that dance at the Sand Bar. I love you, too, Ryan. I know I hurt you before, but there’s nothing to fear now. The worst is behind us.”

He closed his eyes, but the worst stared right back at him anyway. He opened his eyes and hugged her again, delaying the conversation that could change everything between them. “You are brave. Beautiful. Strong. Talented. Fun. Invincible. You can handle anything. Together we can help each other through any crisis.”

He held her face and kissed her. Tender, desperate kisses. He must’ve been frowning, though, because worry shone in her eyes.

“Now you’re scaring me again.” She studied his face, pressing her fingertips against the worry lines on his forehead. “Something really bad has happened. Are you sick?”

“I’m fine.” He swallowed hard and stepped back to pace, as if walking around would jostle her into opening up. “Do you trust me?”

“Of course.”

“So you know that you can tell me anything. Confide anything.” He bit his lower lip, searching her expression for any hint of her thoughts. “Because after our past and Val’s betrayal, I need to know you won’t withhold things from me.”

She hugged herself again. “It sounds like you still think I’m keeping something from you.”

He stood motionless, almost wishing she were lying, because if she remembered anything, this would be much easier to handle. The manila folder in his pocket grew heavier by the second. “Not on purpose . . . but I don’t think these blackouts are due to concussions. So, if there’s more to say—if there are things that trouble you or have been on your mind—just know nothing you tell me will change how I feel about you.”