Dear Rosie, (Love Letters #2)

I want to help her. Want to scoop her up into my arms and carry her.

But I won’t.

Because she’s still not ready for the amount of attention I plan to give her.

Staying on my side of the island, I watch her move and try not to think about her scraped-up knees.

When I heard her yell from the bathroom, I nearly had a damn heart attack.

And then when I saw the cuts and bruises on her legs… I got pissed at the world all over again.

“Shouldn’t you be at work?” Rosie asks as she drops down onto the end spot of the couch.

“I called in,” I answer while she shifts the extra pillows I piled up for her.

Rosie makes a humming sound but doesn’t comment more.

When Charles jumps up on the cushion next to her, she immediately reaches out to pet him. “When’d you learn to open doors, huh?” she says to the cat.

“He’s been doing that since I got him,” I tell her as I carry over a tray holding a bowl of sugary cereal, a small plate of scrambled eggs, and a glass of orange juice. “Think he might be a prison breakout.”

It’s a joke, but my tone doesn’t come out right.

Rosie eyes me as I set the tray on the end table next to her armrest. It’s not the greatest combination of food, but I wanted to give her choices.

“Eat. Then you’re going back to bed,” I demand.

She just got up, but she looks exhausted.

Rosie doesn’t reply, but she doesn’t argue either.

I go back into the kitchen and grab my own eggs and a mug of coffee rather than juice.

Her gaze is on me as I sit on the opposite end of the couch from her.

She looks from me to my mug. “Can I have coffee?”

I set the mug on the coffee table and shake my head. “No. Not for a few days.”

She digs her teeth into her lower lip.

I set my plate next to my mug. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” Charles walks onto her lap, and she wraps her arms around him.

“Bite your lip,” I tell her. “Don’t do it.”

She lowers her face to Charles’s fur but eyes me over his back. “Are you… mad at me?”

“What?” I shift forward until I’m perched on the edge of the couch and turned to face her. “No. Rosie, I’m not mad at you.” I force my jaw to relax. “I’m just… I’m mad at fucking all of it. And…” I suck in a deep breath. “I feel like shit. Every time I think about what you wrote in those damned letters… I feel like fucking shit.”

Rosie lifts her head from Charles’s side, and that goddamn sadness is back in her eyes.

I fucking hate it now more than ever. Because now I know what put the sadness there.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice is soft. “I never meant to upset you.”

“Don’t apologize.” Anger bubbles inside me. “You went through hell. None of that is your fault. You have nothing to apologize for.”