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3. Della

CHAPTER 3

Della

M y ears ring as light shines in through the open closet door, and a shadowy figure bends down to where I'm buried in my weighted blankets and bean bag chair. The panic holds onto me like a vise; I'm hostage to the feelings pouring out of me and helpless to suppress the overwrought sob from escaping my lips.

Warm arms wrap around my body, and I'm lifted into a solid chest before we settle back into my spot. "Della, it's Holy." I stiffen at his name, fear etching into my heart. He's the last person I want to see me at my weakest. "Sshhh, everything will be alright." His reassurance doesn't have the effect he likely anticipated because I can't stop crying now.

My chest burns, and my throat is so tight it feels as if there's a boa constrictor around it. But when his lips touch my hair, my body releases every ounce of tension weaving through my veins, and I can breathe again.

"Holy." I gasp as I take my first lungful of air since hiding.

"Nothing's going to happen to you, baby, not on my watch." Cuddling into his chest, I try not to obsess over Holy Sinclair calling me baby.

I'm not sure how long we stay in my closet. It feels like hours, but not nearly long enough. Holy doesn't once complain about my weight on him or how we're sitting. He doesn't make me feel like a burden. Instead, I feel treasured as he rubs a soothing hand up and down my back, lulling me into safety.

"Why are you here?" My voice is barely above a whisper.

He doesn't answer right away, and I close my eyes to listen to his heart beating until the rumble of his voice startles me again. "Carter asked for my help." My heart wilts. I hoped it was for me, but as always, not much ever is.

Part of that is my own fault. I keep myself locked away from the world, mostly out of self-preservation but also because I have lingering abandonment issues. Dad doesn't know it, but I vividly remember when my mom left me on his doorstep. I remember sitting in the cold, dark, rainy night, jumping and crying at every sound. I remember the sense of hatred that emanated from her touch. It's because of her that I don't like being touched.

As much as I love the way Holy holds me, I push up from his chest, needing to place distance back between us. Scrambling from his lap, I swiftly make my exit from the closet and head straight for my bathroom.

"Della, wait." I don't stop, my short legs hustling me closer to locking myself away, but then I feel his arms wrap around me from behind. I fist my hands so as not to touch him; I can't take what he's feeling. Not when I'm so raw. "What is the rush?" I'm spun around but won't meet his stare.

"I'd like to clean up. I'm supposed to have lunch with my friend." Glancing at my watch, I notice I'm already going to be late by the time I get to the pier.

"What friend?" He sounds skeptical.

"Cece." Crossing my arms, I try to pull away from him.

"I'll take you." Surprised, I cease fighting him.

"Why?" It's my turn to be skeptical now.

When he moves to use a finger to lift my chin, I jerk back but then look at him. He's cold as ever. I get no emotion from his eyes, from his aura, nothing to hint at his thoughts.

"I want to spend time with you," he finally says, and that's when I notice the necklace around his throat . I made that. It was one of the first ones I sold after doing a tutorial video. I know this because that was the only green stone I had. I've never been able to procure that particular shade again.

As much as I want to ask him how he got it, I keep my lips sealed and focus on the problem at hand. "You'll be bored. Lunch and stone shopping is all we're doing." He shrugs, so I let it go. Who am I to argue how he wastes his time? "I'll just get cleaned up, then."

Stepping away from Holy, his critical eyes watch me as I back up to the bathroom. Shutting the door, I inhale deeply while closing my eyes and counting to ten. Leaning over the sink, I turn the cold tap on and run the water over my wrists to calm down slightly.

My heart feels like it's beating a million miles a minute with no end in sight. Shutting the water off, I dry my hands and fix my hair before putting on a light layer of mascara and peach lip gloss. After fixing my clothes, I prepare to head out and meet Holy downstairs.

Opening the door, I flick off the light and stop short when I see the man in question sitting silently on my bed. He looks mighty comfortable in a space not meant for him, and yet, the longer I stare, the hotter I become, and I debate turning around and jumping in an ice-cold shower to cool off.

"Ready?" He stands and strolls over to me, not a misstep in his stride. Confidence exudes off him in waves, and I find I'm envious of his nature. I wish I could be so sure of myself.

"I suppose. You didn't have to wait for me."

That casual shrug again. Like he doesn't care about anything at all.

"Didn't. But wanted to." He confuses me. His body language is standoffish, but his words imply something else.

"You're very hard to read." And as someone who can read a person just by standing in the same room as them, that is difficult for me to admit.

"How so?" Offering me his arm, he waits while I hesitate before taking it and allowing him to escort me back downstairs.

"You just are." I'm not sure if he knows about my abilities, and I don't like telling people. It opens up a field of questions I never have answers for.

I remain silent as Holy and Cowboy inspect the car and start the drive to the coast, where I'm meeting Cece. Dad already sent a car ahead to pick her up, so I know she's likely there right now, and I'm late. I hate being late. Punctuality is something that helps keep me focused when I continually feel like I'm drowning in a world of too many emotions.

Reining in my excitement as the fresh sea air hits my face is difficult, but I don't want Holy to have too much of an advantage over me. The ability to hide my emotions has always been easy for me, but the man holds a special knack for reading me like an open book.

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