Page 132 of Honeyfires

I wanted to protect her. Wanted to shield her from this nightmare I'd created. But I didn't know how.

I arrived at the library forty minutes early, paranoid that reporters might come back, that Vera might need an escape route. I parked where I could see the front entrance and waited, my hands drumming anxiously on the steering wheel.

Helen emerged first, her silver hair bright against the adobe of the library building. She spotted my truck immediately; hard to miss, considering I was the only person sitting in a vehicle in the parking lot at 4:20 in the afternoon. She changed direction, heading straight for me.

I rolled down the window as she approached, suddenly feeling like a teenager being confronted by a disapproving parent.

"Can I have a word?" she asked, her tone making it clear it wasn't really a question.

"Sure," I said, because what else was I going to say?

She leaned against the truck, arms crossed, studying me with those sharp eyes that seemed to see straight through every defense I'd ever built. "You love her?"

The directness of it caught me off guard. No preamble, no small talk, just straight to the heart of the matter. "Yes."

"Enough to let her go if it's what's best for her?"

The question hit me square in the chest. "Is that what you think I should do?"

Helen's expression didn't change. "I think she's risking everything for you. Her reputation, her job, her peace. The board is already making noise about the 'negative attention' the library is receiving. Henry's under pressure to do something about it." She paused, letting that sink in. "And I need to know you're worth it."

I wanted to argue. Wanted to defend myself, to explain that I'd never asked Vera to risk anything, that I'd have walked away in a heartbeat if I thought it would protect her. But the truth was simpler and more devastating.

"I'm not," I said quietly. "But I'm trying to be."

Helen shook her head. "That's not good enough. She needs someone who knows their worth. Not someone who'll let guilt convince them to walk away."

I stared at her, trying to understand. Was she telling me to leave Vera? To stay? To somehow magically transform into someone who deserved the love Vera was giving me?

"I'm telling you to be the person she believes you are," Helen said, as if reading my mind. "Because that girl in there?" She gestured toward the library. "She thinks you hung the moon. Don't prove her wrong."

The words settled into my gut. This wasn't a warning. This was a challenge. Helen wasn't trying to scare me off—she was trying to make sure I'd fight.

"I won't," I said, meaning it with every fiber of my being. "I won't let her down."

Helen studied me for another long moment, then nodded once. "Good. Because if you do, you'll answer to me. And I promise you, I'm significantly more terrifying than any reporter."

Despite everything, I almost smiled. "I believe you."

She pushed off from the truck, then paused. "Also, she's been stress-eating chocolate all day and pretending she's fine. Make sure she actually eats dinner."

"Yes, ma'am."

Helen walked away, and I sat there processing the conversation. She hadn't told me to leave. She'd told me to stay, to fight, to be worthy of the faith Vera had placed in me. It should have made me feel better. Should have given me strength.

Instead, it just made me more aware of how much I could lose.

Vera emerged from the library at exactly five o'clock, moving quickly toward the truck like she was escaping a burning building. I leaned over and pushed open the passenger door, and she climbed in with visible relief.

"Hi," she said, buckling her seatbelt.

"Hi." I reached over, took her hand, and squeezed. "How was the rest of the day?"

"Long." She leaned her head back against the seat, closing her eyes. "Very long."

I pulled out of the parking lot, heading toward home. We drove in silence for a few minutes, Vera's hand still in mine, her thumb tracing absent patterns on my knuckles.

“Helen had some words for me,” I eventually admitted.