Page 61 of Freeing Lark

Cormac’s jaw tightened. “Nothing’s wrong with you.”

She looked at him. He didn't say it like a platitude. He said it like a fact. She swallowed. “I know that now.”

“Good.”

A smile touched her lips, only to fade as the image of her sister’s former vibrancy, now slowly ebbing away, came to mind. “But now I can see it happening to my sister. What’s worse is that she isn’t fighting it like I did.”

Then she told him about Wren. About the girl who had once followed her everywhere. The little sister who’d adored her. And the woman she’d become.

“I don’t know if she’s happy,” Lark whispered. “I don’t think she is.”

“Why do you suppose that is?”

“I think she’s still so young and she’s afraid.”

Cormac was quiet for a moment. “Then maybe she needs someone who won’t stop asking.”

Lark looked at him. “You don’t think I’m crazy?”

“No.”

“You don’t think I’m interfering?”

“No.”

“But don’t you think I’m a little crazy for caring about someone who hadn’t given a shit about me for years?”

His eyes met hers. “No.”

Something in her chest loosened. He listened. Really listened. He didn’t interrupt or tell her what she should do. Didn’t tell her she was overreacting. He simply listened.

No one had ever done that for her, except Marilyn. The realization made her eyes sting. She blinked quickly. Cormac noticed. Of course he did. But he didn’t mention it. Just quietly wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer. And before she could second guess herself, she let out a sigh and snuggled in.

Being in Cormac’s arms felt like stepping behind a locked door and knowing nothing could get through it. His body was warm and solid around her, his arms strong enough to make her feel completely sheltered without ever making her feel trapped. She could hear the steady beat of his heart beneath her cheek and feel the slow rise and fall of his chest, and somehow her own frantic heartbeat began to settle against his rhythm.

The scent of him—soap, coffee, and something distinctly Cormac wrapped around her almost as securely as his arms. Lark had spent most of her life feeling as though she had to protect herself, explain herself, or brace herself for someone else’s disappointment. But in his embrace, she didn’t have to do anything. She could simply breathe. And for reasons she didn’t quite understand yet, being held by Hoot felt dangerously close to what she’d always imagined home should feel like.

The apartment grew quieter, but they kept talking. When the conversation slowed, Lark became aware of how warm he was beside her. How solid. How safe. The tension she'd carried all evening slowly melted away.

“You seem comfortable,” he murmured.

“Don’t get used to it.”

His chest rumbled with a quiet laugh. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Her eyes grew heavy, and she fought sleep. She wanted to stay awake. Wanted to remember this moment. But exhaustion won. The last thing Lark remembered was the steady warmth of Cormac beneath her cheek.

Then she felt herself moving. Strong arms slipped beneath her. She barely stirred as he lifted her from the couch. She was vaguely aware of being carried, his heartbeat beneath her ear. The familiar scent of him cocooning her.

He laid her gently on her bed. Something soft brushed her forehead. A kiss. Then his voice, low and quiet. “I’ve got you.”

Lark smiled sleepily. “I like that.”

His hand lingered against her hair. “Rest. I’ll keep you safe.”

She didn't know if she’d dreamed the words. But somehow, she believed them. And for the first time since she’d opened her door to find her life torn apart, Lark fell into a deep, peaceful sleep.

CHAPTER 18