Today, it’s 22 days until the release of Regaining Trust, and I thought that I’d tease you a little with an excerpt. The sneak peak is from the first chapter, and the main conflict is in the blurb, so I there’s no need for a spoiler warning. I’m adding the blurb first though, if you’ve managed to miss it 🙂
Frankie swallows several times before he speaks. “You’re home.”
I nod; my throat suddenly closing up and making it impossible for me to produce a sound.
His hands twitch, as though he wants to reach out and touch me. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.
I nod again.
“You have to believe me. I’m so, so sorry.” He chokes on the words.
I force my mouth to cooperate. “I believe you.”
His gaze meets mine, penetrates my very soul as he searches for answers. “But you’re angry.”
I avert my gaze. Am I angry? Heartbroken, devastated, yes. Is my trust betrayed? Yes. But angry? I don’t know. In the end, I settle for a shrug.
“Will you talk to me? Or at least listen when I talk?”
I scrub my palm over my face and hang my head. “I’m tired, Frankie.”
“Please, please, please.”
I straighten. “Not tonight. I have tomorrow off. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
“Go to bed. I need a shower.”
“Will you join me? After?”
He jerks as though I slapped him.
“I need some space,” I explain.
He curls up even more and swallows a whimper. “I understand. You take the bed, I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“You’re too tall for the couch.”
“I don’t care. I deserve to be uncomfortable.”
I don’t have the energy to argue so I nod and get up and walk into our bedroom without looking back at him. After my shower, I pull on an old T-shirt and soft sleep pants—more armor—but as I climb into bed, I remember Frankie curled into a tiny ball on our too-short couch, and I sigh.
I grab a blanket from the closet and one of his pillows from the bed and return to the den. He’s not sleeping but he doesn’t say anything when I enter, only follows my movements with his gaze as I approach.
“Head up,” I mumble and when he obeys, I slide the pillow underneath him, then spread the blanket over his curled-up frame.
To avoid looking at him, I don’t linger. As soon as I’m done, I turn and start walking away.
His broken voice stops me. “Why are you always so thoughtful? Even now?”
I want to walk away without answering his question, but I promised myself a long time ago to always communicate, to not be like my parents, so I can’t ignore him. It’s not who I am.
“I love you,” I say. “I don’t just stop loving you, no matter what.”
“You love me.” He sounds as though he hasn’t expected me to say it ever again.
I nod, back still turned to him. “But I don’t know if that’s enough. Sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow.”