Chapter Thirty-Eight #2
"I said add it, Sierra.” His voice was gentle but firm. “That’s never an issue. Not when it comes to you.”
The moment was interrupted by an elderly man shuffling past, muttering to himself as he scanned the shelves.
He brushed past me accidentally, causing me to flinch.
Connor's reaction was immediate and excessive; his arm shot out to wrap around me like a snake while his other hand gripped the man's shoulder, definitely way harder than necessary.
“Watch it,” Connor warned, his voice dropping to that dangerous register that made the hair on my arms stand.
The old man paled, stammering an apology before hurrying away.
Connor watched him go, his jaw tight, before turning his attention back to me. “You okay?”
“I'm fine," I assured him, touched by his protectiveness even as I worried it might be dangerous for other people. “It was just a bump."
His expression softened, but there was lingering tension in his shoulders when he looked down at the tote straining against his tattooed forearm. “Twenty-two books,” he counted, changing the subject. “Let's see the rocks before you pick the rest. ”
The crystal room was a stark contrast to the rest of the shop, bright and airy, with glass cases displaying stones of every color. Sunlight streamed through skylights, catching on faceted surfaces and casting rainbow reflections across the white walls. My breath caught at the beauty of it.
Connor released me for the first time since we'd entered the store, allowing me to wander from case to case, examining the various crystals and reading their descriptions. I stopped in front of a piece of rose quartz, smooth and pink, said to promote love and healing.
“You like this one?” Connor appeared behind me, his torso pressed against my back as he reached around me to open the display case. He picked up the rose quartz, placing it in my palm. “It suits you.”
The stone was cool against my skin, its weight comforting somehow. “It's pretty.”
“That’s why it suits you.”
Connor nodded to Freya, who had appeared near the doorway. “We'll take it, along with...” He scanned the case, selecting a dark, smoky crystal that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it, kind of like Connor. “This one.”
“Black tourmaline,” Freya explained, noting my curious expression.
“For protection against negative energies. A good choice, especially paired with rose quartz.” She gave us a knowing smile, looking between us.
We were always quite a sight since Connor’s so huge and scary, while I was the opposite. “Balance is important in all things.”
Connor's phone rang again as Freya wrapped our selections. This time, he did step away slightly, though still within arm's reach. “What now?” he answered, irritation evident in his voice.
I pretended to be engrossed in examining a display of amethyst clusters, but was obviously listening to his half of the conversation.
“That too? Adrian, you're a sick fuck.” He paused, a reluctant smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “No, I'm not complaining. Free fish food... Yeah, she's fine. Better than fine... No, she doesn't need to know that.”
My stomach twisted uncomfortably. I didn't want to know specifics, but hearing Connor discuss what sounded like extreme violence so casually was jarring, to say the least.
“I’m busy,” Connor continued, his gaze finding mine. “Yeah, keep me updated if anything changes... No, Jax has the right idea.”
He ended the call, returning to my side as if he hadn't just been discussing what sounded like feeding a body to a fish.
“Find any more rocks you like?” he asked, his hand sliding back to its usual position, half on my waist, half on my hip.
I swallowed hard, comparing this man with the one who'd remembered I loved antique books and arranged the special visit to this shop. They were the same person. The same protective instinct that drove him to threaten anyone who looked at me wrong.
“I think I'm good with just these two,” I answered, my voice steadier than I expected. “But I still need a few more books to meet your arbitrary quota.”
He laughed, the sound soothing me despite everything. “Not arbitrary. You deserve a library, sweet girl. But we can call it at twenty-five books if you want.”
We returned to the main shop area, where I selected a few more books—a collection of love stories, a beautifully illustrated guide to crocheting, and then I paused when I saw a familiar spine tucked among the children's classics.
My heart skipped a beat when I recognized the worn blue binding.
The Simple Sheep.
My fingers trembled slightly as I pulled it from the shelf, the book's weight in my hands transporting me back to lonely nights under blankets, reading by flashlight to escape the voices downstairs.
“You found it,” Connor's voice came from behind me, closer than I expected. His chest pressed against my back, his arms encircling me as he gazed, chin on my head, at the book in my hands. His tone was more tender than usual.
I nodded, unable to speak as I traced the embossed white sheep on the cover. Connor's hands settled on my waist, his fingers caressing my skin as he studied the book with a focus that made my cheeks warm.
“Open it,” he murmured against my ear, his breath stirring my hair. “Read me your favorite part again.”
Surprised, I glanced up at him. “You remember that?”
He gave me a look, his grip tightening slightly on my waist. “I remember everything about you, Sierra.”
My heart fluttered as I carefully opened to the page I knew by heart, the one with the illustration of the shabby, well-loved sheep sitting beside the boy who loved him.
“'Real isn't how you are made,’” I read softly. “'It's something you become when a child loves you. Not just to play with, but to cry on, then you become Real.'”
Connor's hand moved from my waist to cover mine on the page, his fingers dwarfing mine, callused and warm.
“You are real, Sierra,” he promised quietly, the words carrying the weight of his love. “You always have been.”
The fierce pride in his voice made my eyes sting with tears. I knew he meant Jerry, I knew he understood exactly why this book had been my lifeline as a child.
Connor gently took the book from my hands, adding it to our already overflowing tote bag. “This one's not negotiable,” he said, his voice gentle, but it was clearly an order. “Some stories deserve to come home with you.”
The way he looked at me then, loving and soft, made me feel more real than I ever had before, and suddenly, the story felt true.
“Thank you,” I whispered, leaning into his solid warmth.
His only response was to press his lips to my forehead, a silent oath that felt more real than any words ever could be.
Freya rang up our purchases, refusing to tell me the total, instead looking directly at Connor, who didn't even glance at the screen before passing over his black card. I leaned into his side, drawing comfort from his solid presence despite the disturbing phone calls.
“Did you find everything you were looking for?” Freya asked as she carefully wrapped the rose quartz in silk before placing it in a separate small box.
I looked up at Connor, who was watching me with that intense, possessive gaze that both thrilled and unnerved me. “Yes,” I answered, meaning more than just the books. “I think I did.”
Connor's arm tightened around me, his lips brushing my temple. “Good,” he murmured against my skin. “Because you deserve everything, sweet girl. Everything and everyone that's good for you.”
His emphasis on the last words left little doubt about what, or who, he’d considered not good for me, and who that phone call was probably about.
As we left the shop, the weight of the books was nothing compared to the weight of what I now knew. Still, all I felt was protection, value, and most of all, love.
The bell chimed softly behind us as we stepped into the sunlight, Connor's hand never leaving my back, guiding me forward into whatever came next.