Instantly, I cast my eyes downward.
“He’ll be okay.” I know she’s trying to make me feel better, but honestly, no one knows that. The fact he won’t speak to me about anything has me wondering if maybe he blames me for everything. I am the reason he was tortured and abused. He has every right to hate me. I hate me too.
Sighing, my appetite soon disappears as the thought of eating anything turns my stomach.
I’m about to leave everyone to their breakfast as the chewing and slurping are already grating at my raw nerves, but when the back door opens and in jogs a sweaty, breathless Saint, I forget everything. He eclipses the sun, the moon, the entire f*****g planet.
His damp hair is tied back, but a few stray strands have escaped, framing his hard, chiseled face. He’s in sweats and a tight
