I was sitting on the couch all by myself, asking myself over and over the same questions. Why did my mother try to kill me? Did she love me? Did my father love her? Was this the only time this had happened? Is she still out to get me? Was Aiden right about all this from the start?

The breeze was blowing in all around me, soothing me with cooling air. For a moment, I felt oddly calm. Then he walked in, muttering something to himself that I didn't quite hear.

I just looked at him for a moment, wondering why, in the name of all that is holy, did this man follow me around, bothering and questioning and butting in. And why did he look so handsome right now, with his stupid black clothing and symmetrical face and hair shining in the moon?

I let nothing show, instead opting on assaulting him with words.

"If you came here to say I told you so, don't bother."

My words were dripping with acid, but he didn't even flinch. He just kept right on walking up to me, now standing. I tensed my body, willing to transfer all my emotions into a violent encounter, more than willing. I'd been itching for a good fight.

But no.

Aiden just holds out his hand and says, "Come here."

I say no, of course I say no. What does he think this is? I try to move away, but he grabs my arm, and, gently but deliberately, pulls me in. Like I was his. Like I needed to be comforted for all that happened—

"Come here," he says again, and I go nuts, hitting him and pushing him. But of course, he's Aiden, so he's got a half-foot, 100-pound advantage over me. With little difficulty, he encloses me with his arms, and I, of all things, begin to cry.

I don't know why.

I was tired and traumatized and feeling lower than I had in a long, long time. And he was there, rock-solid and warm and trying so hard to make up for everything. So I cried, even though I felt foolish, getting snot and tears on his black ninja shirt. His large hands were holding me close to him, and I thought I felt him kiss my hair, but I wasn't sure.

Stupid hug. I've been hugged by tens of other men before. My father, Danny, Jack, Declan, various shady figures, even Conrad, for god's sake. But none of them, except my father, have made me feel safe. Until this stupid, stupid hug. I felt like nothing could hurt me, like Aiden's large frame wrapped around me could keep every bad person, every bad feeling away from me.

And that made me freeze.

I extracted myself from his arms, and he, for his part, reluctantly let me go.

A flash of panic crossed his face, and I think he was afraid he pushed a little too far on this one. But, in a moment, it's gone, and his cool demeanor is back.

We just looked at each other for a tense moment, me wiping tears from my face.

Then, happening to glance down at his hands, I was surprised when I saw newly healed gashes in them.

"Aiden! What happened to your hands?" I exclaim, off guard and eager to change the subject and frankly, a bit concerned.

"Oh, uh," he starts, looking down at his hands sheepishly, "it was nothing."

I regarded him suspiciously.

"Well, um, your mother, she got the best of me, and I was tied to a chair…I had to get out, to warn you…so…I used, uh, some glass shards to escape," he said, with a small smile, trying to reassure me, I guess.

"What?!"

"I told you, it's nothing," he said, waving it off. He walked a few steps closer to the corner I had retreated into, looking at me directly, intently. The look in his eyes made me squirm a little on the inside.

"Did you—"

"I'm really tired, I think I'm going to bed now," I said abruptly, interrupting him. His eyes turned stormy with confusion and frustration.

"Okay," he said quietly, trying not to betray any emotion.

I walked upstairs without further comment, leaving him bewildered, by my couch, using one gashed hand to rub his neck.

I lay in bed, replaying in my head over and over the way he looked at me before I escaped. He's looked at me that way before, but I've never noticed it as acutely as I did now. I felt in my bones something I haven't felt in a long time, but I wasn't sure what it was. Burying it deep down, I went to sleep.