"Hey Emma." Ruby gave her a half-hearted wave from her corner of the diner. She was mopping the floor with a vengeance, soapy water splashing everywhere. "How are things?"
Settling herself on one of the stools by the counter, Emma placed her purse on top of the smooth surface and rested her chin on the soft leather. The letter Killian had given her was tucked right beneath, still unopened. "My new living arrangements are...trying my patience."
She raised a brow, scrubbing at a particularly dark spot under one table. "Nosy roommate?"
Emma shook her head frantically, thinking of Killian's recent kindness. Nothing could be further from the truth. "If anything, I'm a bother to him."
"Him?" A wolfish smile lit up Ruby's face. "You found a man?"
The blush creeping up her neck refused to be dispelled. "Not exactly. We're not involved. He...I...it's a long story."
As quickly as she could, Emma related the short version of how she discovered his house, the attraction of the roses, and the lonely man hiding within both. It was all she could do to hold back tears when she remembered how their first meeting had hurt, how his attempt at suicide had broken her down. How his efforts to find her and mend that pain brought the fragrant, undefinable hope of the roses back into her life, resembling every wish she ever had.
Ruby let out a low whistle. "Wow, Emma. Just...wow. This guy sounds like he's serious ― and a heartbreaker. Are you sure living with him in the same space is a good idea?"
"What?" Her cheeks grew redder, if possible. "No...no, it's not like that at all. We're...we're friends. I...I need this, Ruby. And he needs me."
Her friend's voice was suddenly quiet and unusually gentle. "Then what's bugging you?"
Emma patted her purse. "He has a lot of secrets. And baggage."
The girl snorted. "Uh, yeah, I guessed as much from what you told me. He was ― is ― an alcoholic, suicidal―"
"Yes, but he's lost so much. I'm not defending his actions. But I've forgiven him. I've forgiven him everything."
"So if you'd made peace, what's wrong now?"
She squirmed in her seat. "I haven't lived with anyone in a while. I don't know how. Every time he reaches out, I pull away. It's hurting both of us, but I can't make myself stop."
Ruby bit down on her lower lip, chewing on it absently. "If you believe he's going to put you in danger―"
"No. He wouldn't. He has problems, yes. But he's a good guy ― I believe in that. He came back for me."
Ruby stopped mopping and gave her a prolonged stare. "Well, Emma, here's my advice ― and if you'd ask Granny, I suck at giving advice, so no guarantees," she sighed. "You can either do what your instincts are telling you ― to pack up and run.
"Or you can take a chance, and stay."
"You think that once you remove what's causing the pain, the wound will stop hurting. He promised me the thing I wanted most, a home, and then he just took that away. No good-byes, no apologies." Emma sniffled, not daring to look Killian's way. The last thing she wanted was his pity. "And stupid me, how could I have been so surprised? No one has wanted me since I was born."
The faucet must be leaking, because the constant drip, drip, drip of water hitting the sink every other second filled the kitchen with its set rhythm. And in the midst of the tears wanting to spill out onto the smooth leather surface of the sofa, she reminded herself that it was okay. It's okay, Emma. This is home now. It's your house too. You live here. It's okay to let the tears come.
Choking on a half-laugh, she bitterly wiped off the wetness under her eyes. "But you know what stung the most? Not only I went to prison for Neal's crimes, but I had to carry his baby. When I was pregnant in that cell, all I could think about was how alone I was. All I could see was a future I didn't want. A lifetime of being lonely ― of wondering what the hell is wrong with me, that I can't get a damn break. First foster care, then him."
His fingers crawled slowly up her arm, inching around the nape of her neck until he was pulling her into his embrace. She let him. Her chest was hurting so much, from the sobs she was desperately trying to hold in, that she couldn't stand it anymore.
"Emma... You are bloody brilliant, lass. You are exceptional. You deserve every happiness. Please don't give up. Don't toss out your hopes."
"What's the point?" she whispered into his shirt, cushioning her cheek in the feel of him. How could she take comfort in his words when that's all they were? Words. "It hurts too much, Killian. It hurts. What's the point of going on?"
"Because you are too precious to lose. Neal was an arse to let you go." He buried his nose in her hair. "I promise you that if I ever cross paths with the bloody wanker, I'll punch his bleeding lights out."
A chuckle left her lips, dry and taut. It pained her to laugh, but on the other hand, it felt rather good. As if her body was in denial but at the same time, in compliance. She ached to let his words sink into her, wash over her ― but that was the catch, wasn't it? That his faith in her was too good to be true. And if something is too good to be true, it usually is. Hadn't she lived that truism forever and a day?
"What happened? To your baby?"
The part of his shirt she was nuzzling was wet. Emma could hear her own voice, tearing and breaking and stumbling. It was so hard to let go and trust him ― painful, because there was no telling if she would live to regret this or not.
"He...he died." She choked down a trickle of water, salty and warm. In her mind's eye, the blood was still there, on the floor, at the end of the hospital bed. "He was stillborn. I never even got to see his eyes. He never cried, never moved in my arms. He was dead," she whispered. "I named him Henry. I buried him."
"It wasn't your fault," he said firmly, rocking her. "You're not to blame for this, Emma."
"But I failed, Killian," she cried, "I failed even to have a child who was healthy and alive. I failed Henry. I failed myself."
Those were the last audible words she could get out to him before she really, truly crumbled.
His arms were hard and soft as they held her, and his breath was fanning her neck as quietly as a whisper. The house was still silent, echoing her thoughts. When would the pain end? When would she stop reminding herself of all the ways she had screwed up her life?
"Then I failed too." His voice broke. "Emma, I've failed everyone I loved."
She whimpered into his sweater. "Milah?"
"Aye, her. And...Liam."
"Your brother." Emma sniffled. "How did they die?"
"Quite grim tales, the both of them. We had an accident on our ship ― the Jewel of the Realm, we nicknamed her. One of the boilers burst and started a fire below deck. Liam was the heroic one, just had to do the bloody right thing and try to save everyone. We got separated..."
He coughed, and his tone thickened. "The last thing I heard were his screams when a wall of fire divided us and the only way out for me was to jump overboard. All the Navy could do was issue me an apology, a bloody Medal of Honor, and ashes in an urn. All that, in exchange for my brother, the true hero, lying at the bottom of the sea. He was the captain ― always thinking of others first, never of himself. A bloody slap in the face, when what I wanted back was him, stubborn arse that he was. That same day, I asked to be discharged from my post as lieutenant."
His embrace grew tighter, and his body began to shake.
"Once, I loved sailing," he rasped, "but now, all it does is make me relive Liam's death. I wasn't there for him when I should have been. I should have saved him."
Was there anything she could say to soothe that loss? His brother's death had clearly been an accident, but he was blaming himself, even though it wasn't his fault. "You did the best you could," she finally whispered. "No one could have done more than you did."
There was no sign of agreement on his part. His hurt was radiating too much and blinding him to the truth.
Working up her courage, Emma timidly asked, "Is that...how you lost your hand? In the fire?"
"Aye." He freed his hand to wipe at his eyes. "I burned it badly, trying to reach for him. The doctors said it couldn't be saved and they had to amputate what was left. I woke up without it, went into a bloody panic. I must have used up the hospital's entire bank of sedatives, with the way I carried on. Some days, I can bear to look at the damn thing. On others, I wish my entire arm had been cut off."
Her fingers sought for the hidden stump, not letting go of it even when he tried to pull it away.
"You're not disgusted by it?" He sounded revolted.
A sad smile crossed her lips. Did he think that of her? That she judged by appearances only? "I like to see people for what they are, not what they have."
He let out a ragged sigh. "You're one of the few who do, lass."
"Like Milah."
"A bold lass who gave me a second chance at life. She didn't care that I was lacking a hand; she wanted Killian Jones, invalid or not. I didn't have much to offer a woman like her ― fierce, determined like a lion, but she still chose to love me. She was going to marry me, to fight for custody of her son. But her husband didn't wait for that. He drove right at us in a head-on collision, in broad fucking daylight. The demon of man escaped unscathed. She bled out in minutes on the seat next to me, and like with Liam, I was helpless, pinned down and unable to move."
Memories of her time in foster care came back to her. The endless nights, worrying about the next day. The uncertainty that her foster parents meant a word they said to her, about anything. The abuse she'd witnessed and experienced.
She had always been helpless, from the very start. It was hard to believe in choices when circumstances didn't let you have any.
He lifted his head, staring around at the living room. "This was to be our house. I bought it for her. Roses were her favorite flower. I planted them myself. When she saw what I'd done with the place, she called it her paradise on earth."
Her eyelids stung. "I shouldn't have touched them. I shouldn't have..." she swallowed hard, "caused you so much trouble."
"No, Swan." He shook her gently. "You are the best bloody thing that's come my way in years. Years, darling. It means so much to me that you are here, by my side. I bless the day you found my home and decided to return to it. I treasure the day I met you."
She let out a weak laugh. "We really need to stop punishing ourselves for how we've hurt each other. There are only so many apologies my stomach can digest."
His chuckles were muffled by her hair. "Too true, love."
Emma finally lifted her head up to look up at him. She knew he could see the trails of tears on her cheeks. But his own eyes were reddened, deep blue clouded over by the sadness they shared.
There was no shame in this. Together, they had created a bridge of understanding. In this moment, she had never felt as close to anyone as she did to him. He was...
"Do you think...we can start over?"
His lips formed a smile. "Over?"
She cleared her throat, blushing even as she stared into that powerful gaze. "I want to be friends with you. No more closing the door, no more periods of silence. I want us to be friends."
Killian's hand twitched as it paused before her face. Then his warm palm slid over heated skin to frame her cheek, his thumb wiping off wetness, his fingertips running over her temple. It was the sweetest caress she had ever received.
When his forehead rested against hers, they sighed at the same time, as if their senses had been waiting indefinitely for this soothing, enveloping touch.
"It would be an honor, to be your friend." His eyelids closed, and he licked at his lips, whispering, "I'm here to stay, Emma. I'm not going anywhere. I'm here for you, if you want me to be."
It was with a lighter heart and mind that Emma fell asleep that night, burrowed in the covers of her new bed. She was still marveling over how he had known what décor would please her, which colors would be relaxing. As were his words and his actions― he had carved out a path for them to walk along, a new path as friends, and he hadn't even realized how perfectly he had done it.
She searched for sleep with the letter ― his letter ― clutched tightly to her chest.
Once upon a time, there was lass who was curious and stubborn. One day, she stumbled upon a house surrounded by roses. The roses belonged to the beast who dwelt inside the house...a beaten, broken man, clinging to old memories of a dead brother and a lost sweetheart. He shut out the world because he was intent on not living any longer. There was nothing to live for.
Then he saw this lass. A beautiful, sad-looking, golden girl, and she loved his roses. He watched her. He watched how she stared at them, how she ached to touch them, to smell them, to feel them. It reminded him of someone he once loved, a woman named Milah.
The thorns of pain in his heart began to drive in deeper, and he began to grow angry again. The lass was opening his wounds by daring to claim the one thing he had left. In his jealousy and his rage, he selfishly drove her away, hoping that if he punished her and made her feel his hatred, she would leave. But she didn't. She was strong and up to the challenge, meeting him blow for blow, never turning away. There were times when he pushed too hard and hoped that would be enough to send her out the door, never to return. She didn't break. Instead, she swept the clutter out of his yard and his life.
She didn't know it, but he saw how hard she tried. Despite himself, respect for her took bloom and grew. The hate he thought he held toward her vanished as if it had never existed. Perhaps it never had, and was of his own imagining. He could no longer deny that she was part of his life, the life he'd tried to destroy with drink and shaded windows to block out the light. And even more...he wanted to learn about this brave woman. Her past, what had brought her to him. Why she always had such sorrow in her gaze.
The orders he left her became notes. The notes changed into letters. The distance between them lessened into a smaller gap. And for a time, the beast left his fury behind, content in the new friendship of the lass.
But the day came. That terrible day when everyone he loved ― the last hope he had for happiness ― had been ripped from him.
He drank himself into a stupor. He drank and drank until even his bones felt numb. He drank so he would forget himself, even his own name. He wanted to end the pain completely.
The moment he woke up in that hospital bed, he knew only one person would have cared enough to save him. And he hated her for it, for caring for someone unworthy like him, for rescuing him from death. He lashed out with all of the bitterness he had been harboring for so many years, wanting to be reunited with the dead and the past, wanting his full body and spirit back.
She saw beyond his injuries and the shattered pieces that formed his soul. But he still wounded her with his words, determined to turn his hurt onto someone else.
When she didn't come back, he began to worry. His worry was greater than his self-pity and the misery he had wallowed in, stuck in that dingy hospital room. The instant he was back in an empty house, he knew how wrong he had been.
He set out to find her.
When he did, it was as if the dead roses in his garden had blossomed in the middle of winter, bringing the warmth of the sun back.
A beast can't be a beauty. He is covered in ugliness ― true ugliness, when the deadened heart within is corrupted and horrid and deformed from scars and hate and cruelty. It is why he looked upon the loveliness of the roses, desiring to be something he cannot.
On the day the lass returned, he realized that he had been clinging to the thorns more than the roses themselves. They protected him from ever feeling anything other than pain. He had forgotten what happiness felt like. He had forgotten what had made him who he really was inside.
The lass loved the roses because they brought her joy.
The beast who hated and didn't want to love, finally saw the truth: it wasn't the roses that he wanted to look at anymore. It wasn't bushes of pretty flowers that made him hope again.
He wanted to be near her. The woman with true beauty, who had revived the man within and given him the will to love again. He had been lost in a maze of revenge and regret, consumed by both, unable to stop hurting.
Then, without a thought for herself, she rescued his heart from the thorns.