I pulled back, taking Kenna’s face in my hands. “Don’t let other people’s ignorance influence your value. You’re so much more than they could ever see. And you’re never more beautiful than when you let me get a peek of who you truly are, imperfections and all.”

There was a battle warring in her eyes, I could see it. “Okay.”

“Good.” I took Kenna’s mouth in a slow kiss, her taste imprinting on my tongue. One day, this woman would see herself as I did. Strong because she’d been broken. Loving because she’d been hurt. Perfect in all of her imperfections.

34

Kenna

“Are you sure you don’t want something? A juice, at least?”

I gave my head a shake as Bell rubbed a hand up and down my back. If I ate anything, I’d just end up barfing when I reached the stand.

“You look really pale…”

“Gee, thanks.” I’d taken extra time with my appearance that morning, straightening my hair to within an inch of its life, applying a layer of understated makeup, I’d even done an internet search for court-appropriate attire. But there was nothing that I could do about the fact that all the blood had drained out of my head.

Bell stopped rubbing my back and took one hand in hers as we sat on one of the courtroom benches. “Sorry, I’m just worried about you.”

I gave her hand a squeeze. “I know. Sorry I’m being bitchy.”

“Not bitchy, just sarcastic. And I know your sarcasm comes out when you’re feeling scared.”

Something in me warmed at her words, and I had the sudden urge to cry. What was going on with me? Ever since I’d had my breakdown with Crosby and had told him about losing my girl, my emotions had been all over the place. It hadn’t helped that my mom was lurking around, along with Grant. I took a slow, deep breath. In a few weeks, everything would go back to normal, and my body and heart would no longer feel as if they were going haywire.

Crosby glanced over his shoulder from where he was seated at the front of the room and gave me a wink. I couldn’t help but wonder if he’d still be around in the same way he was now. My heart gave a painful squeeze at the idea of things going back to the way they were before. In a status quo where we bickered but didn’t know anything below the surface about each other.

Bell bumped my shoulder with hers. “How are things there?”

I gave a little jolt at her words, totally lost in my own world. One where I was staring very intently at Crosby McCoy. “Things are…complicated.”

“I’ve found that things almost always get that way before they get good.”

“Or before they get bad.”