![]() That was the very first time I tore up a once-in-a-lifetime offer. He wouldn’t stop even as I chased him across the street and he shut the door in my face. He wouldn’t turn around as he walked down the front stairs, through our front gate. He’d rusted over with embarrassment and left. Turns out, I know wasn’t the right reply. To this day I know he loves me, in that old, stitched-into-my-family way. How could I not? How many times had he saved me? I’d have to have been a moron to not know it. Tom told me in a steady, reasonable voice: Because I love you. And I’d replied without thought or gravitas, I know, because I’d always felt it. I thought it was typical Valeska-in-the-snowdrifts stuff. It had been no secret that he didn’t approve of all the black-clad guys and how I stayed out all night. I was eighteen, putting black platforms on over my fishnets to go hang out with a bad crowd, and Tom had leaned on my door frame and asked me not to go out. ![]() ![]() That time when I was possibly at 100 percent and didn’t know it. I didn’t sleep much last night, because I kept thinking about that time a long time ago when Tom told me exactly how he felt, and I didn’t understand. ![]()
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