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Annie glanced up, marveling that she could almost sense when Henry was present. She'd never felt so connected to anyone before. The line of diners had slowed to a trickle as the lunch rush ended. She'd seen him an hour earlier, eating with Big Pete, before they left together. Now, he was crossing the room—maybe to say hello before he went back to work. A sudden thought made her worry. Had Henry found out? About the incident the previous night?
"You're on borrowed time," she muttered. She had to tell him—the last truth. About her situation. About her living situation. Her hands suddenly fidgety, she swiped down the gleaming counter as he wove his way through the nearly empty dining hall. Tonight, she vowed. After dinner. If they could catch a moment away from the boys- Tonight, they'd be caulking around the first new window that had been installed in the daycare center. Miss Robin had complained about relocating all the kids the previous day—until she'd seen the beautiful, light-filled result this morning.
Fingers crossed under the counter, she waited for him to close the distance. "What are you doing here at this time of day?" Her smile died on her lips as he drew closer, his piercing gaze sending a tumble of warning down her spine. Oh, God—his expression. In a single moment, she saw everything. The vibe of anger. The rigid way he held himself . . . as though he were about to deliver bad news. He knew.
"Annie . . . we need to talk."
His voice was hoarse, sending a shiver of warning over her skin. But, the most painful thing to witness was the flicker of hurt in his eyes . . . because she'd failed to trust him enough. To share her miserable story. To respect him enough to risk losing him—when he finally realized how much baggage she truly carried.
"You . . . know." Instead, he'd learned her truth—likely during a discussion on building safety after Phil nearly injured Marisol and Pete the previous night. On the long walk to the kitchen, he'd likely reviewed all her lies. Half-truths. He'd remember her stalling—leading him on when she could have set him straight. When she should have set him free— to be with someone normal.
"I know."
"I should h-have told you-" Hand to her throat, she squeezed her eyes shut on the rush of scalding tears. Great job, McKenna. The woman who rarely cried was on the verge of losing it—before she even got the chance to explain. But, how was she supposed to handle the loss of the most incredible chance she'd ever been given? "Weeks ago."
Lifting her apron to her burning face, she wiped the tears spilling down her cheeks. Henry Freeman had been her winning lottery ticket. Because with him—she'd cautiously started feeling capable again. Of anything. A shiver tremored through her as she remembered the boys. They worshipped Hank. "I've ruined everything."
"Don't cry, sweet." Brilliant, blue eyes flashed with a trace of alarm, bringing a painful smile to her lips. In one respect, it appeared all men were the same. They all seemed to panic at the sight of tears. He motioned for her to leave the pile of silverware on the counter. "Let's take a walk."
Her shoulders sagged as she rounded the stainless steel counter. Only hours earlier, she'd been relieved—that she wouldn't have to leave New Beginnings. Her family would remain intact. They'd be safe as they contemplated how to deal with Phil.
But now—she wondered how she'd bear it. Seeing Henry every day. He was rigid by her side, his body radiating anger. Wariness. Of her. How could she look into the kindest eyes she'd ever known—and acknowledge she'd lost him?
He hesitated beside her. "Is there a place where we can talk privately?"
Unwilling to see the finality in his eyes, she kept her head down. "Not really."
"What about-" He hesitated. "Could we talk in your . . . room?"
A shudder tremored through her. At least when he left her, she'd be able to cry in privacy. "It's not usually allowed . . . but, under the circumstances-" Her words choked in her throat. "C'mon. I'll show you."
Crossing the hall, Henry remained quiet beside her. Until she used her key to open the locked door that led to the stairs. "This should be card-entry," he muttered.
She glanced over her shoulder. "We're issued these keys." When he hesitated, staring at the wall near the door, she waited, curious. What was he thinking now?
Forgetting the pain she would soon be feeling, she watched him walk off the steps to the exterior wall. Smiled when he took a moment to scribble several notes on his pad. Dear, practical Henry. Even now, after receiving the shocking confirmation that she'd lied to him- After learning he'd come dangerously close to dating a nightmare . . . She sighed. He was still able to multi-task. Compartmentalize. She could probably stand to take a few lessons from him.
"Sorry." The flash of his devastating smile tortured her, providing a measure of hope she had no right to wish for. "I need to price a few improvements we've been discussing. That saves me a little time."
They walked side by side up the two flights of stairs, neither speaking. Each step Annie took seemed to nudge her closer to losing him. Twenty steps. Eighteen. For a brief ten weeks, she'd found a measure of stability. She'd found friends. She'd found- She glanced to the handsome man at her side. She'd found love. A man—she could love. Hell, maybe already did love.
"I'm . . . on the second floor." Her voice, laden with regret, echoed softly on the cinder block walls. Twelve steps.
"How many families?"
"There are—ten of us . . . on each floor."
He stopped on the landing. "All of you . . . are families?"
She managed to meet his gaze, unashamed of her situation. Only sorry she had lied about it. "There are other shelters in the area for women who are alone. This is one of the few that doesn't separate families."
He released a ragged breath. "Jeez, Annie—I-"
His voice trailed off with regret. How would Hank finish that sentence? I pity you? I can't handle your baggage? She steeled herself not to guess. Not to waste time on what-might-have-been. She had plenty of real problems to dwell on.
They started up again. Six steps. Three. The loss of a wonderful, kind man was, by necessity, at the bottom of her list.
They reached the second floor. Always a gentleman, Henry held the heavy, fire-rated door for her. She counted the doors along her quiet hallway, a rare stillness in mid-afternoon. A few women were likely napping. Catching rest as they were able. Because a few hours later, the noise level would increase exponentially. Kids home from school. Babies fussing before dinner. The evening congestion in the overcrowded communal bathrooms. Baths to be given.
"Here we are." She glanced up at him, the slide of her key breaking the silence, before nudging open the door.
***
HIS HEART ROARING LIKE a locomotive hurtling down the track, Hank wasn't sure what to expect. Wasn't certain what to say. What he could do—to lift the veil of sadness from her eyes. To lessen her sense of failure—for he knew her well enough by now to understand she would blame herself. For everything.
She took three steps into the narrow room, the rigid set of her shoulders telling him everything. "This is-" She released a shuddering breath, still not facing him. "Our h-home . . . for now."
Until Phil made her run again. "Annie, love." He cleared his throat around the painful knot that had taken residence. Through peripheral vision, he took in the tiny room, though his gaze remained on her. Helpless to look away from the proud woman standing before him. Twin beds, about six feet apart from each other. A superhero nightlight glowed reassuringly over one bed. The one with pillows at both ends. The boys had to share. Hank tried to imagine them there each night. "Can you look at me, sweet?"
"I should h-have told you last night." She sniffed back tears, her back still to him. "But—there was so much else-"
Taking another few steps, she sank into the lone chair in the room. A metal folding chair. Under a small window, high up near the ceiling. A window air conditioner—blocking light, but likely offering relief from the sweltering, summer heat that would soon arrive. She had so little. Yet, it was neat. Clean. Beds made. Three storage containers stacked in the corner. Annie was making do with nothing. She was raising her boys—striving for normalcy in a situation so far outside the realm of normal- Humbled by her surroundings, Hank swallowed around the ache of regret.
Annie sat in the shadows, shoulders hunched, still unable to look at him. Afraid she might be lost to him, he closed the distance between them. "Honey, talk to me," he urged, praying she would say something. "Tell me the rest of your story."
Blinking back tears, her expression was devastated. As though she'd given up. As though him knowing the truth was something she couldn't bear. "This is it." Finally raising her gaze to his, he was relieved to read anger there. Defiance. "I've been running since the divorce. Since before the divorce."
An icy fury sliced through his initial shock. "Two years? He's done this to you for two years?"
"This is our sixth shelter," she confessed in a small, defeated voice. Annie swiped at her eyes. "It's the last shelter," she admitted, her voice breaking. "There's nowhere else we can go that has space for a f-family."
He couldn't handle the anguished sound of her defeat. Of her control breaking. The woman he cared about- Hell—was half in love with. Closing the gap, he tugged her to her feet. "Baby, come here. Let me hold you."
Relieved when she let him pull her into his arms, he held her, stroking her back when she buried her face in his shirt. "I don't know what to say to make this better," he admitted, grateful that she seemed to be returning from the sad, distant place she'd retreated to. "But—I want to. I want to help you, Annie. You have to tell me how I can fix this."
Her smothered laughter eased the painful band around his chest. "Henry, I'm not one of your buildings." When she raised her gaze to his, relief poured through him. Some of the sparkle had returned to her beautiful eyes. "We can't just—move a wall. Or install a new door." Her mouth drifted to his throat. "This is a crazy, unstable man—who h-hates me. Who hates his kids. Who doesn't want to pay for them."
"What do you mean?" When she rested her head against his chest, his heart flopped against his ribs. God—she belonged there.
"He's likely been served with another child support notice. Which means he must finally have a job again."
"This is about money?"
She tipped her head back to stare at him. "For the most part, yes. But, he's also just—mean. And crazy. An alcoholic." He felt her shrug against him. "Hell, I don't even know for sure anymore."
"How long have you lived here?"
"Ten weeks." Her smile didn't reach her eyes. "I arrived a couple weeks before you did."
"Before that?"
She led him to the bed so they could sit together. "Before that, I was in a tiny rental. But, that only lasted two weeks before he found us. Before that, we were here for a month—but that was temporary. We were moved here because the shelter before that . . . wanted to separate us." "Separate?" He stilled, almost disbelieving what he was hearing. "You mean—the boys?"
She shrugged, tears leaking from her eyes as she looked away. "I couldn't do it. So, we came here, but Sharon didn't have space for us to stay longer. There's a constant wait list for New Beginnings."
A wait list for women . . . being beaten. Hank swallowed around the grief of knowing that. No wonder Marisol was such a determined fundraiser. New Beginnings was personal—maybe for all of them. "So, you took a chance and tried to make it on your own—with the rental?"
"I was out of options." she admitted. "I had no idea he'd find us so quickly." Her gaze drifted to the far wall. Blank, except for a calendar, where days were marked with an X. "Besides breaking in, he vandalized it. So, I lost my security deposit. Had to come running back here. Thank God, Sharon took us back."
Hank suddenly understood. She didn't work downstairs. She volunteered—to defray the cost of them living there. "Is that what he does? Makes you spend money you don't have?"
Annie startled next to him. "That's exactly what he does. Three years ago, I started planning my escape from him." Releasing a gusting breath, she reached for his hand. Surprised, he acknowledged relief pouring through him.
"I started working a ton of overtime. I was working at St. John's then." She smiled when he squeezed her fingers. "It was a hard choice. Working lots of hours meant the boys had to stay in daycare because I couldn't risk leaving them with Phil. But, in six months, I managed to stash about four thousand dollars in an account Phil didn't know about."
"Preparing to leave him," he guessed. "Did you anticipate him doing this?"
She shrugged slender shoulders. "I knew I'd get nothing in the divorce. Not that we had anything. Phil didn't like working." She glanced up, as though expecting censure. "I was just hoping to get set up in an apartment. Keep working my job." She chewed her bottom lip. "We would've been fine. A little tight on money, but I didn't care about that. I just wanted-"
Peace. To be free of fear. Escape his abuse. Hank had to fight not to clench his hand into a fist.
"I never suspected he would prevent me from working."
"So, the money started running out." He released a calming breath. Voice neutral. Not seething with the fury he wanted to unleash on Phil McKenna.
"It's nearly gone," she admitted, her voice breaking. "What should have been an emergency fund—a cushion . . . became all I had. Each time he found us, I ended up squandering the security deposit because of the damage he'd do breaking in."
Frustration churned in his stomach. Her simple explanation for a person who'd wreaked havoc in her life. Who'd abused her and the boys. Physically and emotionally tried to destroy her.
"I never realized he would prevent Tommy from staying in the same school-" Her voice an agonized whisper. "Jason was just a baby—but Tommy-"
The little guy's resentment. His wish for his mommy . . . was to simply stay in one place. "How many schools has he been enrolled in?" He scrolled his memory. The questions about making friends. I don't have anyone to eat lunch with.
"Three this year." Her voice had gone hoarse. Quiet. Sad. As though she'd failed her sons.
Hank tugged her closer. "It's not your fault, love." When a tear splashed down on their joined hands, he shifted to face her. "Annie—it's not your fault."
Her smile quavered. "Try explaining that to him."
***
"HONEY, WE'RE GONNA fix this."
Henry's vow lifted Annie's spirits, if only temporarily. She leaned into him, loving the sturdy strength of his body next to hers. Absorbing the sense of comfort he provided, as though it were sunshine warming her skin. However fleeting Henry's presence proved to be in their lives, she was going to seize every single moment. Embrace them. Store them in her memory for later. The long, endless later. When he would no longer be there. For the day she'd be forced to run again.
"How do you get around, love?" His arm around her, he pulled her closer. "Do you have a car?"
"I have to hide it," she admitted. "I rent a storage unit . . . which takes money-" She didn't have.
"Hide?" He stiffened beside her.
"When I risk going out . . . like if one of the boys is sick. Or a parent-teacher meeting at school." Or to help one of the other women. "I have to w-walk a half hour to get it."
"In this neighborhood?" Hank closed his eyes, his breathing accelerating. "Why, Annie?"
She dropped her gaze from the intensity in his. "Last year, Phil . . . put a tracker on it." Annie swallowed, remembering several weeks earlier—the night when Gabby needed to take little David to the ER. At two in the morning, the skeletal New Beginnings staff had been on overload—with a new woman coming in. Gabby had been desperate. Pleading with her. Her son's fever dangerously high.
Unable to refuse, she'd stepped out into the damp, dark night. On her own. Alone. Heart in her throat. Terrified she wouldn't make it to the storage facility. Drenched with sweat by the time she did. Nearly fainting with relief once she was safely behind the wheel. It had been a dangerous choice. A foolish one. Risking herself. Her boys. Risking discovery. But, the women on her floor had become family.
"The bastard tracks you with GPS?" His voice an angry rasp, she knew it was taking everything in his power for Henry to not lose control. A rational, civilized man who couldn't fathom the thought of violence against a woman.
Three years earlier, Annie hadn't known how stubborn Phil would be in fighting the divorce. Ironically, he'd become a more invested ex-husband than he'd ever been while they were married. She hadn't known she'd still be running two years after the final decree.
"It's only about two miles," she reassured him, unable to resist brushing her lips against his throat.
"Two-" His throat seemed to be working overtime. "You could have been-" His voice had gone hoarse.
"Henry," she whispered. "Can you just . . . hold me?" Don't get angry, she prayed. Not now. Not here. She inhaled his comforting scent. I just want peace. For a few minutes.
He held himself rigid, a muscle flexing in his jaw as he stared down at her. Emotion flared in his eyes, but Annie was no longer certain whether it was anger or pity. Like an automaton, he raised his hands to her shoulders. She relaxed against him as he slowly loosened with her touch. When he trailed his fingers down her arms, she released a gusting sigh.
She wanted comfort. She wanted to lie to herself that everything could go back to the way it was. When he still wanted her. When he wanted them. A deep sense of longing swept over her. Would they still have Saturday? Or would she lose that, too?
When he finally lowered his mouth to hers, she was nearly desperate for it. For the strength in him. For his arms around her. For the control he always managed to maintain, no matter how angry he seemed to get over Phil. For the sense that with him—everything would be okay. She sifted her fingers through his hair, tugging him closer. "Henry," she murmured against his lips.
Seeming to know what she needed, he slid his tongue between her lips. Taking the kiss deeper, he met her anxious need with a slow, gliding heat. Soothing her, his tongue stroking hers. His mouth nibbling at the corner of her mouth. Driving her crazy. His big, callused hands cradling her face. "Easy, love," he muttered, his voice a heated rasp over her skin.
Her panting breath broke the stillness in her tiny room. Surprising him, she tugged him down on the too small bed. "Henry, I want-" Her frantic hands found the buttons on his shirt. His beautiful eyes stared down at her, cloudy with passion. He covered her fumbling fingers with his.
"I know, love. I know what you want."
She glanced to the door, hearing a voice echoing down the hallway. Near the bathroom, her hazy brain guessed.
"I want that, too," he whispered, nuzzling her throat with hot, wet kisses that made her shiver.
She squirmed against him. "We can be quiet," she gasped as his mouth moved lower. His lips brushing her collarbone.
"I've been wanting to kiss that spot for damn near two months." He grazed the spot, nipping it with his teeth, before soothing it with his tongue.
"You feel so good." Annie released a low, throaty moan. "Henry-" When he shuddered against her, she froze. "W-what is it?" Her brain too scattered to form words, all she could think of was his strong body. Tough, sinewy muscles. Her hands—everywhere. "Are we? Is someone-"
His shoulders were shaking—with laughter? Staring down at her, he nipped her lips again. "Darlin' if this is you bein' quiet, I sure as hell can't wait until Saturday night."
"You're—laughing at me?" Her lips twitched in a reluctant smile. Tugging through his gorgeous salt and pepper hair, she watched his face relax as she massaged his scalp.
"At me," he corrected. He groaned as her fingers moved to his shoulders, kneading the tightly coiled muscles. "Those three days were already going to be torture. Now, you've gone and made it worse."
Hope flared. "We could . . . take the edge off."
A shudder rolled through him, before he lurched from the bed as though it were on fire. "Annie—we can't." He ran an unsteady hand through his hair. "I don't have-" His heated gaze revealed frustration. "It's been a long time since I've needed any sort of . . . protection."
She startled, bolting up to a sitting position. Hand to her mouth, she avoided glancing at the rumpled bedspread. "I forgot." Slowly shaking her head, she knew her face had to be crimson. "I . . . it's been so long," she whispered. "I—haven't been on birth control since-" Hell, how long had it been? Years. Before Jason. Before Phil had taken her pills from the cabinet . . .
"Tell me about it," he teased. "I bet it's even longer for me, darlin'." His slow, sexy drawl was nearly her undoing. "I don't think I've bought condoms in . . . twenty years."
His wife. She'd done the math in her head one night . . . lying awake in her bed, thinking about him. He'd met Gayle when he was nineteen. "Henry, I'm sorry." Mortified, she rose to her feet. "I shouldn't have started-"
He pulled her against him, his erection pressed to her stomach. "Rest assured, I'll be buying them this week."
At least a dozen. Heat flashing through her, Annie knew she was blushing furiously.
He smothered a chuckle. "Have I mentioned how expressive your eyes are?"
"I was just thinking-" Her voice trailed off, the brief hint of bravery running for the hills.
"Tell me, sweet," he encouraged. "You know how I love that beautiful brain of yours."
"You should . . . get a big box."
His mouth grazed her cheek. "You're beautiful when you blush." His whispered words sent heat curling through her stomach. "Such a luscious shade of pink." He nipped at her lips. "I can't wait to discover it everywhere else."
Her breath huffed out. Closing her eyes on a wave of desire, she clutched his shoulders for balance. "Okay, then. We have a . . . date—for Saturday."
When he tipped her chin up, his gaze held only promise. "Saturday is only the start, love."
Please let that be true, she prayed. Because worse than poverty . . . worse than running—would be the thought of never seeing Henry again.
***
THE REST OF HANK'S hectic day passed in a blur. By the time he'd checked in with the steel erectors, made the rounds of the other subcontractors on site and finally returned to his makeshift office in the conference room, Jeff Traynor was long gone. Their conversation on building safety would have to be continued the following day. Taking advantage of the relative quiet, he got to work sketching out details for the possible improvements they could make in the dining room and the corridor where both the daycare center and the entrance to the upstairs living spaces sat. Several long, tedious phone calls later, he'd obtained preliminary pricing information on enclosing the serving line area. Rubbing the back of his neck, he checked his watch.
If he quit now- "You can visit the boys in the daycare center."
By five-thirty, there were only a handful of kids remaining in the daycare. Miss Robin glanced up from her spot by the table in the corner. "Mr. Hank, would you care to join us for some coloring?"
"Uh-"
"Mr. Hank, look at the picture I's colorin' for you."
Saved by a four-year-old. Hank winked at Miss Robin, relieved to swivel his attention to Jason. "What are you making for me?"
"See—it's a horsie. I think you should get one so Millie and Nelson don't get lonely."
Unable to resist the chocolate brown eyes staring up at him, he hoisted Jason into his arms. "Let's take a look at that. I don't think I've ever seen a green horse before."
"That's cuz he eats lots 'a grass."
"That would be a good reason." When Tommy crossed the room from the spot where he was building Legos, Hank pulled him in for a hug, tousling his messy curls. He couldn't shake the wistfulness that overtook him. The feeling of rightness- The awareness he'd held all afternoon. Of Annie's boys—just down the hall.
"Hey, TomTom. How was school today?" Hank knew he was treading on dangerous ground. The righteous sense that Annie's boys deserved a father who wanted to spend time with them. Someone who would love them. That—if they could be his kids-
But, Annie wasn't his. Might never be his, his brain tried to warn his foolish heart. Falling for her boys . . . could end up being painful. Instead of one devastating blow, there'd be three.
Tommy shrugged. "It was okay."
The little boy's voice forced Hank to set aside his jumbled thoughts. Because something in his eyes suggested school hadn't been okay. When Jason squirmed in his arms, wanting to finish his drawing, Hank lowered him to the floor. "Once it's done, I promise I'll hang it in my office."
By the time he turned, Tommy had drifted back to the pile of Legos, alone now, since the other boy had been picked up by his mother. Hank caught Miss Robin's eye. "Has he been quiet today?'
"He has," she confirmed. "They had so much fun with you yesterday—outside with the construction equipment." Her suddenly sober gaze met his. "And Jason told me about your trip to the park last night." She nodded to Tommy. "I think everything in here today is sort of a letdown."
Her observation made sense. He calculated whether he should suggest to Annie they return to the park tonight, before dismissing it. Phil had been to New Beginnings. The man in the hoodie. Annie had been frightened the previous night—by something she'd seen. They couldn't risk exposing the boys again. That's how he does it. Hank's startled thoughts stopped him cold. Instead of a normal life, Annie's was lived in constant fear. Phil finding them. Phil hurting the boys. No wonder she was cautious. It made him wonder what precautions they should be making for Saturday's trip to the farm.
"I love the new window."
Shoving aside the uncomfortable realization, Hank smiled over Miss Robin's exuberant tone. "It sure makes it brighter in here, now."
"Well, I had my doubts about all the mess, but now I can't wait for the next one."
"That one might be as early as next week." He nodded to Tommy. "I'm gonna go talk with him. See if I can figure out what's bothering him."
She stared at him. "You're starting to look like a natural, Mr. Hank."
Robin's sly observation had heat rising in his face—and a twinge of sadness poking his ribs. If only. "With these little guys, it's pretty easy." He left her then, crossing the room to plop down on the mat with Tommy. Annie would be there soon, to take them in for dinner. "How was your day, bud?"
Tommy began stacking the pieces back in the rubber tote. "I don't like that school."
Hank had to lean in to hear his mumbled words. "Is it your teacher?"
"No." His eyes downcast, he reached for another fistful. "She's nice. But . . . recess is hard."
Recess? That should've been his favorite time of day. "Is there no one to play with?"
"One boy."
"Did something happen?" Hank scooped a handful of Legos and dumped them in the bin. He wanted Tommy to trust in him . . . but how long would that take? He'd never been a father. Was it something you just inherently knew how to do? His own father had been a good man. Not the greatest communicator, now that he thought of it. But—he wanted Tommy to- "Is someone bothering you?"
Tommy's eyes were troubled when he finally raised his gaze. "Some big boys pushed us off the swings. 'An I fell-" He peered cautiously around him to see if anyone was watching them. "I gots a scrape on my knee." He rolled up his pant leg to show him.
"That doesn't look too bad, Tom Tom."
"No, but-" His expression shifted to fear. "I ripped my jeans. Mommy's gonna be mad-"
"Your mommy won't be mad," he assured him. "I promise you, she'll understand."
"She can fix 'em." His expression resigned, he grabbed another handful. "But, I only gots one pair of pants—'an I hafta wear them tomorrow, too."
Hank paused, mid-scoop, remembering the single tiny bed they shared upstairs. The only decoration, a super hero nightlight. The neatly stacked containers . . . not much larger than the bin they were filling with Legos. The dwindling money. Each time Annie had been forced to run . . . another piece of their lives was left behind. They'd likely lost everything.
"Mommy says I grow like a weed."
No money to buy new clothes for two fast-growing boys. "How about if I explain what happened?"
Tommy's eyes widened. "Could you?"
"I promise." He wanted so much for them. But, he couldn't forget Annie's expression that afternoon—the moment she'd realized he knew she lived there. Resignation. Shame. As though it were somehow worse because he knew. Because she was proud. And independent. She wanted to prove she would succeed, no matter what Phil did to them. "What size are those?"
When Tommy shrugged, Hank checked the label in the waistband, conscious that he was seriously overstepping his bounds. 6X. Did sizes correlate to age? He glanced to Jason. Did that mean Jason was a 4? "C'mon Sport, it's almost dinner time." He would have to be careful. Subtle. Hank winced. Not exactly his strong suit. But, he would have to try—because if Annie suspected him of financial assistance, she might be insulted. Offering Tommy his hand, he tugged him up from the floor. He didn't want her to hurt anymore—and he sure as hell didn't ever want to be the one doing the hurting. But, maybe Saturday, he could begin to put his plan in action.
***