Chapter 24 Winona Bishop
Chapter twenty-four
Winona Bishop
Breathe — Tommee Profitt, Fleurie
The pitter-patter of the rain, the howling wind, and the familiar darkness feel comforting right now, as my identity has been shattered.
I wondered who he was when I should have been asking, “Who am I?”
Just a number in the statistics. I’ve seen it too many times in my career as a dispatcher. I never thought I was anyone different from who I was supposed to be, even when I didn’t quite fit in.
I assumed that feeling was genuine when one feels like the black sheep of their family.
I was saved.
I keep repeating the words in my head.
I was saved and given a second chance.
Should I be grateful or royally pissed at the world for spawning so many untamable monsters that feed off innocent laughter and curious minds?
But I was saved.
I gaze at him while he sleeps, clutching the handle tightly while the blade presses his throat. “I thought you left me, Reeve. And now you’re telling me that my life is a complete lie.”
His eyes snap open and lock onto mine.
“Shh…” I whisper against his skin, bringing the blade to his lips. “I need more answers.”
“Are you going to cut the answers out of me?” he asks nonchalantly, knowing I won’t.
“Tempting.”
He smirks. “I thought you missed me. Now you want to kill me.”
“I guess I’m in the mood. You know a thing or two about that, don’t you?”
He laughs softly for a moment before locking his gaze with mine again, relaxing his perfectly crafted features one by one. The longing in his blue eyes shines through. It pleads. It rages. Regret. Love. Admiration. Anger. Fear. They all blend together.
“So, this is the part where you get mad.”
“I’m furious,” I reply, inhaling his intoxicating scent—sandalwood, cigarettes, and leather—deep into my lungs. “You broke me. Losing you tore my heart from my chest and shattered it into unrecognizable pieces.”
“Winona, I had to do this for both of us. I needed answers about my past and what happened, too.”
“Did you find it?”
“Almost.”
So, this isn’t over yet. There is still something or someone out there he’s after.
“You could have taken me with you. Our love meant everything to me. You were more important to me than anyone else.“ I press the blade harder, and he doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t move at all.
“I died with you. I mourned you every day. I felt sad, angry, and desperate because you left. I knew that you were out there. I didn’t believe it for a second. ”
“I know that,” he pauses, “that’s why I had to set you free as well.” I catch the deeper meaning in his tone. I understand that not being there for me is the hardest thing he’s ever done.
“So my grandma built an organization to save abducted kids worldwide, and I was the first on the list? She introduced me to my fake parents once in a blue moon, making up a story about them and calling me her granddaughter because we look alike.”
“She’s not the bad guy in your story. She saved us both. And her organization is many things.”
“I get it. I truly do. But why keep it a secret from me, my whole life?”
“Because she wanted you to live your life and avoid another heartbreak. Chances are, you won’t find them. Your grandma tried for years. She never gave up.”
“I had the right to know. I don’t know if my birth parents are alive or not. What if I have siblings? Family members? What is my real name?”
“What if you hadn’t met me if it weren’t—” Reeve stops himself mid-sentence, and I hear what he isn’t saying loud and clear, and that realization strikes me in the chest.
I move away from him into a sitting position.
“I can’t imagine my life without you. Even when I thought you were gone, I remained grateful for everything we’ve shared. I don’t know what to do with that knowledge. It doesn’t change anything, but it changes everything.”
“It doesn’t have to,” he pulls himself up and cups my cheeks, “you wanted answers because you felt like you didn’t belong in that house, that’s what you told me.
Something is missing. I lived with my parents, but it wasn’t what I needed.
Or maybe it was because it made me who I am today.
What I’m trying to say is that sometimes our stories unfold differently because this is who we are meant to be.
It took me a long time to come to terms with that. I hope one day you will, too.”
The emotional turmoil is buried deep in my soul. It’s overwhelming and disorienting. We’re already in the middle of nowhere, and there’s nowhere to run without danger looming over our shoulders. But he is right here, looking at me with his loving eyes.
He pulls a cigarette from the pack on the nightstand and places it between his lips. He only smokes when he’s nervous, hurt, or overthinking.
I snatch it and flick it onto the floor.
“Winona…”
“I need to feel you’re real. I don’t want to think about it at all right now. I want to be touched. I want my husband.” I point the tip of the blade at his chest, and he looks down at it with a small grin.
“It’s not like I don’t already have a thousand of those. What’s one more scar made by my favorite person in the world?” he brings his thumb and forefinger to my chin.
“A souvenir,” I answer.
Danger flickers in his eyes.
“I knew you had that tendency when I was younger. I even made a joke about it once.” I let the knife trail down his abs. “I didn’t expect lungs but… I guess you did what you had to do.”
“I wasn’t really myself.”
“Or maybe this is who you are,” I suggest.
“You think I want to be a monster?” Something in his eyes breaks when he says those words.
“You’re not a monster, you’re a protector.
You’ve always been a protector. And in the world we live in, the difference between the two is razor-thin.
Sometimes you need to become someone else to save yourself or the ones you love.
But you already knew that. You were waiting for me to understand it better. ”
The corners of his mouth curl into a radiant grin. “Bringing you here was the only way to set you free from everything back home and show my wife how resilient she is.”
“Technically, we’re not married because you’re dead.”
“Semantics. We don’t need rings, vows, or a fake certificate with the wrong name to know we’re connected far beyond the grave.” Reeve takes the knife from my hand, letting his fingers graze my skin before placing it on the nightstand.
“Maybe we should fake my death, too. I can get a new name and maybe dye my hair black.”
Watching him swallow hard makes me laugh. His features stiffen as if he’s already bracing for the loss. I know how much he loves my orange hair, but he would never tell me what to do with it.
“Don’t worry, I don’t plan to dye it soon.”
I offer my hand, and he instantly runs the pad of his thumb over my palm.
“When she sent officers and first responders to our house, was all of it fake? Were the people who pretended to be my parents actors?”
“Yes, they were operators,” he confirms, and a small part of me dies.
At least, now I understand why she felt the need to cage me in that house all those years.
“When did you get the scar on your palm?” he softly asks, looking at me with nothing but affection, and a lump forms in my throat. “Did you try to hurt yourself?”
I lower my gaze to the mattress, squeezing my eyes shut. Hurting myself never eased the pain; it only left a reminder on my skin of its control over me and my life.
Arms wrap around me, squeezing me tightly against him. He spreads all his warmth around me as a choked sigh slips from my lips. I slump into him and break down.
“Good, let it go, beautiful,” he says, brushing my hair.
“I didn’t mean to hurt myself. I was thinking of you and…”
“I’m here now,” he assures my sobbing mess. “You can fall apart in my arms, and we can rebuild the world to fit you better when you’re ready.”
My fingers trace the rough scars on his back, gently strumming the tatted skin that hides them, and allowing them to curve around his waist.
It’s been so long.
I poke his chest playfully, and he chuckles before pulling back to give me a look.
“You’re not going to disappear on me?” I ask, studying his features carefully as if he might.
“I’m right here.” He stretches backward to grab something from the nightstand drawer.
“I think we need a few more hours of sleep. It’s still dark outside.
” The cold metal gently loops around my wrists, and he locks the cuff around his wrist too.
Somehow, that small gesture eases the tension I feel inside.
“Okay. But are you going to touch me tomorrow?”
His entire demeanor shifts, looking dangerously seductive—uncompromisingly sexy and wicked, with a piercing gaze only Reeve can master.
“I won’t be able to take my hands off you. I would fight your demons with mine. We’ll let them fight each other while I make love to you.”
That is definitely my Reeve.
I close my eyes. The bed shifts around me, then his lips press mine for a tender kiss.
“Sleep. You know who you belong to.”