Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Red
Blue arrives home wrecked, shattered in a quiet, dangerous way that makes my chest tighten the second I see her. Her smeared makeup, distressed eyes, and body moving like it's on a delay tell me she's spinning out. She stands in the doorway like she isn't sure she's allowed inside her own skin.
"Hey," I say softly.
Her chin wobbles.
I cross the space between us and pull her into me before she can decide whether to bolt or collapse. She goes willingly, melting against my chest, fists clutching the back of my shirt like she's afraid I might disappear if she loosens her grip.
"It went bad," she whispers, voice breaking.
What went bad?
I murmur into her hair, "I've got you, Bluebird. You're safe. You're here."
She shakes in earnest, then a loud sob rips out of her, violent enough to compete with a wounded animal.
I guide her to the couch, sit down, and pull her onto my lap.
She curls into me immediately, her face buried against my neck, crying hard and ugly.
I stroke her hair, count my breaths, and keep my voice low and steady when she gasps for air.
She chokes out at one point, "They hate you. My dad said—he said you—"
They know about us.
The hairs on my arms rise.
I press my lips to her temple. "Stop. You don't have to tell me tonight."
She sniffles, then pulls back, pinning her glassy, swollen eyes on me. "You're not mad I told them?"
Fuck!
I shake my head. "No. I'm worried about you."
Her shoulders sag, like she's been holding them up with sheer willpower, and finally let go. She cries harder then, quieter but deeper, like something old has been cracked open.
I hold her through all of it.
Eventually, the sobs slow. Her breaths even out. The tension in her body eases just enough that I know she's running on fumes, past adrenaline, panic, and straight into emotional exhaustion.
I softly order, "Come on. Let's get you to bed."
She nods without lifting her head.
I lead her into the bedroom, then help her out of the dress and pull one of my shirts over her head. It swallows her, and she clings to it like it's armor.
I tuck her under the covers and slide in behind her, pulling her back against my chest.
She starts crying again, but it's smaller this time, broken little sounds she tries yet fails to keep quiet.
I tighten my arm around her waist and lace my fingers through hers. Then I press my mouth to the back of her neck, murmuring, "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. Breathe with me."
Eventually, when her tears have soaked my pillow and arm, she calms. At some point, she whispers, barely audible, "I thought love would be enough."
The words land heavily in my chest.
I say quietly, honestly, "For me, it is."
She lets out a small, broken sound that's a half sob, half relief. She grips my hand tighter.
A few minutes later, her breathing deepens. Her body slackens. Sleep takes her the way it always does when she's cried herself past the edge.
I don't sleep the entire night.
I lie in the dark, staring at the ceiling, replaying everything I know without knowing the details. The certainty in my gut tells me exactly how her conversation with her parents went. And I stay still all night, afraid that if I move, she'll wake up and fall apart again.
When morning comes, my alarm buzzes softly on the nightstand. I silence it immediately. Blue doesn't stir, but her face tightens for a second, as if, even unconscious, she senses separation.
I kiss her hair gently.
She stirs, sniffles, and blinks a few times. "Hey."
I kiss her on the lips. "Hey."
"Did last night happen, or was it a nightmare?" she asks.
I feign a smile. "It happened."
Her eyes fill with tears.
"Shh. It's okay. Everything will be okay," I say, even though I'm not sure if it will.
"What time is it?" she asks.
"A little after 6:30."
She inhales deeply, her breath catching, and sits up straight. "You'd better get ready for work."
"I'm going to stay home with you today."
She shakes her head. "No. I'm fine. Go to work."
"Bluebird—"
"I'm fine. You have clients depending on you," she states.
I assess her closer, then argue, "I don't want you on your own. I don't think you should go into work today either."
"Agree, but I'll be fine on my own," she claims.
"I don't want you on your own."
She takes several breaths, then rises, going out to the living room.
I follow.
She picks up her phone, taps the screen, and holds it to her ear. A moment passes, and she states, "Demi, can you come over to Red's today? He needs to go to work, and I'm a bit...fragile." She closes her eyes and scrunches her forehead.
I step forward and put my hand on her biceps.
She opens her eyes. "Thanks." She tosses her phone on the couch. "Done. You can go to work now."
"I'm okay staying."
"I know you are, and I love you more for it, but I'm not going to be the reason your business goes down. Demi will stay with me. I'll be fine."
I stare at her.
"I'll be safe, Red. Please. Go to work."
I sigh and press my lips to her temple. "Are you sure?"
"Yes."
I cave. "Okay. I'll go to work."
She pulls back, glassy eyes swollen and searching. "Are you mad I told them?"
My chest tightens. I assure, "No. I'm only worried about you."
She wraps her arms around me, hugs me hard, and we stay like that for several minutes. She finally retreats and reorders, "Get ready."
I smile and give her a tiny salute. "Okay, boss."
A tiny laugh comes out of her. She slaps me on the ass and brushes past me into the kitchen.
I get ready fast, almost as if I move quickly enough, I can outrun the weight sitting in my chest. I shower without really feeling the water, shave on autopilot, and pull on clothes that feel wrong on my body.
My shirt is too crisp, too normal for the kind of night we just survived.
Every movement is efficient, controlled, disciplined.
It's the version of me that exists when I don't have the luxury of falling apart.
Blue hovers in the doorway while I button my shirt. She's quieter now, composed in that fragile way that scares me more than tears. Her eyes track me constantly, like she's memorizing my outline in case I don't come back.
I remind her. "I'll text. As soon as I get there."
"I know," she says. Her voice steady, but her fingers twist together at her waist.
I step into her space, cup her face, and press my forehead to hers. "Green, yellow, or red? Pick any color, and I'll come home."
She smiles and nods. "Green."
I kiss her. "Green it is." I force myself to step away just as Demi arrives. After a brief greeting, I leave.
The drive to the office is a blur of red lights and intrusive thoughts. My hands grip the steering wheel tighter than necessary. Every scenario runs through my head uninvited, wondering what her parents will do.
They could call the licensing board, the police, or pull strings I can't see. But what bothers me most is the thought of Blue spiraling the second I'm not there to anchor her.
Will I have to choose between my career and the woman asleep in my bed?
Focus.
Compartmentalize.
It barely works. I'm inside the building within ten minutes of leaving the house. I skip pleasantries and nod at security, then get into my office after the elevator makes several stops.
It's still before eight. So I relock the door and go into my office. The first thing that catches my eye is the hourglass Blue gave me. I reach for it, flip it, and set it on my desk in front of me, watching the sand fall.
A third of it's fallen when a knock on my door tears me out of my trance.
Amy steps across the doorway with her tablet tucked against her chest, professional as always. "Morning, Dr. Mercer. You're in early."
"Couldn't sleep," I answer honestly.
She studies my face for half a beat longer than usual. "Everything okay?"
"Fine," I lie smoothly. "What's up?"
She glances at her tablet. "I wanted to know if we could schedule a meeting soon?"
"For?" I arch my eyebrows.
"I thought since it's been a little over a month, we could discuss my work performance. I also have some ideas about how to make some tasks a bit more efficient if you're open to it?" she asks.
Blue's texts from yesterday flash through my mind, teasing, breathless, and utterly dangerous. A memory I didn't ask for surges forward. Blue's under my desk, hidden, pliant, trusting me with every vulnerable inch of herself.
My body reacts instantly, hard, sharp, unwelcome. I close my eyes for a fraction of a second and shove the image away with force. This is not the time, place, or right headspace.
My throat turns drier as I throw a spark on gasoline. "Like a performance review?"
Amy nods, her brown eyes twinkling. "Yes. Blue told me it would be a good idea to get it on your schedule, or it won't happen."
"Blue?" My cock throbs, pushing against my zipper. Images of her glistening skin under my desk consume me.
Amy smiles. "Yes. She called to tell me she was almost done with the skirt she's creating for me. Isn't that awesome? Anyway, the conversation somehow morphed, and she suggested I ask you for a performance review."
My dirty Bluebird.
My face flushes.
Amy adds, "I'd love your feedback and to see if there's anything I can improve on. I really love working here and want to make sure I'm fulfilling the role as you wish."
"You're doing great," I state, and I mean it.
She beams. "Thank you. Is it okay if I add it to the schedule? Say in a few weeks? You have a couple of openings."
I clear my throat. "Sure, Amy."
"Great! Thanks, Dr. Mercer," she chirps and disappears.
I lean back in my chair, exhaling slowly through my nose, fighting anger and lust. My brain reaches for intensity when it feels threatened. Power and care can easily tangle if I'm not vigilant. I need better control over my bodily reactions.