Chapter 36
THIRTY-SIX
Sophia
Colt drops us off outside of Eric’s apartment building after driving us through somewhere to grab some fast food.
I hold onto the bags, keeping them away from the blood caked onto Eric’s hands.
Every time that I look at him, I see him in that cell, and I feel like I’m going to be sick.
I think about him spending hours alone locked in a cage.
Again.
He’s been quiet since we left the police station, and I’m not sure if it’s because he’s tired – lord knows that I would be – or if it’s because being locked in there brought up painful memories that he’s trapped in again.
I don’t pry, I don’t ask. I just follow him up to his penthouse and into the apartment, kicking off my shoes at the door with him, and I set the bags of food down onto his kitchen island.
“You need to wash your—”
“I thought you were gonna smack the shit out of Alec in there.” he says, separating the buttons at the top of his shirt. “You know all the juicy details, huh?”
I hesitate. He didn’t want me to know, I don’t think.
My mind flashes to that article. To the horrible things written inside. To the little boy that I saw locked in that cage tonight, starving and scared and alone.
I shouldn’t have looked it up. I should have kept my nose out of his business.
But I needed to know.
“Yeah,” I admit with a nod, “I know. That’s why I was late to that party. I found an old article, and…I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have dug it up, it was a total violation of your—”
“Nothin’ makes you run, does it?”
“And nothing breaks you.”
“That’s not true.” A soft smile crosses his features, crinkling up the corners of his eyes. It looks so out of place, with the blood splattered across his cheeks. Something so beautiful and gentle sitting below something born of so much violence. “You did.”
His hands cup my face, and I don’t even notice the blood anymore as his lips meet mine.
I swallow the taste of him, bringing my own hands to his face while I deepen our kiss.
We both forget about our dinner waiting on the counter while we move toward his bedroom, effortlessly gliding through into the attached bathroom.
A strange quiet hangs between us while I reach into the shower and turn on the water flow; it’s not an uncomfortable silence, and it’s far from empty.
So many unsaid words hang in the air between us that they’re palpable.
Eric strips his clothing away, and I do the same, each of us staring at the other while we work, until we step into the water together.
While he works to scrub his hands clean, I reach for a wash cloth, squeezing some of the cleanser that I left here onto it, and I gently work it into the skin on his face, wiping away Leonard’s dried blood.
I gently scrub the cloth along his body, letting the soap and water rinse away any remnants that may have seeped through his shirt while he wore it, and I circle around him until I reach his back.
My breath catches in my throat as I stare at a pair of eyes tattooed between his broad shoulder blades.
My eyes.
The detail work, the eyebrows, the shape of the eyes themselves, all of it is black and gray; but the irises are in beautiful, vivid color.
My hand traces over the recently-healed tattoo, soaking in the beauty of it and everything that it means.
Our tattoos in Cancun were one thing. A kiss left on a napkin, a few colorful flowers on a hat.
They were silly and wild and acted as a souvenir.
But this? He’s made me a part of him. He’s stamped me into his very skin.
“Eric…”
I’m not sure if he can hear my voice break as I say his name, and when he turns to face me, I’m not sure if he can see the tears falling from my eyes under the rushing water raining down from above us.
But when he bends down and presses his forehead to mine, I think the world stops for a minute, coming to a screeching halt as he hooks his finger beneath my chin and tells me, “I love you.”
There’s no veil between us; no simulated sleep, no whispered confessions into my hair. The words are hanging between us, real, alive, and clawing its way into my bones.
Eric Alexander Davis is my soulmate; of this, I am certain.
I drape my arms over the back of his neck, standing on my toes to press a kiss to his lips, fusing our mouths together.
I can feel the tension in his body release, the same tension that I’ve felt build up every night that we’ve spent together since the first time that he whispered his feelings to me.
I’m not even sure how much time passes in that shower, kissing and holding and touching each other. It’s the most intimate thing that I’ve ever experienced in my life, and we don’t even have sex. We don’t speak. We just mold together until the water runs cold.
·
Eric’s breathing, like his heartbeat, is steady while I rest with my head on his chest. My fingers twist at the barbell through his nipple, and I watch it peak in response, forcing a soft chuckle out of me.
If I didn’t know any better, I would think that he was asleep, resting peacefully – which would be crazy, right?
Considering the fact that it’s silent in the room?
The sound of the doorbell sings through the apartment; the doorbell that I didn’t even know existed, and Eric pats the top of my head. “That’s for you,” he tells me, and I prop myself up on his chest, fixing him with a questioning look. “Go get it.”
“It’s your house!”
“It’s your delivery.”
We stare each other down for a minute, Eric wearing a smirk which tells me that he’s up to no good, and I glare at him with as much annoyance as I can muster with him, losing the fight when his fingers clamp down on my nipple, giving it a little twist that makes me squeak.
“Fine!” I laugh, slapping his chest. “I’m going!”
I slip off of the bed to the sound of Eric chuckling. “We gotta get you some of those little steps people get for their chihuahuas.”
“Shut up, giant,” I tell him, turning around to flip my middle fingers up at him.
Making my way through the apartment, I check the peephole to make sure that whoever dropped off this mystery package is gone before I open the door. Waiting outside are several large paper shopping bags and a pair of garment bags.
I scoop everything up, barely able to carry it all, and I bring it inside, kicking the door shut behind me. It takes some effort to cart all of it back to Eric’s bedroom, but I manage, and I toss the armfuls onto his bed. “What the hell is this?” I laugh.
“We’re going out tonight,” he explains with a shrug. “You didn’t have any clothes here.”
“Eric.” I look at his his hands, already bruising from the force of the blows that he landed against Leonard. “It’s been a long day.”
“And Colt and Rowan are waitin’ on us to pick them up,” he tells me with a wink. I shoot him a look, not making much effort to hide my concern, and he laughs it off while he pulls himself to a sitting position. “Come on, I forgot what I ordered, let’s see it.”
Shaking my head, I unload each of the bags, pulling out enough clothes to fill the closet in my apartment.
A couple of dresses that actually look like something that I would pick out, shorts, jeans, a bunch of different tops; both club style and oversized comfy – most printed with graphics for bands that I like, and even a few pairs of shoes.
The more that I unpack, the more I laugh.
By the time that I’ve finished, the lower half of Eric’s bed is covered in brand new clothes. “This is ridiculous,” I tell him. “You are ridiculous.”
He responds by throwing me one of those winning smiles that make my heart skip a beat, lifting his shoulders in a shrug. “Now you have clothes here.”
·
Eric lets us into the house, guiding me inside with a hand between my shoulder blades, and we head into the kitchen. His friend’s son greets us as we come in, loading up a baking sheet with chicken nuggets when we walk in, and he slides it into a toaster oven tucked into the corner of the counter.
“Be right back, Sugar,” Eric tells me. “I’m gonna grab ‘em.”
While he makes his way out of the room and up the stairs, I turn to Emmett. “So you got roped into babysitting duty, huh?”
“I don’t mind it, they don’t get out a lot for non-work related stuff,” he answers. “The girls will be dead to the world all night, anyway.”
Eric’s laughter echoes through the house while he hurries back down the stairs. He makes his way back over to us in the kitchen and rests a hand on my hip, telling me, “Yeah, they’re gonna need a minute.”
“Why, did— oh god,” Emmett groans, his face pinching together in disgust. “I lived down the hall from them for like, five months in blissful ignorance. You’re here two minutes and ruin that. Thanks, Davis.”
“That was so mean,” I chide Eric, trying to stifle my own laughter.
It’s like watching two brothers interact with each other; the older brother teasing and tormenting the younger one with the sole purpose of scarring him for life.
I never really had that kind of relationship with my brother.
We bickered a lot growing up, but we never messed with each other in the same friendly, teasing way that Eric does with his family.
Anything above bickering, for us, was an all-out war; whether it was me putting Nair in Isaak’s conditioner or him putting itching powder into my lotion.
“Sorry about that, we’re running a little bit behind schedule.” Colt struts over to us, fastening the last of the buttons on his shirt, and he combs his fingers through his hair to fix it into place. “Rowan’s just grabbing some shoes, she’ll be down soon.”
His son looks as if he might vomit, and Eric just claps Emmett on the shoulder with a laugh, grabbing his keys from the counter.