Chapter 9 #3
Gritting my teeth, I force my focus back to the task. She needs me to be steady, to be her anchor. I can do that. I will do that. So, I let my hands drift down, washing the last traces of blood away until her skin is clean and smooth under my fingertips.
“All done, baby.” I press a lingering kiss to her temple, my lips brushing against her damp skin.
The warmth of the shower clings to us as I guide her out, wrapping a towel around her body with care, mindful of her injured arm.
Gently, I tuck another towel around her hair, brushing stray droplets from her cheek with my thumb.
“Come here.” I lift her into my arms and carry her to the sink, setting her down gently so her legs dangle over the edge, her toes grazing the cabinet below.
Sliding open the cabinet door, I pull out my first-aid kit, stealing a glance at her.
“This might sting.” She flinches as I disinfect the graze on her arm, her muscles tensing beneath my fingers.
“Oh, come on. Tough girl can deck a cop in the face, but a little antiseptic is too much?”
The words echo what she said to me that night in her bathroom when she patched up my split lip.
Feels like a lifetime ago.
Her lips curve to let me know she remembers too. “I was trying to impress you with my bravery. But this fucking hurts.”
“I’ll have to be gentle then.”
Her smile is good. It’s the first sign of life I’ve seen since I carried her upstairs. I finish wrapping her arm and set the kit aside, but when I look back at her, she seems heavier, her head dipping.
“Sylus?”
“Yes, baby?” I cup her cheek, tilting her face up to mine.
“How is he?”
“Alaric’s going to be okay,” I murmur, my thumb brushing against her skin. “He’s just… shocked. Scared. This… this is a-fucking-lot. He’s worried he’s not good enough for you anymore.”
“He could never be not good enough for me.” Her green eyes mist over, tears pooling at the edges. “I’m the one who’s not enough for him. I’m a stripper, Sylus. A fucking whore—”
“Stop.” I capture her lips with mine. The kiss is soft but deep, carrying everything I can’t shape into words.
She stills, a moment of hesitation before she melts into me, her hands clutching my shoulders.
When I pull back, I rest my forehead against hers, my hands framing her face like she might slip away if I don’t hold on tight enough.
“You’re perfect, okay? You’re my sparkle. ”
“You’re not mad at me? I mean, you said you were okay with Koen, but now, with Ace back and Nicholas holding me—”
“Uh-uh.” I press a finger against her lips, shaking my head. “Let’s not drag that dickhead into this.”
She smirks, the tiniest glimmer of the fire I love so much peeking through. “Sylus.”
And just like that, the worry that’s been simmering inside me bubbles over. It starts as a flicker, a nagging thought I’ve been trying to shove down since Alaric walked through that door. But now it’s a wildfire, impossible to ignore.
What does this mean for us?
Her first love. Her only love. The man she mourned so fiercely, the reason she pushed me away over and over, is alive. Just a few doors down. It changes everything, doesn’t it? The thought digs deep, twisting in my chest until I can’t hold it back anymore.
“I’m not mad about Alaric.” I meet her eyes. “I… I worry you’ll pick him now that you have him back. He had you first.”
Her expression softens, and she lifts her pinky between us in invitation.
Without hesitation, I hook mine around it, the simple gesture binding us tighter than any grand promise could. Her lips brush against our joined fingers, but I capture her mouth in another kiss, one that tells her I’m here, I’m hers, and I’m not letting go.
“I love you,” I breathe out against her lips.
Her breath catches, her eyes still closed, and the silence stretches, the air thick with everything unsaid, the steady rhythm of our breathing the only sound in the room.
Finally, she nods, her free hand rising to cover mine where it rests against her cheek. Her fingers are cool, trembling, but the resolve in her voice is clear when she whispers, “Okay.”
I know what it means, what she means, and what she can’t say yet but obviously feels. So, I brush my lips against her forehead, lingering there, unwilling to break the contact. But the exhaustion etched into her features tugs at me, reminding me she needs more than whispered promises right now.
“Okay.” I shift, looping my arms around her and cradling her against me while I rise and carry her to the bed. Her body yields as if this is where she was meant to be all along.
I set her down, and the mattress sinks under her weight. Her eyes watch me as I cross to my walk-in closet and open a drawer, pulling out a pair of sweats and slipping into them before grabbing a set for her.
“Let’s get you comfortable.” I kneel in front of her, sliding the sweats up her legs. My fingertips brush her calves, her knees, lingering just long enough.
She doesn’t pull away. If anything, she relaxes further, the tension in her shoulders unwinding bit by bit.
But when I turn to pull the hoodie over her head, my gaze lands on the scar on her shoulder.
I trace the edge of it lightly, feeling the weight of a question pressing on my chest. And since she lets me, since it’s the first time she doesn’t push me away, I let myself ask.
“Is this from the car crash?”
“No. It’s from when I pulled my dead twin out of the car before it caught fire.”
Fuck.
“You had a twin?”
“Yes.” Her eyes drop. “She died. I killed her. Or apparently, Ace and I killed her.”
Her shoulders slump, and she looks so damn small like the weight of the world is finally crushing her.
I don’t know how to fix this, how to pull her back from that abyss.
My hand rises to her neck, my thumb brushing along her jaw.
“I’m so sorry. I wish I could take some of that pain and carry it for you. ”
“It feels like I don’t deserve to have him back somehow. She should be happy and alive. We were the ones doing the reckless shit, and now…” Her voice cracks. “Now we’re the ones still here.”
Her words hollow me out. I want to know everything, every detail, every scar, but not like this. Not when she’s so worn down that she can barely stand under the weight of it all.
Before I can overthink it, I grab the hoodie and help her pull it over her head, making her push her arms through the holes.
When she’s fully clothed, I trace small circles over her thigh with my thumb.
The sight of her in my clothes does something to my heart, and I use it to change the heavy subject.
“You look good in my clothes.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah…” I press a kiss to her temple, “… too good. So, the love of my life is called Novalee, huh?”
She bites her lip to keep from smiling. “She’s called Sparkle.”
I huff a quiet laugh, but it’s cut short by a sharp knock at the door.
Koen steps inside, and I instinctively straighten.
In his hands is a tray with a steaming bowl of tomato soup and neatly stacked grilled cheese sandwiches.
Without a word, he crosses the room and sets the tray carefully on the edge of the bed.
“I’m sorry for not thinking about this sooner.
” He crouches in front of Sparkle, taking the spot I’ve just vacated.
His expression is softer than usual, a hint of regret flickering across his features.
“You lost blood. You need food. I thought you needed rest, and I should have been smarter than that. But Levi—”
“It’s okay,” Sparkle cuts him off, but I don’t let her finish.
“Yeah, you let her rest on Harrington,” I snap, my irritation bubbling back up to the surface. “What the fuck, brother?”
Koen straightens. “He would’ve never hurt her.”
“I don’t care what he would or wouldn’t have done. He helped us, sure. He helped her and Levi. I’m not disputing that.” My jaw clenches. “But his hands still don’t have to be on—”
“I decide whose hands are on me.” Sparkle cuts me off firmly. “And for the record, I didn’t mind. I like him. You know that.”
“Which is the fucking problem.” I whip around to face her. “Nicholas-fucking-Harrington? We don’t trust him. Maybe his plan is to whisk you away with his billionaire charm to show you that you’re into rich boys and boring monogamy after all?”
Sparkle narrows her eyes at me and opens her mouth to rightfully whoop my ass, but before she can retort, Koen cuts in. “He’s on our side.”
I huff, crossing my arms. “Sure, he is.”
“Oh, shut it.” Sparkle rolls her eyes at me.
Tension lingers until she breaks it with a bite into one of the grilled cheese sandwiches, followed by a happy hum. The simple sound eases the weight in my chest, and the sight of her eating helps to smooth the frayed edges of my irritation.
“Well…” Koen stands, “… let’s talk this out, then. Get down there and see who stands where.”
“She’s still eating, and her hair is wet,” I protest, glancing at Sparkle, who’s spooning up her soup.
Koen moves toward my en suite, grabbing the hairdryer. Coming back, he sits behind Sparkle and starts to dry her damp hair. God. This could all be so good. Koen, Alaric, and me with her. Eating, living, being a fucking family. Domestic shit.
When Sparkle finishes eating, I take the dishes and set them on my desk.
Grabbing a pack of cigarettes, I light one and pass it to her, watching as she takes a drag and blows out a stream of smoke.
Koen puts the dryer away, then sits back down behind her, his fingers threading through her hair to start braiding.
“You think clearing things up now is a good idea?” I ask.
“I don’t know, maybe she’s not up to it,” Koen mutters, his fingers weaving through the strands. “She’s already had to explain everything tonight.”
“I’m right here, dickhead.” Sparkle exhales another billow of smoke. “Just because I’ve got you two overbearing mother hens now doesn’t mean I can’t decide stuff for myself,” she says dryly. “And I want to talk this out. But first…” She turns to me, hope flickering in her eyes.
“I bet he’d talk to you if you take it slow,” I assure her softly, then snag the cigarette from her and take a drag myself. “Just don’t push him, and maybe it’ll work. Told you he’s a little scaredy cat.”
Her smile is small but genuine as I stand and put out the cigarette, gathering her matchbox and phone from the en suite.
Handing them to her, I help her stand, and we walk to the door.
“All right. Let’s do this. His room’s the second door on the left.
” I grab her hand and squeeze it. “You’ve got this, Sparkle. ”
She takes a breath, nodding, determination flickering behind her eyes. Her fingers move over her phone as she heads toward Alaric’s door. Koen and I linger briefly before heading down the stairs toward the living room.
“Fuck, what a shit show,” I mutter.
“Shit show, indeed,” Koen agrees.
As we make our way downstairs, a heavy weight settles in my chest. The kind that comes from knowing you can’t control everything, no matter how hard you try. The people I care about are scattered, fragile pieces of a puzzle that don’t quite fit together yet.
Alaric’s fighting his ghosts upstairs. Nicholas is tangled in this mess whether I like it or not. And Sparkle… she’s the thread holding all of us together, even when she’s falling apart herself.
God, I want to fix it all.
To hold everything together with my bare hands if I have to. But some cracks can’t be filled by sheer will. They need time. And trust.
But we’re in this together. We always have been. And no matter how tangled things get, we’ll find a way through.
Maybe this can work.
Maybe we’re not as broken as we think we are.
Because if there’s one thing I know for damn sure, it’s that I’m not giving up. Not on her. Not on Alaric. Not on any of this chaotic, fucked-up family.
We’re all a little damaged, a little rough around the edges.
But fuck it—maybe that’s what makes us fit.