Chapter 39
THIRTY-NINE
My girl is fierce.
Gently, I run my fingers through her sleek, black hair. She might be small, but she’s anything but fragile.
I’m sitting on our bed, propped against the headboard, with her head nestled in my lap. The guys ran a background check on Howard, and what they found sounds like a sad joke.
Howard Dough was a well-known and loved philosophy professor.
He and his wife, Mary, worked at the same university, she being a chemistry professor.
Eight years ago, there was an explosion in the lab Mary worked in.
She was hurt badly and passed away a few days later in the hospital.
Howard made it onto the local news because he was furious at the university.
He believed that the university’s greed and disregard for safety were directly responsible for the accident that cost Mary her life.
He wanted justice for his wife and filed a lawsuit against the university.
The court ruled in favor of the university, and Howard lost the case.
He resigned from his position and eventually ended up living on the streets.
I really need to understand how he fits into her life. It’s clear he means a lot to her. That’s why Clay and Josh went back to the hospital—to get answers and make sure we know everything about his health for when Carolina wakes up.
A few moments pass with me just stroking her head, memorizing her pretty features and freckles, when she suddenly moves, sitting up swiftly, her gaze darting around until our eyes lock. “Is he dead? Did he die?” Her voice trembles, her eyes fill with tears, and her breathing becomes erratic.
I cup her face in my hands. “No, pumpkin, he’s all right. He’s still in the hospital, and Clay and Josh are finding out more. But he’s alive, and he’s being taken care of, okay?”
“He just… he just collapsed right in front of me. I tried to help him, tried to do CPR, but I didn’t know how, and I…”
Was he just a stranger who collapsed in front of her? But that wouldn’t shake her up this much, would it?
“It’s okay. Breathe with me,” I coax, taking exaggerated breaths, hoping she’ll mimic me. But she seems to be spiraling further into panic.
“I can’t handle this without him. I need him.” She gasps, her wide eyes locked onto mine.
Nope, definitely not just a stranger.
I pull her close, positioning her so she’s seated between my legs, leaning back against my chest. “Breathe, Carolina.”
“I… I can’t…” She wheezes.
Glancing over, I spot some markers and a notepad on my nightstand. I grab the markers, laying them on her lap. Then, I pull up the sleeve of my hoodie, exposing my tattooed forearm. “Color in my tattoos.”
She just stares, so I pick up a green marker, remove the cap, and hand it to her. “Come on, color them in, pumpkin.”
She takes her first deep breath and grabs the top of the green marker to close it. I am ready to tell her she should do as I say when she takes the orange marker from her lap. I huff a laugh against her hair.
Of course, she doesn’t just obey, not even while having a panic attack.
She pulls my left arm closer, and the marker glides over the bear tattooed on my inner forearm. It’s a big brown bear standing on his hind feet, growling, looking grumpy as fuck. But she colors the fucker orange, so he doesn’t look so intimidating anymore.
I chuckle, planting a kiss on her head. “Orange, really?”
“There was no brown,” she shrugs, seemingly concentrating on coloring and breathing.
“But orange?” My laugh stirs some of her hair.
“You keep calling me ‘pumpkin.’ Pumpkins are orange. Shut it, or I’ll think you don’t like me either,” she states, and I am glad the sass is back in her tone.
“I don’t,” I reply, causing her to stop her coloring and gaze up at me, a hint of hurt in her eyes, her brows pinching. “I don’t just like you, Carolina…” I clarify, gently cradling her face, “… I love you.”
Her breath hitches, and I lean in to kiss her slightly parted lips. Admitting that to her so abruptly wasn’t the plan, but today made me realize that losing her would be just as devastating as the thought of losing Clay—the standard for love in my life since childhood.
I pull back slightly, a smirk playing on my lips as I see her surprised face. I grab her chin with my thumb and forefinger, tilting her head to me, and tell her, “Now say, ‘I love you too, Xander.’ ”
“I love you too, Xander,” she murmurs, adjusting herself to straddle me and pulling me down for another kiss.
Our lips meet, the kiss unhurried and tender.
It’s fascinating how different it feels kissing her compared to Clay.
With Clay, it’s like a raging bonfire, fiery and intense with unpredictable sparks.
But with her, it’s a different kind of warmth, like the gentle flame of a candle—soft, but there is no doubt that it could burn a house down.
I pull back to kiss her forehead, whispering against her skin. “Mine.” I hug her tighter. “I need your soul pressed against mine.”
Her hand drifts up my chest between us, settling over my right pec. “I’m right here,” she murmurs.
I tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. She catches sight of the arm she just colored, tugging it closer to her. With her fingers, she traces the newly orange bear.
“Why a bear?” she asks, curiosity lacing her voice. “I mean, I can see why Clay’s got lions. Fits him. He is a Leo for sure,” she adds with an eye roll.
I laugh. “True, August eighteenth.”
“Fuck, I should know that.” Searching for words, she asks, “When is…”
I cut in. “Sophia’s birthday is December fifth, but you knew that. Josh’s is September twenty-first. And mine? July sixteenth.”
She cocks her head. “So, a cancer, not a bear?”
I laugh softly. “Not a bear.” I gently shift her so she’s resting against my chest with her back again. “I haven’t shared this in ages,” I admit softly.
My hands wander down to the back of her thighs, squeezing them.
I need my emotional support thighs for this.
“You don’t have to,” she murmurs, stroking my upper arm.
“You’d understand better than anyone. It’s one of the reasons I love you,” I whisper into her hair, and she tightens her grip on my arm.
Taking a deep breath, I begin, “Life seemed pretty okay till I was about six, then my mom left us. I have a few good memories of her, but they’re blurry.
” She traces shapes on my arm as I speak, keeping me grounded.
“My father… he was messed up. I didn’t get it as a kid, but looking back, my mom always seemed to be hurt, always covered in bruises.
” My jaw tightens, remembering days when we’d stay inside because of her visible injuries.
“After she was gone, he turned on me. Said a real man needs to handle pain and would beat me down. Said it would make me strong.”
Her breath catches. “But you were just a little boy.”
“He’d take a blade to my skin, warning me not to scream, saying it would teach me to bear pain.
Every time I couldn’t help it, every time I let out a cry, he’d make another cut.
” Carolina’s nails dig into my arm, and I know she’s trying hard not to interrupt, letting me share at my own pace.
“He worked construction, we barely scraped by, and most of what he earned, he drowned in booze. As the years went by, he just got more brutal. When I was twelve, I had a growth spurt and outgrew my old clothes. Instead of getting new ones, he said I should make do. It was around that time that Clay’s mom noticed.
“I remember I was hanging out at Clay’s.
It was my refuge. I got up from the couch, my too-small shirt lifted, revealing all the scars on my stomach, both fresh and old.
” The memory makes my heart hurt. “Clay’s mom pulled me aside and made it clear she wasn’t gonna let me go back there.
God, I miss her,” I say, feeling the weight of gratitude for that incredible woman.
“She marched right over to my father’s place and, not long after, came out carrying my stuff.
Told me I was living with them from then on.
Their place was small, just two bedrooms, but Clay and I never minded sharing.
It felt safe. It felt right. I’d see my father across the street every so often, but after that, I never said another word to him again. ”
Pulling my arms out from under her, she snuggles close. “And what about the bear?”
I huff against the back of her head. “Didn’t let that one go, did you?
” She simply shakes her head in response.
“When I was little, my mom gave me a brown teddy bear. After she left, it became my best friend, my security blanket, my protector. I’d talk to it every night and share with it all the terrible things my father did since I couldn’t tell anyone else.
But by then, my father decided a man shouldn’t cling to a stuffed toy.
So, he tore it apart right in front of me.
” I feel wetness drop on my arm and gently turn her face to see tears streaming down.
Wiping them away with my thumb, I continue, “I rushed over to Clay’s, completely shattered.
He just hugged me and told me I no longer needed the bear, and he’d be my lion, my best friend, my protector, and I could tell him anything. ”
She bites her lip, trying to hold back her sobs. Gently, I tug her lip free with my thumb. “Clay was, and always will be, the light of my life.”
“And you’re the love of mine,” Clay says from the doorway.
We both glance over to see him and Josh standing at the doorway.
Striding over with that familiar smirk, Clay settles beside us on the bed. “Sounds like we’re spilling our guts. Why wasn’t I invited?”
“You can still spill if you want to,” I tease back, reaching out to push his hair away from his eyes.
“I am perfect, thank you. Although I think I may have some daddy issues,” he ponders with a faux pensive look.
Carolina’s gaze flits between the two of us, her voice dripping with sarcasm, “Shocker.”
Josh’s laughter echoes from the doorway, where he’s been watching the exchange. “Got everything sorted out?” I ask him, and he nods in response.
Carolina asks pensively, “Howie?”
“He’s stable. It’s gonna take him a while, but things are looking up,” Josh assures her.
She visibly deflates, “Dio, okay. Good.” She exhales, getting off my lap and on the other side of me so I am sandwiched between Clay and her. Best place to be.
“Who is he to you?” Clay asks, reaching out to hold her hand.
“The only friend I’ve ever had,” she whispers.
“Not true,” Clay protests, pulling on her hand so he can hug her over me. “You know what I promised. I am never leaving you, and I will always come for you,” he whispers in her hair.
“Promise he is going to be okay?” she asks when he lets go of her, tears back in her eyes.
“Promise,” he says.
Seeing her defeated expression, I gently lift her chin, urging her, “Tell him you believe him.”
“I believe you,” she murmurs, though her words lack any conviction.
After giving her a peck on the lips, I urge her once more, “Say it again and mean it.”
This time, her voice carries a hint of assurance. “I believe you.”
With that settled, I lean back down onto the bed, letting Clay rest his head on the left side of my chest and Carolina on the right.
Josh shuffles in the doorway, so I beckon, “Come on, Joshy. There’s room for one more.”
He hesitates. “No, I think I’ll—”
“Please?” Carolina’s plea stops him in his tracks, the change in him evident as he gives in.
Moving over to her side, he snuggles in close, burying his face in her hair and breathing in deeply.
She sighs. “I’ve missed you, Joshua.”
He gently kisses the back of her head, murmuring, “My Carolina.”
With everyone settled and the room filled with quiet comfort, I brush my fingers across Clay’s forehead, and before I know it, sleep claims me.