Chapter 29 Lucian #2
She whispers so softly I almost miss it. “I’m scared, I don’t want to go back there. I don’t want to relive the attack.”
“It’s okay,” I tell her, because it is. “Being scared doesn’t make you weak. It makes you human. You can go slow. You can stop. You can walk out of the room whenever you need to. That’s the point, Wildflower, you have control.”
Her breath breaks on the last thing I say, it starts as a tiny hitch, then a full-body sob that makes the space shrink around us.
My hands jerk on the wheel before my brain catches up; horns and lane lines blur into background noise.
I yank the SUV toward the shoulder and throw it in park.
The world contracts until it’s only the two of us and the thud of my heart.
I don’t wait for permission, I unbuckle her, lift her out of the seat, and pull her into my lap like she’s the most important thing I’ve ever held.
She folds into me without hesitation, her face buried against my chest, and the sobs come in ragged waves.
I press my cheek to the crown of her head and hold her like a brace, my arms locked around her.
A single tear slips down my face; I catch it with the heel of my hand and wipe it off.
I can’t let it fall again. I tuck my cheek against the top of her head and press my thumb to the damp spot at her temple.
I don’t want her to look up and see me undone.
I know if she saw me like this, she’d fold it into her own guilt, and I won’t burden her with that.
So I keep my voice low and steady, keep my hands busy, and let the rest stay hidden behind the steady cadence of the words I know will hold us both.
I keep my cheek pressed to the crown of her head until the sobs thin to hiccups and then to a breath that’s more even. My hands don’t leave her; they anchor her to me the way a dock holds a boat. I hold her until the tremor in her shoulders eases and she can breathe without the sound breaking.
When she finally lifts her face, it’s almost as wet as the front of my shirt from her tears. She wipes at her eyes with the back of her hand and gives me a small, crooked smile that’s half apology and half surrender. “I’ll call someone,” she says, voice thin but determined.
I press my forehead to hers for a second, a brief, private pact, before I let her crawl off my lap. I pull the SUV off the shoulder once she’s settled. Traffic swallows us again, but the anxiety that lived in the cab has loosened into something a bit steadier.
She rubs at her eyes with the heel of her hand, a tired gesture that makes me want to pull her right back into my arms. When she looks up at me, there’s that hopeful, half-ashamed softness people get when they want comfort but don’t want to ask for it outright.
“Where’s Sir Sass? A cuddle from him would be perfect right now. ”
“He’s still with Orion.”
She groans as she sinks deeper into her seat. “That’s a match made in hell. When do I get to hold him again?”
I glance over at her, at the way she’s curled into the same position she was earlier, like she’s trying to make herself smaller than she is.
“I’m a little offended you want to cuddle with him instead of me.”
Her head snaps toward me, eyes wide like she wasn’t expecting that.
Fuck. That was too gruff, let’s try again.
I roll my shoulders, give her the most half-hearted flex imaginable, trying to show more humor than ego.
“I mean, look at me. I’m objectively a better cuddler.
I have a broader surface area and excellent heat retention.
All very advanced snuggling credentials. ”
She blinks at me, startled at my weird behavior—yeah, me too—and Sir Sass isn’t even here, but I can practically feel his judgment radiating from whatever corner of the universe he’s currently occupying.
“And,” I add, dropping my voice like I’m about to reveal classified intel, “I won’t even lick you awake. That alone should put me miles ahead of him.”
I expect her to laugh, maybe shove my arm, or tell me to shut up.
What I don’t expect is the way her breath catches, or how color rises high on her cheeks like I’ve said something far more intimate than I meant to.
The realization hits me a beat too late, and I freeze, hands tightening on the wheel.
“Oh—no. No, no, no,” I say quickly, because apparently my mouth has decided to betray me today. “That’s not—I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”
I can feel the heat crawling up my neck, and it has nothing to do with embarrassment and everything to do with the way she’s looking at me, wide-eyed and pink-cheeked as if I’ve just said something indecent. Which, to be fair, I kind of did.
“I swear,” I mutter, still half-hiding behind my hand, “my mouth is staging a coup. There’s duct tape in the glove compartment. Please use it.”
She lets out a startled laugh, and it helps the tension rising in my chest.
I drop my hand and try to salvage what’s left of my dignity.
“For the record, Sir Sass isn’t exactly the gold standard of roommates.
He once woke Orion up by licking his nipple.
” I shake my head, remembering the way Orion practically levitated off the bed.
“He was dead asleep one second, screaming like he’d been electrocuted the next. ”
Her laugh gets louder, and I can’t help smiling at the sound of it. I grip the wheel a little tighter, trying to steady myself. I don’t know why I’m this flustered. I don’t get flustered. Not with people. Not with anyone.
With Celeste sitting next to me with her knees pulled up and her hair falling over her shoulder and that blush still lingering on her cheeks, I feel… unguarded. Like I’ve stepped out of the armor I’ve worn for years without noticing.
Maybe I’ve let her in more than I meant to. More than I’ve let anyone in, even Orion, who’s been by my side through everything.
That might be why my mouth keeps running ahead of my brain, why I’m saying things I’d normally swallow, and the idea of her choosing my emotional support cat over me makes something stupid and warm flare in my chest.
I glance at her again.
Yeah. That’s probably it.