Chapter Thirty-Four
Oop, let me just close that door real quick…
Elodie
A knock on my bedroom door pulls me from my post-shower hair routine haze. A glance out my window tells me it’s late—dark already—and I squeal, running to the door and throwing it open. “Ru-oman?” I ask, peeking around him. “Isn’t Ruby here?”
“She went to bed,” he says, his voice low and rough. “Said she’s tired.”
My eyes shoot to his, startled at his tone, then more startled at the tear tracks running down his face. “Salty?” I ask, cautious. “What’s wrong?”
He takes a shuddering breath, opens his mouth, then… an awful whine escapes him, the likes of which I never want to hear come out of him again. It’s awful, tearing out of him like his soul itself is cracking. Big, strong protector Roman should not ever make that sound.
I don’t think. I grab, pulling him into my room by his Marathon for Blind Children T-shirt and tugging him to my bed.
He lets me, then drags me with him as he falls into the comfort of my puffy quilt and rolls, gripping my blanket until we’re folded into it like caterpillars ready for transformation, legs tangling as his arms tuck me close to him.
“Roman?” I whisper, concern lighting an unpleasant fire in my belly. “Honey, are you okay?”
“Not really,” he croaks. He presses his face into my neck, scratching my throat with his stubble and warming my skin with every ragged breath he takes. “My baby sister is getting married.”
Ahhh.
Getting married and leaving him behind.
It’s so close to my situation with Sol, and my heart aches that Roman is feeling anything like what I felt at my brother’s leaving.
“She still loves you,” I murmur, running a hand over his hair.
He’s let it grow out longer than usual, and it’s softer than I expect.
“So does he. They’re still here for you.
They still want you.” I go on, saying all of the things I needed to hear about Sol, feeding the lessons I’ve been learning into him, so that we can learn them together.
“You will always be her brother. His brother. They will always need you in their lives. They will always love you.”
He whimpers, closing nonexistent space between us, pressing into me and over me until I can’t breathe—until I have to poke at him for air.
“Sorry,” he exhales, giving me just enough space to feed my lungs. “I wasn’t… I wasn’t like this the first time.”
I run my hands over his hair again, adding my nails until he shivers, groans.
“It’s okay. Sometimes we don’t know what we’re feeling because we’re feeling too many things.
We’re happy for them as much as we are sad for ourselves, and if you’re the type of man who is always thinking about other people first, then it makes sense that you’d let the happy lead you and ignore the sad.
” My hands move to his neck, and I lay my head against his.
“I let the sad lead me when Sol left. It hurt a lot. It felt like… like I wasn’t… ”
“Enough,” he finishes for me. “Like we aren’t enough. Even though we want more for them. Even though we know they deserve more than we could ever possibly give them.”
“Yeah,” I agree softly. “Even though.”
Roman’s only reply is to burrow deeper against me, turning us onto our sides so I can breathe while he tries to dig himself under my skin.
We lie like that for a long time, long enough that one of my arms goes numb and his breathing evens out and, if it weren’t for how tight he still holds me, I’d wonder if he’s fallen asleep.
“I’m sorry,” he says, finally. “I didn’t think. I was upset and just… wanted you. I’ve probably messed up your hair right before the wedding.” He groans. “Your hair , Sweet.”
“It can be fixed. No biggie. I’ll just get it wet and start from there. I don’t have to recondition or anything,” I assure him. “Easy peasy.”
“I’ll help you,” he says. He pulls away from my neck, leaving me cold and bereft without him warming my skin. “I’ve watched videos, and I’m a good student. We can fix it.”
That is so… sweet of him. Normally, the answer would be a hard and fast absolutely not when it comes to people doing my hair, but…
he’s swimming in a hurt that is so familiar to me, we’re practically in the same waters.
And he’s said before that touching my hair brings him comfort, and he’s been so raw tonight I don’t think I can stand to keep him from whatever comforts I am able to give.
I don’t want to. Truthfully, all I really want to do is stay right here, holding him until the pain goes away and the idea that he is not enough feels so ridiculous to him that he’d never so much as let the idea flit through his mind beyond this night.
I want that more than I’ve ever wanted anything.
It occurs to me, quite suddenly, that I’m still holding back with him, even as he lies in my arms baring intimate pieces of his soul.
I’m waiting for a gotcha moment—some proof that everything he’s told me about wanting to change and about his feelings for me was just a momentary lapse in judgment on his part.
That he never meant any of it, and that the second I give in he’ll laugh and tell me that I would have done well to guard my heart instead.
I open up to him, but only so much as I have to, and only so much as feels safe. I told him I’d give him a chance, but when have I been vulnerable enough with him to be able to say I’m following through on that promise? When have I, of my own accord, opened up to him?
I haven’t, that’s when.
I inhale, breathing in the scents of cinnamon and clove, and resolve to do better for him. Do better to him.
“If you want to help me with my hair, you can,” I whisper.
“But before you do that, I want to say… you are enough, Roman. More than enough. Better than enough. You always have been, and you always will be. Our siblings move on because they have different dreams than we do, but that never means that we don’t have value, to them or in the world.
You hold so much value. To your sister, to your brother, to your parents.
” I bite my lip as warmth slithers over my cheeks. “To me.”
He watches my blush bloom, eyes intense as he brings a hand up to run a finger over my cheekbone, then down, to my lips. They part under his touch, and my breath hitches.
“Enough…” he mutters. “You make me want to believe it. You make me think maybe I can.” He sighs, pressing his finger into my lips.
“So many sweet words to make me feel better,” he whispers.
“I wonder if they taste as sweet on your tongue as they sound in my ears. I wonder if they have the same power to heal me when they’re on my mouth as they do when they fill the air. ”
“You could find out,” I offer, wanting nothing more than to make this man feel loved in as many ways as he’ll allow me.
His nail digs into my lip until I feel the sting—until my tongue darts out to soothe it, hitting his thumb as well. “You said that’s how you’ll know, right?” he asks, a thread of desperate hope winding through his question. “If I’m your soulmate?”
“Yeah,” I breathe, fisting his shirt in my hands. “True love’s kiss.”
Arctic-blue eyes soften as his lips tip up. “True love’s kiss,” he echoes softly before his thumb leaves my mouth, replaced by his breath, then his lips.
Softer than I could have imagined, but no less bossy than I would have thought, he takes charge of the kiss, sliding a hand into my still-damp hair to move me where he wants me—where best he might blow every other kiss I’ve ever had out of the water.
He gives, biting and soothing in equal measure. He takes, teasing me with the threat of retreat until I follow, then sucking—on my lips, my jaw, my neck.
“Roman,” I whimper when he nips behind my ear. “Please, come back.”
He obliges, pinning me to the bed so that all I can do is cling to him.
His lips return to mine, rougher, his stubble leaving a burning trail in their wake. I relish the sting. Beg him to give me more. “Please,” I pant when he moves away to breathe, his thumb returning to stroke my swollen lips.
“What do you think?” he rasps. “Soulmate worthy, my sweet? Am I enough for you?”
Uh… yes. Absolutely, categorically, yes . “In every lifetime,” I answer, throwing my head back as he bites at my collarbone. “In every universe. In every way.”
He groans. “Yes.” Tongue, teeth, lips, suction . “In every lifetime, in every universe, in every way, you’re mine, Sweet. And I’m yours.”
His mouth meets mine again, and I welcome it. His hands travel, gripping and caressing in time with his kisses, confirming the bond of our souls over and over. Confirming that we are, together, more than enough.
In the end, my hair doesn’t get fixed for a long, long while.