Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Henry
It felt damn good to change clothes. And to put on some pants.
I’d been in the same sweat-soaked, bloodstained t-shirt for over twenty-four hours. While I’d endured far worse during my military days, slipping into a clean t-shirt and sweats made me feel halfway human again.
I tried helping Ariana clean up after we ate, more to prove I wasn’t a complete invalid than any noble gesture, but she shot me a look sharp enough to skin a man.
“If you want that ankle to heal,” she began, pressing a fresh ice pack into my hand, “you need to stay off it.”
Knowing I wouldn’t win with her, I limped out of the kitchen and headed for the couch like a scolded child, muttering something about overbearing nurses under my breath.
With nothing to distract me but the hum of the wind outside and the faint clinking of dishes in the sink, I found myself regretting not installing a television.
At the time, the quiet suited me. It was why I held onto this house filled with horrible memories.
Now the silence felt suffocating.
Especially with Ariana so close and that almost kiss still hanging in the air between us.
So I made a detour to the library.
I inhaled the scent of old pages, hundreds of memories from my childhood rushing back. My mother loved books. Would spend hours reading to Spencer and me when we were young. Before my father sucked all the joy from her.
Even after he was gone, I hated reading. It reminded me too much of her. Of how I failed to protect them.
But as I glanced around this room full of books that used to be the bedroom I shared with my younger brother, I wasn’t thinking of them like I normally did whenever I stepped foot in here.
I thought of her .
Ariana.
I moved toward the bookshelves, running my fingers along the myriad of books, each one bringing forward another childhood memory.
Charlotte’s Web , where my mother would do a different voice for each of the animals at Zuckerman’s farm, my favorite being Templeton, the rat.
The Count of Monte Cristo , where she always left off at the worst cliffhangers, but promised to pick it up again tomorrow.
Pride and Prejudice , where she refused to give in to our whining when we complained about reading that one. We wanted pirates and sword fights, not “stories about kissing.”
And yet, the more she read, the more I ended up rooting for Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth. Because under all that posturing, there was truth. Tension. The slow unraveling of pride and pain.
I could relate to that now.
I continued along the shelves, memory after memory coming forward, until a book on the side table by the reading chair caught my attention. I reached for it, my curiosity piqued about what book Ariana had been reading.
Rebecca .
I flipped to the bookmarked page and skimmed a few lines. The unnamed narrator, na?ve and self-effacing, constantly second-guessing herself as she stepped into a world she didn’t fully understand. Haunted by the woman who came before her.
Ariana wasn’t quite that girl. She had more bite. But there was a similar uncertainty in the way she moved through this place, skirting around my presence. A woman caught in a story that started before she knew she’d eventually have a starring role.
The unnamed narrator didn’t belong to Maxim deWinter’s past. But she was still haunted by it.
Just like Ariana was now being haunted by my past.
I placed the book back where I found it, perusing the shelves again until my eyes landed on East of Eden . My mother told me it might be a bit too mature for me when I asked to read it together, but I’d always been an advanced reader, thanks to her.
Even though I was only nine, she relented and we read the multi-generational story about inherited sin, free will, and redemption.
She probably sensed I needed this. Needed to know that the sins of my father didn’t fall to me.
That just because his blood ran through me, it didn’t mean I’d end up like him.
Right now, I could use that reminder.
Book in hand, I returned to the living room and eased onto the couch, propping my foot on a pillow.
When I placed the ice pack on top of it, I released a hiss from the shock of the cold.
After a few seconds, I got used to it and opened the book, grateful my focus was good enough to read the words on the page.
“You’re reading East of Eden ?” Ariana asked as she entered the living room a few minutes later.
“It’s one of my favorites,” I said. “I pick up something I missed every time.”
“I didn’t take you for a Steinbeck guy.”
I didn’t take myself for a lot of things lately.
“I’m just full of surprises,” I replied evenly.
“I’m beginning to realize that.” She held my gaze for a beat before heading toward the library, returning a few moments later with Rebecca . She lowered herself into the chair, tucking her legs under her.
She didn’t say anything more. Neither did I. We just read.
Or she read. I watched her.
I’d seen her read before, mostly on the security cameras.
But this was different. Up close, I saw every flicker of her expression.
The crease between her brows. The small twitch of her lips.
The way her eyes widened slightly at certain passages, how her fingers grazed the page like she was savoring it.
She read like she felt things too deeply for her own good.
Like every word peeled back a layer.
She was…mesmerizing.
I could watch her read for hours.
Hell, I could watch her do anything for hours.
Eventually, the print began to blur and my eyes drooped.
I shifted, trying to stretch out, but the couch was a damn torture device for someone my size, especially with my throbbing ankle.
It was one thing to sleep on here last night as I constantly slipped in and out of consciousness.
It was another to attempt to sleep on it now when I was much more coherent.
“Are you okay?” Ariana asked.
I hadn’t even heard her close her book.
“Just trying to get comfortable,” I muttered, wincing as I shifted again.
“You should sleep in the bed.”
“I’ll be fine. I slept in much more uncomfortable places when I was in the military.”
“But you’re not in the military right now. You’re in a house. With a bed. So stop being some macho man and go sleep in it.”
“Where would you sleep?”
“My legs aren’t as long as yours.”
I’d like to say I didn’t steal a glimpse of her legs as she stood, but I would have been lying. Because I did. Hell, I stole more than a glimpse. It didn’t matter that she was currently wearing yoga pants. They clung to her long legs like a layer of skin.
A layer of skin I wanted to peel back.
“I’ll just sleep on the couch,” she said, her voice forcing my attention back to her eyes.
“You didn’t sleep much last night. You need rest, too.”
She opened her mouth, presumably to argue, but I cut her off.
“Why don’t we just both sleep in the bed?”
“ Both ?” She arched a brow.
“It’s a king. I’ll put pillows between us if it makes you feel better.”
She searched my face and, for a second, I thought she’d stubbornly insist she’d be fine on the couch, but I could see the exhaustion in her eyes.
“Okay.”
“Can you grab the duffel?” I asked, gesturing toward it as I carefully pulled myself to my feet.
She nodded, slinging the bag over her shoulder before following me up the stairs.
I gritted my teeth with every step, each one driving a spike of pain through my ankle. Ariana stayed close. Close enough that I could feel her heat. But she didn’t touch me.
And I hated it.
Hated how much I wanted her arm wrapped around me, her body against mine.
When we finally reached the bedroom and Ariana disappeared into the bathroom, I let out a long sigh, lowering myself onto the edge of the bed.
It took me more effort than usual to drag my sweat pants down my legs and over my swollen ankle, but I managed.
Then I arranged a few pillows in the center of the mattress like a makeshift barrier.
I was about to climb under the duvet when the door to the bathroom opened. Ariana stepped out, and I forgot how to breathe.
She wore an oversized t-shirt that barely skimmed the tops of her thighs. Her hair was knotted up, exposing the long, elegant line of her neck. She looked…soft. Touchable. Dangerously close to something I could drown in.
Something primal unfurled low in my gut and my dick instantly sprang to life.
Which was extremely inconvenient, considering I was only wearing a pair of boxer briefs.
“I’m going to, uh….brush my teeth,” I muttered, hobbling into the bathroom before I did something stupid.
I closed the door and exhaled a long breath, grateful for the space. Maybe I should have let her take the couch. But it was too late to change my mind now. Not without admitting things I had no intention of ever doing.
After brushing my teeth and splashing some water onto my face, I returned to the bedroom. The lights were off and Ariana was curled beneath the duvet, her breathing deep and even.
I crossed the room quietly and climbed onto my side of the bed.
She didn’t stir. Just continued her steady breathing. I relaxed into the mattress and stared at the ceiling.
But my eyes kept drifting to her.
To the curve of her back. The subtle rise and fall of her chest. The soft rustle of her breath.
I felt this inexplicable need to reach out to her just to feel something warm. Something real.
But I didn’t.
Instead, I just watched.
At some point, I must have drifted off because the next thing I knew, her voice woke me up.
But it wasn’t the gentle murmur from last night as she coaxed me from sleep. This was different. Frantic. Pained.
“No. Please. Don’t!” she cried, struggling against the sheets.
I sat up, my pulse racing.
She thrashed beside me, her face twisted in agony, tears streaking her cheeks even as her eyes stayed closed.
“Stop. Don’t. I won’t do it again. I swear.”
My chest squeezed as a clawing sensation climbed up my throat.
I wanted to wake her but knew I shouldn’t. Not if she was having a night terror. I knew from experience the worst thing to do to someone in that situation was to startle them awake. So I just watched. And tried to soothe her with my words.
“Ariana,” I began, reaching out carefully and running a soft hand up and down her arm.
God, her skin was so soft. So silky.
“It’s okay. You’re safe. Whatever you see right now, it’s not real. Just listen to my voice. To me. Because I’m real. Nothing else.”
She didn’t wake. Just cried harder, chest heaving, legs kicking out.
Was this a result of her current circumstances? Because of me?
It shouldn’t matter. It didn’t matter. A few night terrors were a small price to pay compared to what happened to Sarah.
But something didn’t sit right with me. That nagging feeling returned, telling me I was missing something. But what?
I considered slipping out of bed, attempting to limp all the way down to the basement to see if Salvatore had been able to dig up something on the ghost.
Then Ariana’s eyes shot open. She sucked in a breath so sharp it was like surfacing from a drowning. Her gaze darted frantically around the room before landing on mine.
Any fight she had left in her instantly disappeared and she crumpled back against the bed, her eyes closed once more.
I stared at her, my mind racing with possibilities about what could have brought this on.
This wasn’t just a reaction to captivity. I felt it in my gut.
This went deeper than that.
This was history.
I thought I knew every page of it where she was concerned.
With every second I spent in her presence, I was becoming less and less sure.