Chapter Six
That night, after an awkward communal dinner, I showered alone. I didn't know how to act around Jake. I should have just left, but I couldn't. Not after hearing about hellhounds and angels. I needed to know the truth. Yes, Silas had been convincing with his little vanishing act, but I still wasn't absolutely certain. The burgeoning lawyer in me wanted irrefutable proof. Evidence. Magic tricks weren't evidence of divinity.
So, I was staying.
I stepped out of our en suite bathroom and into the grand bedroom Silas had assigned to Jake and me. To share. It was done in a softer style than the rest of the house, with a four-poster bed covered in white linens and pale wooden furniture. Still simple, just not overtly lumberjack.
Jake was in that non-binary bed. Naked. At least, I assumed so. He had a blanket over his lower half.
I was suddenly nervous.
Even if it had just been Jake, I would have been nervous. It had been over a year since we had sex. And that last time had been awful. I'd been upset, he'd been afraid, and the whole thing had been a desperate attempt at normalcy. We knew it was our last time. Or we thought it was.
“I can't have sex with you,” I blurted.
Jake's eyes went wide. “Okay.”
I groaned and rubbed a hand over my face. “It's just that, it's not—”
“Indie, relax,” Jake said. “I understand. I know that when Michael withdraws, he gives me privacy, but you don't know that. I can wait until you're comfortable. It's all right.”
“It is?”
“Of course, it is.” He patted the bed beside him. “It's me, Indie. I'm not going to ravage you.”
I grimaced. “I think you mean ravish. Ravage is . . . not sexy.” In fact, the word increased my nervousness. Jake would never hurt me, but Michael was an incorporeal soldier of God—if all this shit was to be believed. If it wasn't, I didn't know what the fuck he was. And the really terrifying bit was that I was leaning toward the latter.
Jake snorted. “Yeah, that. I'm not going to ravish. Or anything that sounds like that.”
“What else sounds like ravage?”
“Radish?” He grinned.
I latched onto the levity desperately, exclaiming, “What a relief! You're not going to radish me.”
Jake guffawed in a deep belly laugh—his old laugh. So familiar. So beloved. So infectious. I started laughing with him.
As I laughed, I wandered to the bed and then slipped out of my bathrobe. There had been a few things waiting for me in the bedroom's walk-in closet. The bathrobe had been one of them. There were also some dresses, a coat, underwear, and shoes. All of them new. And all of them in my size. That had been nearly as disconcerting as it was appreciated.
“Jake,” I whispered.
“Indie, come here.” Jake turned back the covers for me. “Let me at least hold you. It's been too long.”
I crawled onto the bed and went straight into his arms. Snuggling up next to Jake felt as natural as ever. Perfect. I fit against his side as if made for him. And Jake felt made for me. Under my ear, his heart beat. His scent filled my nose. Then he kissed my forehead and tucked the blankets around us. And I was home.
“I love you,” Jake said.
“I love you too,” I said automatically.
Jake reached over to turn off the bedside lamp, then resettled us, shifting onto his side to spoon me. It didn't matter then—how or why he had recovered. All that mattered was that Jake was alive and holding me. It was a miracle that I would have paid any price for. So how could I balk at Jake doing the same?
“Goodnight, Jake,” I said.
“Goodnight, Indie.”
“Goodnight, Michael.”
Jake stiffened, then relaxed. Michael's voice came out of him, sounding even more velvety in the darkness. “Goodnight, Indigo.”