Chapter 21
Twenty-One
Thorn
I wake up with hair in my mouth.
And…smile.
Then River shifts sleepily against my chest, one leg tangling with mine beneath the blankets, her breath warm against my skin, and reality slams back into place.
I love her.
I will lose her.
The realizations land easily now, easily after a night spent brooding about them in my office, wading through work I didn’t need to wade through, all while knowing what I have to do.
Morning light spreads like dappled gold on her hair, her skin as the city wakes in the distance. I trace that speckled pattern, loving the weight of her against me, the silk of her hair, the softness of her skin, the sexy little sounds she makes as she presses closer even in sleep.
I grind my teeth together, will my dick to cooperate.
It doesn’t care about the stakes, doesn’t care that this shit is tearing me apart.
It just remembers how good she kisses and how great she feels and it wants more.
I want more.
But I won’t push her. I don’t ever want her to look up at me with regret, with pain-filled eyes especially when, sooner rather than later, I’ll have to—
No.
I can’t think about that right now.
Can’t think about what I have to do, what became clear last night during those long hours I spent brooding in my office.
I rub a hand over my chest, over the ache there.
Because when she finds out what I did, when I do what I have to—
“Thorn,” she whispers, her thigh sliding up, brushing my dick.
Christ.
“Wake up, little hen,” I murmur, sliding one hand slowly down her back.
Slow. Easy. Careful.
River’s lashes flutter faintly before she blinks up at me, still half asleep.
“Hi,” she murmurs, her mouth curving before she buries her face in my chest, collapsing against me like she doesn’t have a care in the world.
Like she trusts me.
Fuck, that’s a goddamned joke.
“You awake?” I ask a few minutes later.
“Uh-uh.”
I chuckle at her grumpy tone.
“Shh,” she grumbles. “Sleeping.”
“It’s late,” I say. “And I thought I’d cook for you for a change.”
She presses up, her eyes studying mine suspiciously. “You cook?”
“I mean”—I shrug—“a man’s got to eat, sweetheart.”
“Let me rephrase. You cook breakfast?”
Not normally.
But I can.
“French toast or omelets?”
Her lips press flat and I see the inner war she’s waging with herself—to let me do it or to do it herself.
“How about you make the coffee and I’ll make the omelets,” I offer.
Those blue eyes go soft. “You’re a good man, Thorn.”
That hits…fuck. It hits deep.
Because I want it to be true.
But it’s not.
I shove that away, tease instead, “You won’t say that when I tell you that you drool when you sleep.”
Her eyes narrow immediately. “You’re lying.”
I make a show of wiping my chest. “Unfortunately not.”
“Thorn—”
I can’t help it. I start laughing.
She scowls and smacks me lightly on the shoulder. “Rude.”
I catch her wrist, use it tug her closer then press a quick kiss against the inside of it.
She goes still, her voice soft when she murmurs my name, her body melting against mine.
More. I want more.
And her eyes tell me she does too.
She leans in, her lips a hairsbreadth away from mine. My dick goes even harder, my desire for her grows, but I hold still. Wait for her to close that final inch between us.
But then she freezes, her brow furrowing. “Where’s Violet?”
I jerk then quickly scan the room, expecting to find the cat looking very disgruntled at being dislodged from her normal spot. But she’s not curled at the end of the bed, not grumpily staring up at us from the floor.
No meows demanding breakfast.
No claws demanding scratches.
“I don’t know,” I say slowly, my insides twisting as I toss the blankets back and stand.
But Violet’s not hiding in the corner or sitting on the window sill. And she’s not under the bed.
Or in the bathroom.
Or in my room.
She’s not anywhere.
Cold twists my insides.
“I’ll look in the living room,” River says. “You check the kitchen.” I nod and we hurry down the hall, but before I can make it into the kitchen, she skids to a halt. “Oh no. Thorn!”
I’m already moving, already see Violet huddled beneath the coffee table.
River carefully scoops her up and Violet’s head lolls back, her body too damned limp and still.
“Fuck,” I grit out.
“Take her,” River murmurs, carefully passing her over. Then she rushes out of the room.
I sit with Violet in my lap, my heart thundering against my ribs, worry gnawing at my bones.
She’s too warm.
Too limp.
Too quiet.
“Chrissy?” I hear River say. “We need to take Violet to the vet. Can you recommend one?”
Violet gives a pathetic little meow and presses closer against me.
River kneels beside me, her phone pinned between her shoulder and ear as she carefully lifts Violet’s lip, looks at her gums. “They’re pale,” she says and pauses, listens. “Okay, yes. I know where that’s at. Thanks, Chrissy.” She hangs up, locks her eyes with mine. “Let’s go.”
The knot in my chest loosens a tiny bit at the certainty in her tone.
Like she doesn’t even question whether she’ll come with me.
Like even though this is bad, really bad, she’s right beside me.
Like even though I might be bad—
Enough.
We get dressed, grab the carrier, tuck Violet inside it, and rush down to the garage.
The drive feels too long and my tension grows with each block that goes by.
“Fuck,” I growl when we hit yet another signal.
“It’ll be okay,” she says, taking my hand.
“She’s just a baby.” I hate that my voice breaks, that I can barely think straight.
“She’s tough,” River murmurs, squeezing my fingers. “And stubborn as hell. She’ll fight for us.”
I nod, but part of me knows this has got to be my fault. Knows I have to fix it.
I press down on the accelerator, speed through the streets.
“Thorn,” River says softly.
Fear claws viciously through my chest but I force myself to nod, to say, “You’re right. She’ll be fine.”
Even if I don’t believe it.
Because I can’t keep the things—or people—I love safe.
I couldn’t then.
And I won’t be able to now.