Chapter 27
Fine
? Bluebird - Anna Graves
Jaxon
I pour two fingers of whiskey into two glasses and slide one across the table.
She smells the amber liquid, then brings it to her lips.
I want to catalogue everything about her—the gentle way she holds the glass with her index and pinkie fingers out, the subtle parting of her bow-shaped lips, and the slow inhale before she brings the glass to them.
She doesn't so much as flinch as the flavor hits her tongue, and she swallows down a second gulp eagerly.
“Slow down, Bluebird. Don’t want you getting drunk on me.”
A slight grin spreads across her face. “You gonna ravish me, Cowboy?”
I take a drink from my own glass and set it on the coffee table. “Is that what you want?”
She bites down on her bottom lip. “I don't know.”
“Then let me show you what I want.”
I take off her glasses, set them on the coffee table, and I press an open-mouthed kiss to the tender spot behind her ear, eliciting a small shiver.
I smile against her skin and repeat the motion.
She’s soft and pliant, setting free a series of quiet moans and sighs.
Her hand slides up my thigh, and I’m hard within seconds.
With deliberate movements, she brings her hands to the hem of her shirt and pulls the fabric over her head. I swallow against the lump in my throat and steel myself as the evidence of what must’ve been years of unrelenting abuse comes into focus.
Her hands move reflexively to cover them.
“Don’t,” I murmur. “Don’t hide from me.”
She’s not looking at me, and I can’t have that. I take a deep breath to center myself.
“Look at me,” I say, my tone commanding but gentle.
Her hollow eyes find mine, distant and worry-lined. I place her hand over my heart and hold it there. “Your scars aren’t baggage, they’re armor—proof of everything you’ve endured and survived. Let me see you, Callie. Let me see all of you."
She lowers her arms, and my heart stutters inside my chest. Jagged pink scars and lighter raised welts crisscross across her stomach and ribs, some of them disappearing beneath the band of her bra.
I can't bring myself to ask who or what did this to her; the knowledge would tip me over the edge.
I need to stay strong—for her and for me.
I drag a gentle hand over one of the more pronounced scars. Her chin quivers, and she closes her eyes as I flatten my palm over the area, trying to absorb the echoes of her pain.
I carefully rest my forehead on hers. “This changes nothing.”
It’s a lie. It changes everything. She once told me we were kindred spirits, and I've never felt that more acutely than I do now. Our connection runs deeper than I ever imagined.
Maybe my scars aren’t visible to the naked eye, but the damage still lingers. We’ve both found ways to protect ourselves from experiencing more of it, and in the process, we’ve cut ourselves off from everything life has to offer beyond the pains of our past.
“There’s more,” she whispers shakily.
“Show me. Please.”
Callie nods solemnly and turns her back. It’s more of the same, but I can’t help but feel a sense of relief that she didn’t see them coming, though I’m not certain that’s any better. The effect is still the same.
I tug off my shirt and wrap my arms around her shoulders, pulling her back to my chest. She exhales a long breath and melts into me. I inhale against her soft skin, savoring the feel of finally having her in my arms without anything left between us.
“You’re perfect. Every single part of you.”
A lone teardrop falls against my arm.
“The scars don’t bother me one bit, but the pain… god, Bluebird. I wish I could take it all away. I wish I could go back and save little Callie from all of it.”
“Me too.” The words come out strangled, and what’s left of my heart shatters to the floor at her feet.
I want to hold her until she loses that haunted look in her eyes—until all she sees is me and us, and what we could be if we both give into this beautiful surrender.
“I’m so fucking sorry, baby.”
She spins to face me again. Her eyes are glassy and bloodshot as she struggles to hold back her tears.
“You don't have to be strong all the time.” My fingertips chart a path down the side of her face until my thumb slides reverently across her bottom lip. It’s hard to look at her sometimes. The wanting never ceases. It’s almost unbearable to be near her like this.
"I-I’m fine."
This beautiful, headstrong, infuriating woman.
My gorgeous little liar.
“Look at me,” I say gruffly. “You're not fine. Don’t fucking lie to me.”
She opens her mouth to speak, but I swallow her denial with a rough kiss.
Her fingers thread into my hair as she returns the kiss with fervor, and my tongue darts out, begging for entry.
She gives in eagerly, taking everything I give her and returning it with just as much passion.
She tastes like whiskey and mine, and I’ll be damned if I ever let this world hurt what’s mine ever again.
Any illusion of choice disappears right then and there. She is my destiny—as vital as the air I breathe. The only one who can fill this hollowness inside of me. Steady in my resolve, I silently vow that Callie Cooper will only know happiness from this moment on.
Callie
Jaxon pulls away, leaving me breathless and wanting. His hands cup my cheeks, and his green eyes hold me captive, like his soul is searching mine for some scrap of recognition.
“You're not fine,” he whispers, gliding his thumb back and forth along my cheekbone. “You're not fine, and it’s ok.”
My bottom lip quivers as my strength wanes. “You make me feel less alone.” I choke on the words as the confession hangs between us. “I’ve been alone for so long.”
His expression softens. “You’ll never be alone again. I promise.”
My once-impenetrable armor crumbles to dust as his solemn vow spears straight through my heart, down to the very core of my being. The past collides with my present, and everything I thought I knew gets flipped on its axis.
I don’t remember a time when promises held any sort of significance beyond their ability to pacify unruly children.
Their words were always empty and meaningless.
I keep people at arm’s length because that’s all I know—it’s how I survived.
The only promise that ever meant anything was the one I made to myself, the one that’s falling apart with each passing moment.
I choke on a sob as the weight of it threatens to suffocate me.
Jaxon scoops me into his arms, and the final thread unravels, setting free a lifetime of anguish. He holds me against his bare chest, one palm skating up and down my spine while the other cradles my cheek. “Let it out. I’ve got you. I’ve got you, and I’m not ever letting you go.”
The combination of his skin on mine and those reverent words whispered with such sincerity unravels me, and I burrow deeper into him. Maybe a part of me needed the permission to break, or maybe it’s the feeling of someone finally touching me.
He’s achingly tender as his hand slides over my scars, and I no longer have it in me to care that he’s touching them.
Time ceases to exist, and he holds me together as I fall apart in his arms. At some point, he pulls a soft blanket around us and lies back against the pillows with my whole body draped over him.
When the tears have all but dried, and my breathing evens out, he tilts my chin up and presses his lips to my forehead. “Tell me what happened... back then, I mean.”
“I can’t. You’d hate me if you knew.”
“I could never hate you.”
Beyond all reason or rational thought, I believe him. For the first time in my life, I set my burdens at someone else’s feet. I tell Jaxon everything, from all the years of abuse to the biggest confession of them all: “I killed my stepfather.”
It’s the first time I’ve said it aloud. I look up through watery eyes and hold his gaze. I don't know what I'm searching for—disgust or condemnation, perhaps—but I don't find it. Pity would be worse, somehow, but I don't find that either. Instead, there’s a blazing fire in his emerald irises.
“It wasn’t your fault,” he says gruffly. “None of it was your fault. If I could, I’d go back and kill him myself.”
His fingertips glide through my hair, an innocent gesture, as easy as breathing, but that’s not how my body reacts. Pleasure instantly becomes pain, and all of the air seems to evaporate from my lungs. Unable to catch my breath, I bolt upright and press a hand to my heaving chest.
A strong hand cups my jaw, tentative at first. I lean into his touch, reminding myself that this is Jaxon and he would never hurt me.
His rueful gaze meets mine. “Breathe, baby. Tell me what happened.”
I shake my head as my voice fails me. The first tear escapes over my lashes, and I don’t even try to stop them. Not this time. Whatever strength I thought I had has crumbled to dust with one simple touch.
I hate this. I don’t want to be this weak and fearful person. This isn’t who I am; it’s who I was forced to become.
“Did I hurt you?”
“No. It’s—it’s not you.” There’s an unwelcome tightness in my chest, and my gaze becomes unfocused as my mind travels back in time.
I’m thirteen years old. Rodney has his fist tangled in my long ponytail as he yanks me backward and shoves me to the ground.
“What did you do this time, Calliope?” my mother snarls with a cigarette pinched between her yellowing fingers. There’s a fresh ring of bruises around her feeble wrist as she brings a glass of clear liquid to her lips. Vodka, not water. Never water.
I glance up at her, pleading for her to put a stop to this, but it’s hopeless. She never intervenes.
“I caught this little brat hiding snacks in her bedroom.”
Mom stares at me indignantly. “You asked for it.”
Rodney’s belt swishes ominously through his belt loops, leather scraping against denim, an all-too-familiar sound. I brace myself for the sting.
“Where did you fly off to, Bluebird?” Jaxon’s quiet voice coaxes me out of the horrible memory. His thumbs glide over my cheekbones, capturing my tears. “Come back to me.”
I press my palm against the hand still cradling my cheek, letting his touch ground me in reality.
Deep breath.
I’m not there. I haven’t been trapped there for a long time.
I throw my arms around Jaxon’s neck, searching for something, anything to save me from the memories.
“There she is.” He presses his cheek to the side of my head and holds me tightly to him. “Tell me what I can do to fix this.”
I take a few deep breaths, trying to center myself before speaking. “It’s my hair. My stepdad. He used to…pull my hair.” My voice quavers as I fight to regain my composure.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know. What can I do?”
I shake my head and bury my face in his chest. “I c-can’t.”
He shushes me. “It’s ok. You’re safe now.”
Once the panic dissipates, Jaxon removes his glasses and swaps our positions, resting his head on my lap.
He gazes up at me through impossibly thick lashes as he takes my hand and places it on his head.
“Show me. Show me how to touch you. How to make you feel safe in my hands. I promise I will never let you feel fear like that again—not with me.”
He’s giving me the power to do to him what was done to me, to make him feel the pain I felt every time I was yanked back by my ponytail and held at another man’s mercy. He’s trusting me, and maybe—just maybe—I can trust him, too.
I run my fingers through his loose curls, my nails gliding against his scalp. He closes his eyes and groans.
My forearm brushes against his beard as I cradle his head in my lap, moving my fingers lower to the hair at the nape of his neck. His lips quirk into that charming half-smile of his, and the icy chill that had frozen me instantly thaws.
I don’t understand the effect he has on me. Just when I feel like I might go off the deep end, he pulls me back onto solid ground again. It goes against every finely tuned instinct I have, but my intuition tells me I can trust him not to hurt me, and that in itself is something of a miracle.
I slide my hand from his hair down to his jaw. He kisses my palm, and my heart spasms in my chest.
“What are you thinking about?” he asks.
“Can you try again? I think I’m ready.”
“Are you sure?”
I nod. “Please. Just… go slow.”
He sits up and settles back against the couch. “Would it be better if we’re face to face?”
“Yeah. He… uh… mostly grabbed me from behind.”
His brow knits, and he reaches for me with unmasked pain in his eyes.
“It’s ok. I don’t want your pity.”
“It’s not pity. I just don’t understand how someone could do something so horrible. I can’t imagine—if that was Emmy or Gracie.” His jaw ticks, and he blows out a harsh breath.
“Monsters don’t care who their victims are. They just want power.”
“You have all the power here, ok?” He pulls me onto his lap until I’m straddling him. “If something feels off or makes you uncomfortable, tell me. I never want to hurt you.”
“Ok,” I say breathily. “I’m ready.”
His right hand splays across my lower back as his left trails up my collarbone. Our eyes stay locked as he slowly glides higher, into the hair at the nape of my neck. I inhale a sharp breath, and he stills.
“Breathe,” he whispers. “Look at me. Don’t think. Stay right here with me where it’s safe.”
I release the breath and nod for him to continue.
His rough fingers are surprisingly gentle as he toys with the ends. “So soft.”
His fingertips glide over my forehead, sweeping the hair away from my eyes, then he slides his whole hand from the side of my head all the way to the back. His fist closes and reopens, over and over, massaging my scalp. My eyes close on their own as his reverent touch replaces my haunted memories.
He leans his temple against mine, his beard scratching against my cheek as he whispers, “You’re doing so good, baby. You’re so strong. So beautiful. I’m so proud of you.”
An overwhelming wave of relief crashes over me, and I collapse against his chest as fresh tears begin to fall. I’ve shed more tears in one night than I have since the moment I left home and never looked back.
One hand cradles my head, still running his fingers through my hair, while the other holds me tight to his body. “Are you ok? Do you want me to stop?”
“No. Don’t stop. Don’t ever stop.”
He dots a line of kisses across my forehead and temple with a tenderness that leaves me feeling both cherished and wholly undeserving of his devotion. Still, I can’t help but bask in it.
“I’ve got you, Bluebird.”