Chapter 25
“Ask Cole.”
That’s what I hear as I wrench open the door to our home gym, planning on propping it open so I can listen out for when Ember goes to bed. That’s when I kidnap baby Mars from the living room and cuddle her up in my bed, making sure to put her back in her own in the lounge before anyone else is up in the morning. Instead, it’s Flint’s deep voice drifting down to me from the top of the stairs.
“He won’t mind, he said they look fine, right?” there’s a quiet response, and then, “I’ll go ask him.” Another pause, more hushed words, and then, “Well you go then, but if you’ve got another headache, you know he’ll want to help.”
Sweat runs down the back of my neck, my fingers hooking a blue towel from the rack, I wipe down my face, glancing at myself in the long stretch of wall mirrors, the reflective glass bolted firmly floor to ceiling. All I see in it is a man who some days gets it right, and some days gets it wrong. But I decide, right here, right now, that tonight, whatever it is she wants from me, I’m going to get it right.
Ember gets headaches that she says, ‘I wouldn’t call migraines’, but they more or less incapacitate her when they come, and she has to sleep it off. But what I have to do with that tonight, I don’t know.
So, I wait.
And a couple of minutes later, sitting down on one of the blue weight benches, legs spread, elbows on my knees, her shadow stretches across the carpet before my feet.
Slowly, lifting my eyes to her bright blues, I picture her between my thighs, Blaze between hers. Her chest streaked in orange and red and black. Wax dribbling over the milky peaks of her small breasts, running down her sternum as I carefully tipped the candle towards her, a little bead of black pooling in her navel. I hear the little hiss of the flame as the wet wax met the wick, spilling over the sides before it hit her skin.
She’s been quiet for days, ten, to be exact. I’ve been giving her space, she’s been giving me mine, like some sort of weird, unspoken promise. Still, she shoots me these little looks, ones that, as soon as our eyes meet, she looks away from. I don’t know how to read it. Does she think less of me now, after my confession?
I thought it would make her feel… I don’t know, something other than bad, about her cutting. If she knew then, about me, doing something similar, then maybe she would believe me when I say I understand.
Feel something kindred.
In me.
Let us start building our foundation there.
On trust.
Because, even though she doesn’t know it, I was the one who didn’t want her.
A week and a half ago now, when Blaze brought it to us, that night after his jealous fit of rage, the idea of us sharing her, none of us taking another woman or man again, I couldn’t think of anything more crazy.
I need something -someone- strong and stable, not fleeting and rushed. I can’t form attachments without real feelings. I never fuck just anyone that catches my eye.
I’m so well controlled, but I don’t know how it is, even now, that I can sit here, like this, so calm and stoic, and perhaps, maybe, even a little sinister looking, and not throw myself across this room and attack Ember’s lips with my own. Because she’s all I’ve been able to think about since I told my brothers I was only accepting the sharing terms for them.
I wasn’t interested in her.
She wasn’t interested in me.
I know what I look like, all six-foot-four of me is hard packed muscle, broad shoulders, a constant dark and imposing glare. I’m naturally unapproachable. Everything I’ve worked so hard on in this very gym has been crafted to do just that. So why is it that now, I’m kicking myself for it?
Since that family discussion where I reluctantly gave into the wants and desires of my brothers, everything for me feels different.
We’re still… quiet around each other, her and I, other than when she lets me tend to her wound, she inches one way, I inch the other. We tiptoe in an endless orbit where neither one of us ever meets. My hesitation to have her here, to share her, as though it were a sure fucking thing she wanted all of us anyway, is still something I’m struggling to grasp the concept of inside my head.
If she did want me…
What could that look like for us?
“Hi,” Ember speaks first, drawing my eye, offering me a soft, genuine smile.
That’s the thing about Ember, she’s always true. When she’s happy you can feel it. When she’s sad you can see it. It’s actually something I didn’t like about her when she first came here. How easy it was for her to show her emotion.
Tears, frowns, those very sparse, but very real smiles. I’ve always believed showing emotion is a weakness, and honestly, I still believe that’s true, in the right circumstances. But here, at home, with our family, perhaps it’s okay not to be so stony-faced all the time.
Her blonde hair is down. The curls tight, tangled, tresses hanging thickly all the way down the length of her spine. A few loose strands pulled forward over her shoulders, the very ends touching just above her hips. She has this fat, bright red velvet headband in the front of it today, after numerous complaints of her unable to find her ribbon, this thing is pushing the locks out of her face, these tiny little blonde springs pinging free by her ears.
“Sorry to interrupt,” she says, curiously inspecting the space.
“You aren’t.”
You can always interrupt me; I wish you’d do it more.
“Oh, okay, well, um,” she breathes in deep, taking a step fully inside the room now instead of hovering in the doorway. “I was actually wondering if you could check my wound again.”
All of me tenses, my muscles stiffening like rigor mortis is already setting in, and I’m standing, closing the space between us, my hands clamping too tightly around her upper arms, but I can’t stop myself from grabbing her.
“What happened?” I snap.
I don’t mean for the snarl of my lip to curl my words, I don’t mean to look so absolutely fucking terrifying when I peer down at her. Her head tilted so far back in surprise that it’s possible she might tip over without my hold on her. But the thought of her being hurt. By anyone. Even by her own hand. Simply makes me feral.
“Nothing,” she whispers, her eyes softening.
She reaches up from her frozen state of shock and despite the tightness of my hold on her, she places a palm to my chest, her fingers gently stroking my sweat slicked skin.
“I’m okay,” she swallows, still looking up at me, and I can’t tear my gaze from her mouth as she licks her lips. “Nothing happened,” she says soothingly, placating me, I realise, like a feral hound that scents blood. “I’m okay.”
My breaths are coming hard and fast, heart like a savage beast trying to pummel its way free of my chest. There’s no way she’s fine, not if she’s coming to me, for that.
We’ve got this routine, it’s the only time we spend alone together, but I find it’s quickly become my favourite part of the day.
Every evening, after her shower, I go to Blaze’s room, med kit in hand, and knock. Waiting outside of that wooden door is agony, knowing that, just beyond it, Ember is naked and wet. Hovering in the dark length of the hall, one that does, in fact, actually have a light fixture, that we just never switch on. I stand there, patiently, staring at the wood grain like I could drill holes through it with nothing more than my glare, until she calls for me to come in.
That’s when my heart pounds, my dick twitches and I have to take a deep, steely breath, before I push open that door.
She waits for me on the bed, her wet hair up in the twist of a towel, water droplets running down her arms, over her shoulders, disappearing beneath the towel cinched around her body. I don’t say anything when I close the door at my back, the sound of it clicking shut like a bullet entering a chamber, something that’s not quite final but could be.
I drop to my knees at her feet and tenderly spread her legs, my eyes only ever flicking between her face, for permission, and her thigh to care for the wound. It doesn’t matter that mere inches higher, I know she’s bare, the towel always tucked up just so, to help her keep her modesty.
It doesn’t matter that I’ve had my teeth buried beneath her skin, my hands on her tits. It doesn’t even matter that I’ve seen what she looks like when she comes, is filled with my best friend’s seed, when she grunts out these tiny breathy noises of pleasure. The face of awe that she makes when hot wax dribbles down the valley of her breasts. All of these perfect, private parts of her that I’ve seen. That’s she’s allowed me to witness, to be a part of. Because I’m not entirely sure that’s what she wants me for.
I drop my hands from her arms, clearing my throat as I take a small step back, “Sorry.” Reaching up, I palm the back of my neck, “I was worried, didn’t mean to startle you.”
“You didn’t!” she rushes out, reaching a hand up towards the base of her throat. “I, um, I just wondered if there was any chance the stitches could come out tonight instead of tomorrow. I’d really like to have a soak in the bath, and I know you said not to get it too wet-”
“Ember,” I say gruffly, stopping her.
“Yeah?” she looks at me all open, her eyes wide and her face blank, soft.
“I can take them out now,” I tell her. “Grab the kit and come back down.”
“Here?” she asks, those big blue eyes flicking all over the space.
“Yeah, is tha-”
“I’ll be right back.”
We sit in the same position we do every night when she comes back down, letting me tend to her. With tweezers and tiny curved scissors, I pick out the final stitch, adding the once turquoise cotton, now stained brown, to the little pile of pieces. The cut looks good, bright pink, raw, but closed.
“There you go,” I say, giving the new scar a final swipe with an antiseptic wipe, before snapping off my gloves and throwing it all into a little blue rubbish bag. “You can use the tub down here, if you want, there’s some Epsom salts that’ll be good for healing in there, just sprinkle them straight into the warm water,” I tell her, gesturing towards the room at her back that has a large tub I sometimes use for ice baths.
“You have a whole bathroom in the gym?” she asks, following my gaze towards the closed glass doors, the lights beyond them off.
“Yeah, it’s-” I think of all the other things that come before it with a frown, the sauna, steam room… “Come with me, I’ll show you, and if you wanna use it, I can show you how to work it, the taps are different to the ones upstairs.”
Wordlessly, she follows me, my fingers flicking on the lights as we go. She makes a surprised sound when we reach the big lounging tub, coming to stand at my side, she gapes at the room.
It’s just simple white tiles, a large tub in the centre, a short counter with a sink, the toilet hidden behind another door.
Flicking off the bright overhead light, I turn on the small ones around the mirror instead.
Ember tilts her head at me, watching as I plug the bath, start the water, throw in a healthy amount of the salts. I cross the room, going to the sink to wash my hands.
“I’ll leave you to it,” I tell her, foaming up the soap on my fingers, “when the tub’s as full as you like it, just press that big centre button and it’ll switch off. To drain it, you can pull that lever at the back of the tap.”
It’s only when I’m drying my hands, turning to rest back against the counter that I realise she’s still standing in the same position. A strangled look on her pretty face.
“Ember?”
“Is it-” she blows out a shaky breath, face suddenly pale, her bottom lip wobbling, hands wringing in the hem of her t-shirt. “Does it look… bad?” she winces as she asks it, staring down at the floor, the rush of the water drumming into the bath like a torrent in my ears.
“Ember.”
“You can tell the truth.” She lifts her chin, staring right at me with big wet eyes. “Blaze lies to me all the time, so even if it’s disgusting, he won’t say it. Flint hasn’t seen it. And I feel as though Phoenix will probably just ask me if I’d like a matching one on my face as soon as he does see it.” She snorts a laugh through her nose, breathing hard.
Holding my gaze, she pants, fisting the cotton of her t-shirt. Her face shadowed in the dim glow of the lights, but I can feel it, the exhaustion, the panic, the unstableness of just being here.
Existing.
Some days are just like that.
I could offer her a thousand words in response. I could tell her that she’s right about it all.
That, yes, Blaze does lie to her, but it’s also just because he thinks it’s keeping her safe. And that he would think she was the most beautiful woman on the planet no matter what she has etched into her skin. Because she’s her and he’s him, and I’m pretty sure they’re made for each other.
That, also, yes, Flint may not have seen it yet, but I’ve never known Flint to give a fuck about scars or spots or blemishes in all my years of knowing him. So he’s likely not to even notice it there.
And that, yes, Nix likely would offer to match it on her face, but only because that’s the way he thinks he can get a permanent smile onto her. Because smiles are what he links to love.
“Come get in the water, Little Spark,” I tell her instead, making my way to the taps, switching off the faucets and dipping my fingers into the milky water to check it’s not too hot before moving back to the sink.
Silently, my back to her, she removes her clothing, the quiet rustle of fabric, the little thud of it hitting the floor. She slips into the water with almost no sound at all.
My hands grip the sink, fingers digging into the porcelain so hard I’m shocked I don’t hear it crack. The mirror taunts me, a meagre inch from my face, reflecting what I’m sure is a perfect view of the tub, but I don’t look up. Keeping my eyes lowered, my chin dipped, I push off of the basin, turning towards the door.
“I’ll be right outside, just shout if you need me, okay?” I wait for her acknowledgement, but it never comes.
“Can you stay with me? In here, Cole?” she whispers. “Please?”
And, God, the way she says my name, fucking Christ, it’s enough to snap my heart in two.
Whatever you want, baby girl.
I turn back towards her, her eyes on me, “Right here?” she requests, lifting a wet hand to point at the floor right beside her.
Exactly where she points, is where I sink down, facing her, my back to a pillar. I draw my knees up, let my hands dangle where I rest my elbows atop them.
“You haven’t looked?” I ask her quietly, not daring to upset the silence, nothing but the gentle lapping of the water against her body filling the room.
“No.” She traces her fingers through the water, flicking her gaze up onto me, “Not since I did it.”
I nod, understanding it, it’s hard to look at the evidence of our lowest moments, our darkest days, sometimes. Forty-percent of my body is scarred with one of mine, so I feel her words like daggers in my bones.
“You should take a look,” I tell her softly, staring into her pretty face. “It’s healing up really well.”
She doesn’t respond, and I’m not sure how to fill the sudden silence, the drip of the tap, her soft breaths, the steady drumming of my heart. Any one of my brothers upstairs would know what to do here.
But not me.
Since we shared that moment with Blaze, she’s gone back to being shy around me again. Throwing me these glances I don’t know how to interpret, quickly looking away when I make eye contact. But I didn’t go back to the shadows. I’m making myself available, I guess is the right word. Present.
I want her to want to come to me the same way she does my brothers.
Phoenix is the first person she goes to every morning, their sleepy, casual touches, soft smiles, silent conversations over breakfast. He’s how she starts her day, easing herself into it.
Flint spars with her. Teasing, tickling, touching. She gravitates towards him when she’s low, when she needs to feel something. Anything.
Then there’s Blaze. She goes to him like they’re opposite poles of a magnet. They bicker, they frown, they scowl at one another. But when the day ends, the house falling still, when they think no one else is paying them any attention, they’re calm with one another, tender. Something I didn’t know my best friend could be.
I’m not sure, already having captured the attention of three possessive men, she really needs me for anything.
But I could be soft with her.
Firm.
Quiet.
Calm.
I would give her my strength, my steadiness. I could be that solid foundation for her when her sea is crashing violently against her. Knocking her back and back and back. Throwing her into the sharp rocks of the shore before dragging her under, out to sea, drowning her. I would pull her out, be her life raft.
I will always pull her out.
Maybe this was her first step.
Maybe she’s only come to me because I’m the family’s unofficial medic.
“Cole.”
“Mm?”
“Thank you,” she breathes, stuttery and slow, “for taking care of me.” She drops her gaze, swirling the water around with her fingers. “Whilst I’ve been here-” she stops short, even though it’s a complete statement, it feels like she cuts herself off.
So, when she doesn’t say anything else, I simply reply, “You’re welcome.”