Chapter 32
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
DONOVAN
I put the knife down on the counter as Shiloh’s chest heaves, the weight of his confessions bearing down on him.
He slumps, his knees threatening to give out on him, and I step forward, scooping him into my arms. His cheek hits my chest and his shoulders start to shake, soft gasps like he’s struggling to keep himself together escaping from his mouth.
Finally, he lets go, and a sob leaves his mouth as he presses against me, tears soaking into the soft fabric of my T-shirt as I wrap myself around him so tight, carrying the burden with him.
My heart fucking aches.
The air hurts to breathe.
Shiloh is a trembling leaf in my too-large hands, and I don’t know if holding him this tight will mend or break what little of him remains.
All I can do is rest my cheek on his head, inhale the soft citrus scent of him into my lungs, and breathe.
I have never heard such devastation as the sounds falling muffled from his lips into the safety of my embrace.
I shouldn’t be holding him like this, I know.
Not with what he’s done. But how can I let go?
How can I possibly let him go?
“No more,” I whisper, as he quiets and settles into my body, melting into me. “You can be someone else, Shiloh.”
He sniffles, and I’m not sure he believes me but I have to trust that he does. I can’t be with someone who has killed people. It’s absolutely batshit to even consider that this is the situation I’m in, but I’m doing the best I can.
Should I turn him in to the authorities? Probably.
Can I bear to do that? No.
“I won’t hurt you,” Shiloh whispers, lifting his head off my chest and craning his neck back to look into my eyes. “I won’t, Donovan. I can’t. Not you.”
“I know,” I whisper back, lifting my hands to brush tears off his cheeks. “I know you won’t, baby.”
He lets loose a tiny noise of surprise, followed by a fresh spate of tears that trickle down his face like rainfall.
I do my best to catch them with my thumbs, smoothing them away from his warm skin as his lips quiver and his body trembles.
His eyes meet mine, the gray somehow not shining as it usually does, and his face gaunt and pulled tight.
He’s stained with dried blood and paint, the remnants of his attempts to make himself feel whole clinging to his precious skin.
“Come with me?” I ask, letting him go and taking a small step away from him. He wobbles on his feet like he’s about to fall, but I catch him and scoop him up into my arms. He makes another sound under his breath, but he doesn’t protest as I cradle him in my hands and head for the bathroom.
I settle him down on the closed toilet seat, because the counter feels too high and he seems ready to topple over at any moment.
He slumps where he sits, and I do my best to make sure he’s stable before turning to start the shower.
While that heats up to a temperature that doesn’t resemble the chill outside, I kneel and reach for the jeans he wears.
Piece by piece I undress him, moving his body as I need to, undoing buttons and zippers, sliding down pants and underwear until he sits naked, shivering and exhausted on the lid of the toilet.
Heat fills the room as I make quick work of shucking my own clothing, letting it all fall to a heap on the floor with his.
I extend a hand toward him when I’m naked as well, and he gently places his fingers into my palm as he stands up on wobbly knees.
When he looks at me, his eyes are filled with a sort of awe that takes my breath away.
I don’t know what he expected to happen when he arrived here, but he’s looking at me like I’m some kind of god who hung the moon and stars just for him.
“You okay?” I ask, offering an opening in case he has something he wants to say but can’t quite get it out.
“I’m so tired, Donovan,” he confesses into the steam-filled air.
“I know,” I say as I guide him to the bathtub.
He climbs in carefully and I follow, pulling the shower curtain closed behind us.
Hot water touches my skin, sending warmth through me, which soothes some of the lingering ache away.
Shiloh stands to the side of the stream, his hand turned upward as he catches droplets in his palm.
It’s like he’s in a daze and doesn’t know what to do with himself, but I’m sure a shower will go a long way toward helping.
“You’ll never get warm that way,” I laugh, moving him so he’s standing directly beneath the showerhead.
Water cascades down his face, soaking his curls through until they hang limply around his cheeks and neck.
He reaches up and pushes the wet strands away from his eyes, blinking as water dribbles down his forehead, droplets catching like dew in his eyelashes.
I’m about to gently reach out to tip his head back when he does it himself, like he was reading my mind.
He sighs as he closes his eyes, the water wicking away the traces of sticky dried tears and hopefully some of the sorrow he brought with him to my apartment tonight.
“Feels good, huh?” I ask as he tips his head back down and turns around to let the water hit his pale chest.
He nods but wobbles on his feet again, so I move to stand behind him, bracing his body with my hands on his hips.
When he feels a bit more settled on his feet, I reach forward and grab my shampoo, figuring that starting there is probably the safest bet.
As much as I want to grab his arms and scrape the wounds he created away, I ultimately just want him to feel better.
Shiloh nearly purrs as I scrub the shampoo into his scalp, kneading my fingertips along his skin in small circles.
When I’m done rinsing the shampoo out, I grab the conditioner and repeat the process, working through his tangles with my fingers as he sinks into my touch.
And then I turn him to face me and reach for his chewed-up arms. Shiloh goes stock still and looks away from me, his chest heaving slightly.
I take his hands in mine and raise them up so I can get a good look at his forearms. They’re bruised and scabbing over in some places, and my heart aches as I try to both keep count of and not count the times he damaged himself.
I don’t make a comment because he doesn’t need my words.
Instead, I grab my blue shower poof and wash every inch of his body that I can see before turning him around and doing the same to his back.
The only piece of him I don’t touch is the heart I carved into his chest, and when I turn him around to face me again, I put the loofah down.
“I will keep your heart, Shiloh,” I say, reaching out to press my fingers to his chest below the jagged, reddened heart.
“But I don’t want it without the rest of you.
I want your mind, your touch, your love.
Call me greedy, but I want it all. Every piece of you is precious to me, even the ones you wish you could cut away and hide.
You’re not the monster you have been, baby.
I know that. I can’t say it’s okay to do what you’ve done, but I believe you’re worth more than to be thrown away like a broken toy, so please…
stay? Let me keep you. Be here with me and let me be here with you. ”
“Stay?” he asks, his eyes once again filled with reverence and awe.
“Yes. Stay here where you’re loved, Shiloh Ryley Lake.”