25. June #2
Dominic’s jaw tightens like he’s holding something back.
“That’s not how the truth works,” I tell him. “You don’t get to pick and choose.”
Dom avoids my stare. “It’s more complicated than that, June.”
“Don’t patronize me with that tone.” I point to Coen and Magnus. “You might have these two scared into obeying you but the difference between them and me is that I’m not afraid of you.”
Magnus places his hand on my thigh. “Princess, cut him some slack, please.”
I peel him off of me. “No, I’ve cut you all more slack than you deserve.
Six months you kept this from me. What else are you hiding?
” I focus on Coen. “You keep accusing me of fucking Simon. Maybe you’re projecting that you have something going on I don’t know about?
You can’t honestly tell me all the late nights and early mornings were just because of this. ”
Coen’s blue gaze trails up to meet mine. “I would never.”
“And guess what, I fucking believe you. But how does it feel to be accused of something you didn’t do?”
“J…”
I hold out my hand. "I'm not interested in anything you have to say, Coen."
Simon remains still and quiet beside me like a kid who’s stuck in the room while his parents are fighting. Just trying to blend in until it’s time for him to make his escape.
“I think I need some time to process this. For me to figure out what I’m going to do with this information, this situation.” My head swims with questions, and if I don’t take a break soon, I’m going to pass out from the exhaustion of the day slamming into me.
Finally, Simon speaks up. “You’re not leaving, are you?”
“No, not the house. I’m going to bed. I need to be alone for a while.”
“Okay,” he breathes.
I stand from the couch and glance at each of the men that hold a piece of my heart. “We’ll talk more about this tomorrow.” I settle on Simon. “Walk me to my room?”
His eyes widen before he rises to his feet. “Uh, yeah, of course, love.”
I ignore the seething stares of the rest of the guys and walk out of the room, their whispers fill the space by the time Simon and I reach the stairs. More secrets, no doubt.
Simon places his hand on the small of my back on the way up, and keeps it there down the hall. We stop in front of my room and when I turn to him, I don’t hesitate wrapping my arms around his torso and burying my face in his chest.
He stiffens slightly but then his resolve softens. “Love…” Simon folds me into him and presses his cheek against the top of my head.
I breathe into him and sigh. “Sorry, I needed this.”
And from the way he grips me tighter, I think he did, too.
“You had me worried today,” I tell him. “I thought I lost you.” I try to push away the memory of Simon’s body floating face down in the water but the image is burned into my memory. I’d never felt fear like that in my entire life before. Not even when I was staring death directly in the eyes.
“I’m not going anywhere, love.” He rubs small circles on my back and kisses my hair. “Never.”
“I’m really sorry,” I whisper into him. “About everything.”
“Shh.” He tilts my chin up toward him. “Please stop apologizing.” Simon flits his gaze down to my lips, his attention lingering far too long.
My heart skips a beat, and I swallow at the possibility floating between us. Is this it? Is this the moment we finally cross that boundary? When we step over the line that we can never come back from?
But when Simon presses a soft kiss against my forehead, it disappears into thin air.
“Get some rest, love. I’ll be here when you wake up.”
I do as he tells me, only because I'm too fucking exhausted to protest. Between my normal sleep deprivation and the rather vexing day, my energy levels are at an all-time low.
And if I'm being completely honest, I don't remember what I ate or drank today, either.
Only, I don't say that out loud because I know Simon will insist that I eat something, and even though I probably should, I don't want to.
Not when I'd rather bury myself in my bed and hope like hell that when I wake up, I will be rid of this nightmare I'm in.
I climb into my massive bed and pull the blanket all the way over my face, wondering how long it would take for me to suffocate under it.
When it gets too fucking hot, I tug it down and let out an exaggerated sigh.
I turn on my side, wincing and shifting to the other instead.
Fucking gunshot wound. Hopefully, that was the last time I get shot in this lifetime.
At least an hour or two goes by as I relentlessly doze in and out, wondering if I’ll ever actually fall asleep. I lick my lips, my mouth dry as fuck. I kick off the blankets and slide out of bed, tiptoeing out of my room to get a drink from the kitchen down the hall.
But when I unknowingly bump into something solid, I stop dead in my tracks and lower myself to the ground, feeling for what I hit.
“Love, what’s wrong?” Simon mutters half asleep.
"What the fuck are you doing out here?" I whisper and ask him.
“Sleeping.” He yawns and sits up all the way. “What are you doing out here?”
“I was getting something to drink, but…” I feel around in the dark. “You don’t even have a blanket or anything. Are you crazy?”
“Yeah, probably.”
“Come on.” I reach my hand out and stand. “You’re coming with me.”
“Wh-what?”
“I said, come on.”
“I’m not supposed?—”
“I don’t care what you’re not supposed to do. We aren’t fucking, you’re just coming in to sleep. I refuse to let you sleep in the hallway like a dog.”
“Love, I’m fine, really. It’s not the first time?—”
“Simon Beckett, I am inviting you into my bed, do not refuse my offer.”
He brings himself to his feet within seconds. “Let me get you that drink first. What do you want?”
“I can get it. Go get in bed.”
“Hey,” he says while finding my cheek with his hand. “Together?”
I lean into him and smile. “Together.”
We walk the rest of the hall side by side, silently working to get a glass and fill it with water.
I take a sip and offer it to him. There’s something so intimate about our lips touching the same cup.
Once we’re finished, we go back the way we came, not another sound filling the house other than the gentle patters of our footsteps on the wood floor.
I pull myself onto the bed and scoot far enough over to give Simon room.
“Are you sure?” he asks me. “I shouldn’t?—”
“What are they going to do? Shoot me?” I pat the spot next to me.
“Don’t joke about something like that.” Simon exhales and kicks off his shoes. He lowers himself onto the mattress and extends his arm. “If I’m going to die, I might as well enjoy it. Come here.”
I grin and melt myself into him, resting my head between his collar and jaw.
“Are you comfortable, love?”
I mumble into him, my eyes already growing heavy by the second.
He places his hand on my waist instead of my arm, being careful not to bump my bandage. Simon drags his finger along my forehead to tuck my hair behind my ear. He kisses my temple. “Good night, love.”
“Good night, Simon.”
And for the first time in as long as I can remember, I sleep without nightmares.