James 36
James
I shut the bedroom door behind us like I’ve just run a mile. I’m not winded from running her up the stairs; I’m having a hard time breathing because she hasn’t said a word. She’s just been looking at me.
I take a shallow breath.
God, the way she looks at me.
I almost forgot what it was like to have her eyes on me. I almost forgot what it was like to be seen like this.
Rosabelle looks at me like I exist. Like it doesn’t matter if nothing else does.
I take a second in the dark, my back digging into the molding of my bedroom door. I might’ve hit the gym too hard tonight. My arms are aching, but there’s some part of me that’s worried the moment I let go she’ll run away and never come back.
I stifle a sigh. I don’t bother turning on the light.
My curtains were never drawn. The windows are exposed, and moonlight pours into the sitting room like something spilled. My bedroom door is ajar in the near distance, the frame limned in silver.
Everything is liquid.
My mind seems altered.
Rosabelle always makes me feel like I’m somewhere outside of my body.
I lower my head, meeting her eyes. She’s still giving me that sleepy cat look. Still not saying a word.
I can’t believe she’s in my room.
I can’t believe we’re finally alone.
“Hi,” I say on an exhale. “I’m going to set you down, okay?”
She shakes her head, loose hair shifting into her face. “No,” she says. Her hands lift to my shirt, curling into the soft fabric.
This forces a strange laugh out of me.
I set her down on her feet, my muscles straining as I release them from their locked positions. Rosabelle is more than a little unsteady. She stumbles a step forward, rocking into me, and I catch her on instinct.
“James,” she says.
My heart is racing. “Yeah?”
“James,” she says again, urgently this time. Her desperate, panicked voice is wreaking havoc on my nervous system.
I take her chin, tilting her face up toward mine, and her eyes soften instantly. She blinks slowly; she looks like she’s fading again.
I can’t seem to catch my breath.
“Baby, what’s wrong?” I ask, my thumb skimming her cheek. “What do you need?”
Rosabelle wraps her arms around my waist, presses her entire face into my chest, and goes suddenly boneless.
I stiffen, stunned.
She might’ve hit the floor just now if I weren’t bracing her.
“Okay,” I say. “I know you’re tired.” I draw a hand down her hair and tiny shards of glass release, glinting in the moonlight. “I’m going to get you into bed, okay? I promise. I just need to get you cleaned up first—”
“No,” she says, the word muffled against my body. Her arms tighten around my waist, her fingers curling into my shirt. “Stay.”
“Hey, I’m not going anywhere,” I tell her, drawing her closer. “I just want to take care of you.”
“No.”
“Rosabelle—”
“Stay,” she says, and she sounds close to tears.
A sharp, sweet pain pierces my chest.
I’ve never seen her like this, so vulnerable. It’s like she’s been turned inside out, her marshmallow interior exposed to the harsh air. This version of her is causing me serious heart problems.
“All right, baby, come here,” I whisper. “I won’t let you go.”
She makes a soft sound as I sweep her up into my arms again, and then she clings to me, pressing her face to my chest like I might be a pillow.
The ache this inspires in me is close to anguish. It’s so intense I can barely feel my own fatigue, or the strain in my muscles. She wants to sleep here, in my arms.
She always falls asleep in my arms.
This is the same girl who offered unlimited intelligence to Warner in exchange for a promise to cut me out of her life. This is the girl who said she wanted nothing to do with me, never wanted to see me again, was going to skip town and marry a psychopath just to make things absolutely clear.
Fuck.
Rosabelle sighs, her lips parting against my chest in a whisper-light movement, and it’s enough to send an electric shock through my blood. I feel hot and weighted, like I can’t take a full breath. I might need a wall to support me soon.
“James,” she whispers.
And now I’m terrified.
I knew she was up to something. I knew she was pushing me away for the worst reasons, putting herself in danger in order to protect me.
I don’t want you to die, she’d said to me.
Over and over.
I don’t want you to die, I don’t want you to die, I really, really don’t want you to die—
I squeeze my eyes shut.
The problem is, I still don’t know what she was planning. I don’t know how much trouble she’s already set in motion. She’s acting so out of character right now that I’m starting to worry she’s not even aware of what’s happening. I’m worried she’ll wake up and build another wall between us.
Try to leave me again.
My heart starts pounding violently. I don’t know what to do. All I know is I don’t want to let go of her.
I want to put us both to bed.
I want to hold her close while she sleeps. I want to wake up next to her and make her breakfast and then explain to her, in no uncertain terms, that she belongs to me now.
I want exclusive ownership of her problems.
I want full-time custody of her fears. I want it to be my sole responsibility to protect her from the monsters in her life.
I want to put her in soft clothes in a safe place and bring her food.
I want to separate Sebastian’s head from his body.
I want to save her sister from the Ark. I want her to know that if she ever hurts herself again just to keep me safe, I will lose my fucking mind.
I wish it were that simple.
I wish I had any confidence she’d respond to this list of demands with anything less than a gentle, sincerely apologetic knife to my throat.
I exhale, hard.
I still need to comb the remaining glass out of her hair.
I need to wash the blood off her neck. I need to wash this day off both of us. She can’t even be comfortable like this—
A sharp knock detonates behind my head and I nearly jump out of my skin.
Jesus.
Nerves surge back into my body.
Another sharp knock and I mutter an epithet. I turn the handle, expecting to see Adam or Kenji, but Warner is standing at the threshold.
“Oh, hey,” I say, stunned. I rock back, still fighting to catch my breath. “I heard the great news, bro, congrats—How’s the—”
“What’s wrong with her?” he says. “What happened?”
I blink. “What?”
“What is the matter with her?” he asks again, angrily this time. “Why am I getting messages from Kenji about you bringing a dead body into this house?”
Motherfucker. “She’s not dead.”
“I know,” he says. “I can tell. But she was discharged from the hospital only hours ago—why is she covered in blood again? Why does she have the emotional consistency of someone deeply intoxicated? What did you do to her?”
Deeply intoxicated.
Shit.
I knew something was wrong.
I glance down at Rosabelle, her expression soft, her body relaxed against my chest. She’s already fallen back asleep.
“The windows in Nazeera’s house shattered in the blast,” I explain. “A pane of glass caught Rosabelle in the throat—nearly killed her.”
Warner unclenches in surprise.
“I thought she was dead,” I tell him. “I was trying to heal her and she wasn’t responding and I got a little desperate. I might’ve done too much. She can’t seem to wake up for more than a minute or two at a time.”
Warner squeezes his eyes shut. I can see his jaw tense in the gleam of moonlight. “You gave her the equivalent of a serious opiate.”
“I was just trying to save her life,” I point out. “Did Kenji tell you Nazeera’s house wasn’t backed up to the shield?”
“Yes,” Warner says, his eyes flying open in anger. “I’ll deal with her later.”
“Hey,” I say, straightening.
“What?”
“Bro.” I shake my head, almost laugh. “What are we even talking about? How’s your wife? How’s your baby? How are you? You’re a fucking dad now.”
Warner stiffens.
I watch him swallow, his body pulling taut with unspoken feeling. He looks at me in a rare, unguarded moment and I see it all there, in his gaze.
Joy and terror.
His eyes almost seem to gleam for a second in the uneven light. Quietly, he says, “I don’t know how to talk about it. I keep thinking I’m going to wake up.”
This catches me in the gut.
We hold still in the silence, and I offer him a grim look of understanding. I nod over his shoulder, at the long hall that stretches toward his wing of the house.
“Are you up for visitors?” I ask, managing a smile. “Can I meet my niece?”
“Of course.” Warner hesitates. “But she’s sleeping.”
“Who? Juliette?”
“No,” he says, and hesitates again. “Emmaline.”
My smile cracks wide open. “Her name is Emmaline?”
Warner looks away, blinking. “Yes.”
“You’re naming her after Juliette’s sister? That’s beautiful, man. Congrats. And Juliette is doing okay?”
“Yes,” he says, disbelief coloring his voice. “She’s doing … great.”
I can’t stop grinning. “I’d come say hi right now, but I wanted to shower before I came anywhere near your baby.” I glance down at Rosabelle. “And I still need to get Rosabelle cleaned up before I can put her to bed.”
“Where?”
“Where what?” I ask.
“Where are you going to put her to bed?”
“Here,” I say with a frown.
Warner raises his eyebrows. “You’re going to put her to sleep in your own bed?”
“That was the plan, yeah.”
His laugh is a cold exhale. “Good luck.”
“What?” The smile dies on my face. “Why?”
He shakes his head, looking away. “Just be careful,” he says to me. “I imagine much of this doesn’t feel real to her right now. She might not be acting like herself.”
My chest constricts. “Yeah,” I say. “I know.”
Warner sighs.
“All right,” he says abruptly. “Don’t move.”
He walks away without explanation and I’m just standing there in the open doorway, reeling, trying to figure out how to process the five thousand things coming for my mind at the same time, when I hear a soft rush of footsteps coming down the dimly lit hall.
Warner soon comes back into view—but this time, he’s with the girls. Sonya and Sara.
I take a step back.
“Hey,” I say, glancing between the three of them. “What are you—”
“We can take it from here,” says Sonya.