Chapter 25
Riley
“FIX IT.”
“Open,” Wilder instructs, hands on his hips as he watches me closely.
Flexing my fingers, I open them to reveal the foam balls in each of my palms. He takes them and replaces them with what looks like a small cut piece from a pool noodle.
I’m wearing the equivalent of a resistance band, but for my hand.
Really, it’s like an oversized rubber band with holes cut out for my fingers.
It provides resistance for me to build back and strengthen the tiny muscles in my hands.
“Close.”
I close them.
“Now squeeze.”
My nostrils flare as the tremors return.
“Squeeze, big man,” he encourages, shifting a little closer. “C’mon. Squeeze—”
“I’m fucking trying!” I snap, frustrated. Not at Wilder but at myself. I was doing well enough to come home, but today my hands decided to be a pair of little bitches and tremble like a sinner in church. Instantly, I feel like shit. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap.”
He waves me off with a sincere smile. “You’ve done it before—the exercise, not the snapping,” he teases, “and you can do it again, Riley.” He takes my wrists in his hands, gently turning them over and examining the length of my arms, front and back.
I think another part of my problem is how clingy I’ve been with Creed and Collins.
My time away from them has increased my dependency on them tenfold, so I’m constantly finding myself in close proximity to one or both of them at all times.
Is it healthy? Probably not, but that’s a problem for future me.
Actually, it’s kind of my problem now because I feel heavily distracted.
I know the ultimate goal here, but having to spend time in the guest house for therapy instead of joining the neverending cuddle puddle between Collins and Creed is the worst. And to top it off, I’ve got the other, much less fun kind of therapy after this.
The kind where I’m broken down week after week—reliving my trauma in hopes of finding ways to move past and overcome the shit that happened to me. The things I was forced to watch.
The way I had no choice but to rot in my own blood and filth while the girl I had fallen in love with was violated every day.
It’s all your fault.
It’s not your fault.
It’s a vicious, endless, cycle that I fear I may never overcome. I’ve kept up with my journaling, and now my therapist wants to follow up before moving onto other topics.
“You need us to move?” Wilder asks, snapping me out of my thoughts. My head snaps up as he sidesteps before turning around just as Collins and a petite brunette walk through the doors of her new silks room.
“Nope,” Collins chirps, popping the p. She strides over, wearing these tiny peach colored shorts and a yellow form fitting, long sleeved athletic crop top. The sleeves are a little long and cover her hands down to her base knuckles.
It doesn’t escape my attention that she notices how I notice. She’s covering her scars. Or more specifically, the expanse of her shoulder and arm where her tattoo once belonged.
She stops when she reaches my side, offering a sweet smile.
“We only need a little space to move today.”
She brushes an errant curl from my eyes with another smile that threatens to liquify my heart. Collins looks like pure sunshine today. The look she gives me says what she won't say aloud, just to save my ego. It says I’m here so that you’re not alone.
If her being here is supposed to tatter my pride, then consider me a ruined man. Selfishly, I’m fucking elated that she’ll be working in close proximity to me today.
“I won’t take much time, just a half an hour or so with Marie, then we’ll be done for the day.” She takes a step forward so she can lean down where I’m sitting and places a kiss to the tip of my nose. “Creed will be here when he realizes we’re both gone.”
That makes me laugh because it’s true. Creed’s always been possessive and a bit obsessive, but it’s been heightened tenfold since coming home.
He’s become this mother hen type of boyfriend to Collins and…
to me, too, I guess. He has all but moved me and my belongings into his room—not that I’m complaining.
The closet is about to bust, but the three of us fit so snugly together in the bed that there’s quite a bit of space surrounding us.
It’s overwhelming, but I’m not sure I’d want it any other way after spending too much time away from them.
Collins moves to step away, but I shock even myself when my arm snaps out, catching her by the sleeve at her elbow.
My grip immediately loosens, and I lose contact with her almost immediately.
She turns to face me anyway. She’s so damn beautiful that it’s forced me to swallow all my words.
I open my arms and all I choke out is, “Please?”
Collins just smiles and shakes her head. “You never have to ask me, Ri.”
That’s all the reassurance I need to take her hands and tug her until she stands between my legs, where I sit on the stool, and into my arms. Wilder and Marie wait patiently while I take this moment to just soak in holding my girl.
I spent two weeks in hell with her, just to be rescued, then sent away from her and Creed all over again.
I’m fucking touch-starved. Worse than I was before all of this shit went down.
Collins is so goddamn tiny, but she already looks stronger.
She looks well. Healthy. A small part of me is envious of just how much progress she’s made in my absence, but I’d wish for her well-being over my own any day of the week.
Giving her one last squeeze, I place a timid kiss to the top of her head before releasing her.
“Ready when you are,” Wilder says, his smile bright as Collins makes her way to the silks that hang from the ceiling.
For the next fifteen minutes, I work with Wilder, a new sort of determination settling deep into my bones.
A drive that pushes me to work with my body, instead against it, to get stronger.
And it’s all her. I want to be everything she needs again.
I want to build up the strength in my hands so that Collins may find safety within them again.
“That’s good for today, Riley.” Wilder pats my shoulder, then starts to load up his equipment. He’s here for the rest of the week before he gets to go back home. He’ll be back every three weeks until I improve before therapy spreads out farther based on my progression.
“She’s good,” he says quietly, standing next to me as he slings his work bag over his shoulder.
I look at him as he watches Collins. She’s been using these simple moves to stretch and work up the muscle in her body.
Wilder’s mesmerized, but he’s not ogling her. It just looks like simple fascination.
Which is great for me—it means Creed won’t be firing him and I won’t need another new therapist.
“She’s fucking perfect.” Creed’s voice over my shoulder makes me jump as he wraps an arm around my waist and slaps a loud, wet kiss on my cheekbone. His lips brush my ear as he coos, “And so were you, baby.”
His praise and pet name heats my cheeks. I’m not sure if I could ever get used to that. His affection has always been there, but I never expected to love when he calls me baby or sweet boy. I feel as if I haven’t done enough to deserve the endearment, so I’m soaking it all up while I can.
Sighing, I lean my head against his shoulder and let him take my weight as we all take in the magnificence of Collins moving through her aerial silks like a seasoned pro. She’s got one of our songs from the Seeking Daylight album titled Never Beg or Barter.
It’s a heavier song, full of bass and simulated static, as if the sound were coming through blown speakers.
Bear and I had come up with the concept of this score when Creed had first presented the lyrics.
It’s about a fall from grace and learning to claw your way out on your own.
To find the strength to push through the pain until you find yourself—your inner light—again.
Then it clicks in my mind and I glance at Creed from the corner of my eye to find that he’s already watching me. He looks back at Collins, her reflection dancing within his icy blue pools, and he gives me a singular nod. It’s the answer to my silent question.
Yep, it’s another song about her.
Specifically the moment she freed herself from the foster system when she turned eighteen.
I turn my eyes back to Collins as Marie quietly coaxes her through transition after transition, helping her to stretch and adjust her body with each move to accommodate her healing scars.
She’s incredible. Happiness soars within the confines of my chest as I watch her face light up with a blinding smile when she unwinds and lands perfectly within her silks. Her wrists are looped through each strand, but the moment she tries to part her legs into a split, her expression changes.
Creed’s posture stiffens around me at the same time my senses kick into overdrive.
Slowly, Collins’ face falls, the smile disappearing from her face.
It’s a slow regression, one that I hate I’ve come to know too well.
It’s as if all the fight has left her—good or bad.
Her eyes become distant and her legs go slack, but her hand grip only tightens on the silks.
“She okay?” Wilder asks with concern, but Creed and I are already moving.
“You need to let go of the silks, Ma Chérie. Slide down, I don’t want you to fall.” Marie placates her softly, pausing the music as we approach. Creed reaches for her—
“Don’t touch her!” I snap, my mind on autopilot when his very confused expression meets my panicked one.
For the first time ever, I think he’s actually furious with my outburst, and it causes a flash of hurt to stab through my gut.
I didn’t mean to yell at Creed. It was an automatic reaction to seeing someone trying to touch her when she’s retreated into her own mind.
I swallow thickly past the lump that’s been lodged in my throat.