Chapter 14
DENVER
When I finally step into their house, I’m met with the sight of Archie, who is rushing toward the door, fumbling with some knives. He looks rumpled and slightly off-kilter, not like the strong stalker I’ve grown used to.
His eyes flick to mine, and he comes to an abrupt stop. “Denver.” I see the way his lips form my name.
Then the knives are dumped onto the surface nearest him, and he’s moving toward me. He stops just short of pulling me into his arms, and I feel a punch of regret because god, I need those muscles wrapping around me right now.
But I can be patient.
After a short forever, he sucks in a breath, then curls one hand around my bicep and with the other asks, ‘What happened?’
Luckily, I don’t have to answer. I collapse against Archie’s chest as Percy pushes past me and into the main room, throwing his keys on the table before turning to answer his brother’s question.
‘Someone was following him. Choked him.’ Percy’s hands move up to his own neck, showing in detail how the man’s hands had grabbed onto me. It’s almost too much. The room spins slightly, and I lean harder against him.
I feel the rumble of Archie’s voice, but I don’t bother trying to figure out what he’s saying. None of it matters. I’m finally here, I’m with the one person who will protect me, and now I can let everything go for a bit.
The brothers talk for a few minutes more, and then Archie taps me, and I force my eyes open as I look up at him.
‘Bed,’ he spells.
I shiver and nod, nestling in closer to Archie as he lifts me into his arms as though I weigh nothing and walks me toward the stairs.
It’s only a few seconds of darkness after that before I’m back in his room, surrounded by the familiar sight of his coffin and the gentle scent of wilted flowers and damp air.
He squeezes me tightly for a second, then settles me onto his bed and tucks his blanket up around my chest. My eyes flutter up to meet his, and I see Archie staring long and hard at the wound I have.
My fingers move up to touch it, but he snatches my hand away and brings it to his lips.
‘Don’t touch,’ he signs. ‘Need to clean it.’
My fingers curl around his, and he holds me against him. I feel settled finally, and my heart stops pounding like it’s trying to escape my chest.
When our eyes meet again, his hand lifts. ‘Who?’
I know what that means. He wants to know if I recognized the man who attacked me.
‘Don’t know. But same as before.’ My fingers tremble on that last sign, and he grabs them tightly.
His eyes flicker, angry, wild.
‘I will find,’ he eventually says when he lets me go. ‘Will murder.’
My lips twitch at that because I believe him, and honestly, I wouldn’t mind if the man who keeps following me and trying to kill me would, once and for all, cease to exist.
That might make me a bad person, but I’m past the point of caring. I’m tired of living in fear.
‘Thank you,’ is all I can say, tucking myself into him. He cradles me like I’m something precious, like he’s never going to let any other harm come to me. And honestly, I’m here for it.
I want that.
He leans back against the headboard, and I go with him, my head resting on his chest. His hands tighten around me carefully, as if he’s afraid I might break. And in this moment, I might. I’m so tired of being afraid all the time.
‘Okay?’ he asks when he has my attention again.
I nod before shaking my head. I don’t truly know if I am okay. I can’t tell. My head hurts, and I feel like I’m coming apart at the seams. ‘I’m tired.’
‘I know. I can see.’
His rough hand brushes over my cheek, and he leans down, his nose moving up the side of my face. He stares down at me once more, and I see the scrunch of his nose.
‘What?’ I ask with a flick of my fingers.
‘You smell different.’ My face falls, and his brows lower. ‘Wrong?’
In spite of the fact that I almost never cry, suddenly, tears start leaking from the corners of my eyes. ‘I don’t want to smell different.’
‘I said wrong thing,’ he sighs and rolls off me, staring up at the ceiling, and I turn my head to look at him. I want to reassure him that it’s fine, that I’m just so fucking done with today, but before I can, he twists back toward me and leans over me once more.
‘You need shower.’
My mouth quirks up, and I choke out a horrified laugh. ‘I do?’
I mean, I’m sure I do. I have god knows what all over me, like dirt, pepper spray, and whatever my stalker had on his hands before he touched me.
‘But,’ he adds before I can fully fall apart, ‘you still beautiful. Have…’ He scratches his finger across his forehead in the same place I have my wound—it almost looks like the sign for trauma, and honestly, he’d be correct—and then his hand falls. ‘But still…I like.’
That makes me snort, and my lips curl up into a smile. He’s trying, and right now, that’s the only thing that matters. ‘I think I’ll be prettier after a shower.’
He nods, and I push at his chest, signaling that I want to get up. He gets the hint and hops up, lithe as a cat.
Holding out one hand, he keeps his body still as I take it, and he grips me gently as he pulls me to my feet. His steps are more careful when he leads me to the bathroom, and it’s strange to imagine that not twenty-four hours ago we were in here touching, teasing, tasting.
I’m not in the mood for anything like that now. All I want is to wash the entire event off my skin. I want to scrub at my skin until it’s pink. Until I feel like me again.
Archie starts the water as I attempt to undress, but I’m shaking too badly to make any progress, and my head is pounding too hard for me to care.
He takes one look at me, then walks over and turns the main light off, which immediately soothes my eyes.
He skims a touch over my arms, then lifts my hands and kisses my palms before carefully pulling my shirt over my head, then goes for my pants.
When I’m completely naked, he undresses himself, and then he guides me under the warm water. My eyes drift to the soap and shampoo he has settled in the corner…and that’s when I notice it.
The shampoo and soap I use.
My eyes flick to his, and he stares at me.
‘You copy me?’ I ask, and he cocks his head.
‘I told you. I like your smell.’
My cheeks flush. I don’t really know what to do with that.
Once again, his behavior should be weird and creepy, but something about it makes me feel settled.
Like he’s trying to make this place a home.
I lean against him, and he gently urges me under the spray, tipping my head back by my chin as water cascades over my hair.
It stings the places where my head was split open, and when I glance down, the water is tinted faintly pink.
I turn my gaze up to his, and he wets his lips. He likes what he sees, and I like that he does.
He doesn’t hold my gaze, just like usual, but he squirts shampoo into his hand and carefully begins to wash all the blood out of my hair with a tenderness that tells me he sees me. That he understands what I need in this moment.
And it’s too easy to get lost in his touch as he gently works up a lather, then guides me back under the water to rinse.
The conditioner is next, and he plays with the ends of my hair, almost like he’s stimming with it before setting it aside and grabbing a cloth for the bodywash he has on the shower shelf.
It smells a bit like jasmine—a very faint scent—and he begins to run the cloth over every inch of my skin. But he’s too gentle.
“More,” I say aloud. “Please. More. Harder.”
I’ve spoken those words before, I think, but not in this context.
Archie understands me just as well like this though, and he scrubs the cloth harder across my body until my skin stings.
He seems to read me better than I can read myself because he stops just moments before I’m ready to tell him it’s enough, and then he rinses the cloth and sets it aside, pushing me back under the water.
The bubbles run down the drain, clinging to remnants of pepper spray, glitter, spit, and sweat. It feels a bit like I’m letting this whole incident disappear, though I know it’s just for now. Just in this moment.
I won’t ever truly forget what happened tonight.
When we step out of the shower, Archie wraps me in a towel and dries me off, letting his eyes rove over me.
But he says nothing, like he knows I need this moment of stillness and quiet.
We’re both still naked as he takes my hand and tugs me out of the humid air of the bathroom, and as I breathe in the coolness of his basement room, I feel him watching me again.
‘Want clothes?’ he asks when I turn toward him, and I shake my head. I want to feel nothing but cool sheets and his warm skin.
Tossing the towel to the side, I climb under the soft blanket and hold the edge back for him to follow me, but he doesn’t. Not right away.
‘Join?’ I ask. Maybe he needs me to be a bit more explicit.
That seems to do the trick because he nods and slips onto the bed next to me. He’s stiff for a moment, but then he rolls over and takes me by the arm, tugging me against his body. I nestle my head against his chest, and his nose brushes my hair.
As I bask in his hold, my eyes move around the room, and they catch on the coffin. I know about them—about his collection now, and that it’s a special interest for him, but I still don’t quite understand.
I tap his chest, and he leans in, his gaze fixing on where my fingers are pressed against his sternum. ‘Why do you like coffins?’
‘Many reasons,’ he answers, and I arch my eyebrows. His fingers flutter in thought, and then he shrugs. ‘If you ask me this, I may talk too much. INFO DUMP,’ he spells.
I fight off a laugh because I don’t want him to think I’m making fun of him. ‘I’m a teacher. I kiss-fist info dumps.’
He rolls his lips between his teeth and then begins. ‘I like the way they squeeze around my body when I lie in them. I like the shape and design of them. The angles and the lining. It’s very precise. And I enjoy learning how they’re made.’