Comfort,Something Like It
TALIA
Holloway Sennett was, by every account, exactly the man he appeared to be. If events had played out differently, that might have been enough.
Talia closed the door and pressed her back against it, gasping for breath. She was home. She was safe. The sound of crystal shattering still hung in her ears. She could taste blood on her tongue. The rest was a blur.
Her pulse thundered in her ears. The air felt too thin to breathe properly. Holloway stirred on his cot, and suddenly he was on his feet and the lamp was flickering on. His hair was mussed with sleep, but his eyes were alert and scanning her for damage.
“Tally, what happened? What’s wrong?”
Her throat worked, but nothing came out. He took one step toward her and stopped, reading what he could from her face. Carefully, he reached for the bottle of whiskey on the desk.
“Come, sit,” he said gently.
She sank onto the edge of the bed, and the mattress dipped under her. He walked back to the desk and poured whiskey into two chipped cups. His fingers brushed hers when he passed her one.
She felt his concern through the contact, steady and uncomplicated. She took a sip. The heat of the whiskey slid down, loosening the knot behind her ribs. For a second she thought she might cry, but her eyes stayed dry. Only a little choking sound escaped.
“Hey,” Holloway said, low and calm. A voice for skittish horses. “What happened out there?”
She tried to talk, but the words stayed stuck. She swallowed more whiskey, and that didn’t help. She leaned back into the saggy mattress and forced herself to breathe.
“I don’t know who to trust,” she said when she got some air back.
Holloway’s jaw flexed. He reached out slowly and brushed a strand of hair from her face, his fingers trailing earnest affection where they grazed her skin.
“You can always trust me.”
She stared at his face, this classically handsome enforcer captain. Square jaw, deep smile lines, dark golden curls tumbling over his forehead. The boy she’d known was still in there, reshaped by wind and work. His neck and shoulders were thicker, broader.
“You changed,” she said quietly.
“So did you.” His mouth tipped, the ghost of a smile. “You’re more alive here. You never smiled so much in Vaelis.” His gaze flicked to her mouth, then back to her eyes. “I like this version of you.”
She leaned into him, and a day’s worth of stubble scraped her temple. She remembered how he used to follow her when they were children, just to make sure she was okay. Safe. Holloway had always made her feel safe. He slid one hand behind her neck, slipping his fingers into her hair.
“Tally.” He was the only person left in the world who called her that.
She knew it wasn’t fair to him, but she reached for his free hand and pulled him in. His mouth met hers, and he made a small sound of surprise. Then he reached up to grip her jaw and kissed her back so eagerly their teeth clicked. She tasted whiskey on his tongue.
He explored her mouth, then relaxed and let her press back into him. It was a rhythm that almost worked, but she felt the mismatch. He kissed her like a promise. She kissed him for comfort. It wasn’t the same thing.
For a few heartbeats it was enough. His chest felt solid beneath her hands, his fingers laced through her hair. When they broke apart, breathing hard, he pressed his forehead to hers.
“I missed you,” he said breathlessly.
“I missed you too.” The admission surprised her because it felt true. She did miss something about this, even if it was just being wanted.
He pulled back enough to meet her eyes, a crooked smile playing at his mouth. It only took him a second to scan her face, and he saw what wasn’t there. He knew her too well.
He looked away. Then he blinked hard and smiled, that old Holloway grin that made everything feel lighter. He shifted back to where the bed met the wall, giving her space.
“It’s okay.” His smile seemed genuine, if a little sad. “We don’t have to.”
Talia should feel bad, but all she felt was relief. She scooched off the bed and crossed the room. The whiskey bottle made a small, friendly glug as she refilled his cup, then hers.
“So, what happened tonight?” he asked, gently.
She sat back down and drew her knees up to her chest. Where should she start? She couldn’t tell Holloway she’d met with Lore.
“Someone suggested that Riven’s loyalties aren’t with me.”
Holloway’s expression changed almost imperceptibly, but she knew him. He’d gone very still, and his casual disinterest seemed forced.
“Do you think it’s true?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “It’s possible. Sometimes he looks at me like…there’s something there. But I don’t know him that well, and Marionette hired him first.” The two of them always referred to her grandmother by her first name.
Holloway looked down at his whiskey and took some time sipping it.
“What do you think of him?” she asked finally.
His fingers tightened around the cup. “If Marionette hired him, he’d have to honor that contract. The scope could easily extend beyond protection.”
“That’s not what I asked.” She heard the sharpness in her own voice and winced.
“No,” he said calmly. “You asked what I think of him.” He sighed and tipped his head back against the wall. “I think he’s dangerous. This isn’t a faerie story. Men who live by oaths and swords, they hurt people for a living.”
“That’s not fair,” she said before she could help herself. “You don’t know him.”
“I know the type.” His tone stayed level. He wasn’t giving her this. “And I know you. You want to see the good in people. You always have.”
“I’m so sick of people telling me what they think I am, and what I shouldn’t do.” She almost whispered it, but of course he heard.
He held her gaze. Then he nodded. “You’re right. I’m here for you, Tally. Whatever you need, just ask.”
Something in her chest spasmed. He didn’t know what he was offering. Didn’t know how involved she was with Lore and the rebels. He couldn’t give her unconditional support, not really.
He walked over to the washstand, wet a cloth, wrung it out, and came back.
“You’re shaking,” he said. “May I?”
She hadn’t noticed the tremor in her hands, but suddenly she felt dizzy. He touched the damp cloth to her wrists, then her throat. The coolness spread outward. He traced down her collarbone, rested his palm there. It steadied her more than the whiskey.
“Better?” he asked.
She swallowed. “A little.”
He sat again, closer this time, their knees almost touching. He took her empty cup, set it aside, and shifted so his shoulder brushed hers.
She let herself lean on him. She wasn’t leaning toward Holloway so much as away from Lore, and she hated herself for it.
She closed her eyes. The image that rose uninvited wasn’t Holloway’s face. It was a different man, with gray eyes. She eased away just a bit, and Holloway frowned.
“Let me hold you,” he said quietly. “Please. I need—” He stopped. “Just for tonight.”
How could she say no? She nodded. He kissed her forehead and pulled her glasses off her face. Then he stood to click the lamp off.
He let her have the blanket, tucking it around her before settling beside her in the narrow bed. He pulled her close, careful, like she might break. They kept their clothes on. She had a feeling it wasn’t what he really wanted, but it was the best she had to offer.
The room’s edges softened, and outside, the city muttered to itself. A dog howled from far away.
“Tally?” Holloway’s voice was muffled in the pillow. She’d thought he was asleep.
“Yes?”
“You don’t have to tell me everything.” He paused. “But you don’t have to shoulder everything alone either.”
“Okay,” she said, though she didn’t see how that could be true.
She lay awake, watching the streetlamps flicker across the ceiling. Holloway’s breath was light and warm against the back of her neck.
She wasn’t sure she could trust Riven.
Lore had terrified her.
And here, in Holloway’s arms, she felt safe—and utterly alone.