Chapter Twenty-Five Breathe
JAYCE
The moment I open the penthouse door, I call out for her.
“Sutton! You here?”
When I’m met with silence, I frown. Is she not back yet? I figured she’d get here before me. A small feeling of worry starts buzzing in my head. Unable to shake it, I make my way through the penthouse looking for her.
I find her shoes sitting on the floor in the kitchen and her purse sitting on the island. There’s no other sign of her in the kitchen or living area, but she’s gotta be here, so I hurry down to her room.
I open the door and poke my head inside. “Sutton?”
No answer, but the light is on, and the comforter on her bed looks mussed.
That feeling of worry intensifies. I cross the room to the bed, but she’s not under the covers or on the floor on either side of it.
I even drop to my knees to check underneath, which strikes me as a little ridiculous, but I’m not going to leave any stone unturned until I find her.
I rush into the bathroom, but she’s not in there either. Finally, move to the walk-in closet. When I step inside, I don’t see her at first and I briefly wonder if she’s left the penthouse for some reason, then remind myself her purse is still here. She wouldn’t leave without it.
Suddenly, movement in the back corner of the closet catches my attention and I hear a soft whimper.
I cross to the closet and look inside. My heart seems to stop at the sight of Sutton curled up into a tight little ball, eyes squeezed shut and body shaking as she sucks in uneven gasps of air. Holy shit…
What the fuck happened? Is this because of me? Because she thinks I betrayed her by going to the club?
Or is this because she had to make a public statement? Fuck, I know how much she hates talking in front of people like that.
Maybe it’s her parents. Maybe they didn’t see her statement as brave and wonderful and are angry at her. That would definitely send her spiraling.
I snap out of my racing thoughts. Whatever the cause, I need to help her right now. That’s what matters most. She’s what matters most.
“Sut,” I murmur, going to her immediately. Scooping her up into my arms, I cradle her against my chest as I hurry out of the closet. Her face is wet from her tears and she clings to me, as if afraid I’ll disappear.
“It’s okay,” I tell her, pressing my lips to her hair. “I’ve got you. Listen, I’m going to carry you out of here. Just hang onto me. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”
I carry her through the penthouse to the playroom. Kicking the door shut behind me, I cross to the bed and carefully place her down in the middle of it. When I try to slip my arms away from her, she digs her fingers into my sleeves to stop me.
“No,” she whimpers, her eyes still closed tight.
“It’s okay,” I assure her, gently extracting myself from her hold. “I’m not going anywhere. Do you want me to get the ropes? They helped you last time.”
She hesitates a moment before she nods. “Yes… get the ropes.”
“All right. I’m going across the room to get them. I’ll be right back.”
At that, she lets me go and her body loses an incremental amount of its tension. I grab several lengths of cotton rope from the hidden cupboard and return to the side of the bed. I move slowly and deliberately, so nothing I do adds to her panic spiral.
“Hey,” I say gently, sitting on the edge of the mattress. “You’re here with me, Starling. You’re safe.”
I breathe deeply, exaggerating it just enough for her to notice. After a moment, her breath stutters, then tries to match mine.
“That’s it,” I murmur. “Just breathe. Open your eyes for me, baby.”
It takes her a moment, but she manages to pry her eyelids open and gazes up at me. The stark look in her eyes guts me. I make sure my expression is calm and soft. Taking the rope, I coil it loosely in my hands so she can see it.
“I’m going to start with this wrist,” I tell her, holding it gently. “A single column tie. Nothing tight. Nothing you can’t move in. This is just to give your body something solid to hold on to.”
She nods, eyes still glassy but focused.
“Good girl. Stay right here with me.”
I lay the rope across her wrist first, no tension yet, just letting the texture register.
My fingers brush her skin and I feel her shiver.
I wrap the rope once, twice. Clean, flat passes, leaving space for two fingers.
I’m careful not to get her clothes tangled in the rope, keeping it smooth and comfortable for her.
I press my thumb gently against her pulse.
The beat is still wild, but it’s already starting to slow down.
“Tell me how it feels.”
“Warm,” she murmurs after a second. “Heavy.”
“In a good way or bad way?” I prompt.
“A good way.”
“Okay,” I murmur.
I finish the knot carefully. I tighten it just enough to set it, then tap it lightly.
“That knot is done,” I tell her. “It’s not going anywhere. Neither am I.”
I pause, letting her nervous system catch up. When her shoulders drop a fraction, I mirror the tie on her other wrist, narrating every step.
“Over the wrist, around, and back through here. This knot doesn’t slide. It won’t tighten unless I touch it.”
Her breath hitches once, then evens out.
“That’s it,” I encourage. “Slow and steady. You’re doing great, Sut.”
I connect the two wrist ties with a short line of rope, drawing her arms closer to her body a little at a time. The knot here is a simple square knot that I flatten with my fingers.
“This one just keeps things tidy,” I explain. “Nothing is pulling. You still have space.”
She lets out a long breath, almost a laugh. “Okay.”
I smile. “There you go.”
When I move to the chest wrap, I warn her before I do anything.
“This part is going to feel like pressure,” I say. “Not squeezing. Just steady. Like being held.”
I guide the rope around her torso, pausing after the first loop.
“Still good?” I ask.
“Yes,” she says, firmer now. “Don’t stop.”
“I won’t,” I promise.
I anchor the wrap at her back with a tensioning knot I can release instantly if needed. I test it gently, watching her face carefully.
“This is a safety knot,” I tell her. “If I pull here, everything comes undone. You’re never stuck.”
Her eyes meet mine and she nods.
As the rope settles into a bikini harness, I place my hands on her shoulders.
“Feel the rope. Not the thoughts. Just the rope. The bed under you. My hands on you.”
Her breathing deepens, chest rising and falling slowly now.
“There you go,” I whisper. “You’re safe. You’re supported. I’m right here with you.”
I stay exactly where I am, watching the knots, watching her, continuing to murmur reassurance as the panic loosens its grip on her.
Finally, her body sags into the mattress and she goes limp within the ropes. When she turns her tear-filled eyes up to me, I brush my hand over her hair.
“What happened?” I ask.
She licks her lips nervously before answering. “I heard from my mom and dad today.”
Understanding hits me in an instant, but I don’t interrupt her and let her continue.
“They…they both told me how proud they were of me.” She sniffs and I wipe fresh tears slipping from her eyes off her cheeks. “They’re so happy with the engagement, and I’m going to let them down…hurt them. Again. They don’t deserve this. Not after what I’ve already done.”
I furrow my brow but keep my voice low and gentle. “What do you mean?”
She drops her gaze from mine and I can read the pain in her expression clear as day.
At last, she mutters, “My brother died because of me.”
Her confession startles me, but I school my features and maintain my calm. “What happened? Do you want to tell me?”
She hesitates a moment more before slowly whispering, “My older brother, Colson, was born with Severe Aortic Stenosis. He had a narrowed aortic valve, and had to have open heart surgery as a baby, but he was at risk of heart failure even after that. Mom and Dad were so protective of him, but all he wanted was to be a normal kid and not worry about his ‘stupid heart.’ His words. Whenever I expressed my own worry for him, he would say, ‘Don’t worry, sis. That stupid organ isn’t my real heart, and my real heart will always love you. ’”
A wistful smile curls her lips as she remembers, and it’s clear to me that she and her brother loved each other deeply.
“When I was five and Colson was seven,” Sutton continues, “our family took a trip to Aspen. Holloway Architecture was having its worst quarter in years, and Mom thought getting away for a bit would be good for everyone. Especially my dad. We went to our Aspen house, and at first it was great, but it was so cold and snowy and Mom and Dad wouldn’t let us go outside.
Mom was busy decorating the house for Christmas, and Dad couldn’t stop working remotely.
Colson and I got bored, and he never handled boredom well. ”
“I was the same way,” I tell her.
That earns me a little grin, but it quickly disappears as she continues her story.
“One night, he snuck into my room and said he wanted to go sledding. It had just snowed, and he wanted to have fun. I was totally on board—honestly, I was willing to do just about anything Colson wanted to do—so we snuck out in the middle of the night. We…we had so much fun.” Her voice catches on a sob.
“We went sledding for hours down a hill near the house. It was a full moon on a clear night, so we could see almost perfectly. The snow was fresh and light, and we were able to go down the hill so fast…” Her words crack and she pauses. “We… we had the time of our lives.”
I brush my hand over her hair again, pulling out a strand of teal, hoping my touch is soothing. “It sounds like it was a great night.”