Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
Flames flicker in the sconces of the dim Captain’s quarters as the latch of the door clicks behind us.
The lanterns don’t brighten as they usually do when we enter, and I’m grateful for the darkness.
It feels fitting for tonight’s events, and the shadow coated room matches the darkness I still don’t know how I’m going to overcome.
Each time I face another Castaway with the truth, the mending wound will tear open again and again.
I sneak a glance over my shoulder at Weston, but he’s turned away, closing the door behind us.
Twice tonight I’ve had the chance to let out the storm of emotions brewing inside of me, and I only could because he was there to let me.
He was there to take away some of my burden, to let me feel everything and soothe the fragments of my guilt and fears, but he has shown nothing.
It feels like a lifetime ago now when I sat on the beach in the Oasis and watched Weston be strong for the entire crew in the wake of Jorn’s drowning and subsequent revival.
So much has happened since that day, not only on the island, but between us.
I will never forget the clench of his jaw, the haunted look in his eye, and the stuttered answers he gave when I asked questions to comfort him.
He stayed strong, hiding his own fear and hurt so no one else would worry, so that life could go on unchanged.
Back then I wondered who he had to lean on, or to help him when he needed it, but when I sat by his side on that beach and looked around, no one was there. It was only me.
The same as tonight.
The same as it now will be for all of eternity.
Lifting the bow and quiver over my head, I lean them against the wall behind the door before crossing to the desk. We came straight to the room instead of stopping at the armory, so my new vest is full of weapons that I pull out and drop onto the wood.
Weston steps beside me and silently follows suit, ridding himself of all the deadly blades he carried to protect us tonight. I unbuckle my belt last, and loop it over the chair just like his before turning to look at him.
The shadows on his cheekbones make it even more clear how much he’s holding in, the tension almost palpable as my eyes trail over his clenched jaw.
Gaze fixed on the desk, Weston unsheathes his last blade before dropping it with a clunk on the wooden surface.
I reach out and take his hand, tugging gently and trying to pull his attention away from whatever is running through his mind.
His disheartened eyes rise to meet mine, and my chest squeezes.
I have so little experience comforting anyone, but with my whole heart I want to help him.
I need to help him. I won’t be able to sleep knowing I did nothing to make him feel he isn’t alone, that someone understands, just like he did for me.
Taking a step closer, I set my hand atop his. “What do you need?” I ask.
He shakes his head, but his eyes never leave mine. “I don’t need anything, sweetheart.”
Lifting my chin, I give him the same stern look he gave me back in the cave, the one that says I’m serious and he needs to listen.
“I don’t believe you.”
His throat bobs, but he says nothing. I don’t accept his silence, not when I know it’s how he keeps everything locked away beneath the surface.
“A long time ago, you told me that out there, you were the Captain, but in here, you were Weston. Just be Weston.” I take another small step, closing the gap between us, and crane my neck back farther to hold his gaze.
“You don’t have to hide it from me. I know you’re holding it all in, but you need someone to be there for you too.
Someone to tell you everything will be alright. ”
The muscles in his jaw clench, and his assessing eyes move between mine. His fingers twitch between my palms, and I hope he’s perceiving everything I’m trying to show him.
He doesn’t have to hide from me, or stay strong in every moment. He can feel and be weak, just like he allows the rest of us to be. He can be unwell about our situation, even if it is only behind these doors, only with me.
“So tell me. What do you need?”
A heavy sigh escapes his chest as his eyelids flutter shut. He doesn’t speak; he just moves, and presses his forehead to mine, our breaths mingling as I watch him try to keep hold of everything.
“You,” he grumbles, and his eyelids rise slowly, as his focus bores into me. “I need you.”
The breath catches in my throat as I lift my hand and set it on his chest, feeling the pounding of his heart beneath my fingertips.
“I’m right here.”
In barely a blink, his hands find my face, tipping my head back as his lips crush mine. It isn’t hurried or frenzied like it was before. Instead, he soaks up each movement, like he needs the caress just as much as I do.
I revel in the feel of his hands on my skin, hands that used to reach out even when I didn’t want them anywhere near me.
Since the moment I told him he could have me, that I didn’t care about our titles back home, and that I only wanted him, he hasn’t hesitated to touch me, to pull me in close, to make sure I was there and safe beside him.
My body almost falters when the realization hits, and a deep sadness washes over me.
His touch. It’s the way he shows he cares.
The first time I came back from a shift, his hands were on me without hesitation, searching for any injuries, the same way they had in the infirmary.
I noticed every time he was holding himself back, following my wishes after telling him to keep his hands off me, but he wanted to.
My heart breaks as I think about what it meant for him to be unable to touch me or to have anyone that he could.
Weston has been starved of physical connection for so many years.
He clearly craves it, and I know it’s exactly what he means when he says he needs me.
He needs to feel, to hold, to know he isn’t alone, and I won’t deprive him anymore.
With a gentle nudge, he walks me backward across the room, and my fingers grip the leather of his vest to steady myself.
His lips never leave mine until his tongue parts my mouth, and his strokes deepen the kiss.
He guides me through the room, and my breaths shorten as flutters low in my abdomen urge me to grip him tighter.
The back of my legs hit the bed, and I break the kiss to look down at the laces of my vest and tug at the knots he tied so snugly earlier.
His hands wrap firmly around my wrists, lowering them gently away from the laces. My head snaps to his and tilts slightly, confusion written all over my face. Did I misread his intentions? His needs? His desires?
“No.” He drops my arms to my sides, and I stare into his darkened eyes as he reaches for the vest, his fingers twirling around the ties. “I’ll do it.”
My heart pounds in my ears, the same beating rhythm mimicked between my thighs as he pulls the long cord slowly.
His fingers weave through the crossed threads, and he tugs until they loosen in his hands.
The dark leather falls to the ground, only to make my heaving breaths more obvious as his gaze sets fire to my skin.
It’s met with his fingertips a moment later, the spark of fire beginning to blaze along with flutters of anticipation between my thighs as he grips my shoulders.
Rough calluses slide across my skin as his hands trail down before palming my breasts, and my nipples peak beneath them.
He’s taking his time, and it takes all my focus to keep myself from reaching out, and hurrying him along, wanting to feel him beneath the fabric of my now stifling clothes.
My lip catches between my teeth when he reaches the waistband, his fingers working to bunch up the fabric.
He tugs gently, fisting it in his hands and lifting, and I take the silent direction.
I raise my arms over my head, and it’s gone in a moment, followed by the sound of it hitting the ground somewhere across the room.
Weston’s eyes won’t meet mine, instead staying focused on his next task.
They slide over my bare skin, and he moves faster, as if the sight of it has fueled his desire and increased his impatience.
Thumbs hooked into the waistband of my pants, he tugs them down, leaving me in nothing but my undergarments and the prickle of goosebumps across my body.
His vest is untied and off, and buttons pop and bounce across the floor as he rips his shirt from his body, not caring at all about ruining it.
He tosses it away with mine before I can even register how quickly he’s moving.
In the next moment he drops to his knees, lifting my feet one by one to pull off my boots and untangle the pants from around my ankles.
Firm hands wrap around my hips, and he tugs me closer.
I almost stumble when my body jerks forward, but he steadies me, and tucks his chin, pressing his forehead into the flesh of my stomach.
Thick, corded arms encircle me, and the muscles ripple as he squeezes tightly, pressing his face deeper into my abdomen. When his shoulders heave with a shuddering breath, I feel a pang in my chest.
Fuck it. I can’t keep from touching him any longer.
My nails find his scalp, and I run my fingers through his hair, over and over again, massaging and soothing until he lets out a low groan and squeezes me even tighter. I slide my fingers down the sides of his face, and his beard prickles my palms as I tilt his head back so I can look into his eyes.
He rests his chin on my stomach and stares back at me. There are no tears, but the normally bright and challenging teal eyes that brought me to life are now filled with sorrow.
It’s the first time I’ve seen him hopeless.