Chapter Twenty-Five #2
The muscles of Skylar’s back are pulled taut, his biceps flexing as he barrels forward. His curls bounce around, a sharp, lovely contrast to the tight draw of his lips and the knit of his brow. His fists are poised to inflict maximum damage.
And I know I shouldn’t, but I find him so incredibly beautiful at this moment. My precious viper is set out to destroy, to protect what is his: me.
He’s scaring me—in some ways, this version of him that I am seeing fully for the first time is startling me to my very core. Yet, at the same time, I am entranced by him.
Skylar is singing his siren song, drawing in those around him like moths to a bright, brilliant flame, and I am no exception. Momentarily, I find Ash to be lucky—he is in the striking range of a violent, beautiful creature, and doesn’t even know it.
I find myself thinking of how wonderful it is that I am allowed to be in this exact same position every single day, with Skylar wrapped so tightly around my throat and his teeth embedded into my flesh, and still he does not take the air from my lungs.
He knows very well that he could, and yet he does not inject that poison into my veins.
The moment Skylar’s fist connects with Ash’s jaw, a loud crack sounds throughout the room. My adoptive father stumbles back a step, gripping his face as red trails from between his fingers.
A second later, Skylar’s fist lands again, a guttural sound leaving his throat as the sheer joy of releasing this anger overcomes him. I can feel it, all the way from here, the relief that is flooding his system.
“Ash!” Felicita screams from somewhere in the distance.
I pay her no attention. In my mind, a chorus of “Skylar, Skylar, my puppy, my vicious snake,” is looping.
I can see him, in all his bloody glory, and I love him even more for it.
Skylar is not evil—not in the way he believes himself to be. No, Skylar is the kind of man whose love is so thick and concentrated that when deemed appropriate, he is capable of tearing down buildings for those he cares for.
His anger is a sweet tonic, readily available to him—but it’s not really anger at all, is it? It’s devotion. Skylar is destroying my father, all because he loves me.
He loves me so fucking much, and I can see it in the blood on his hands.
The blood on his hands.
Oh, hell. I have to stop him.
“Skylar,” I call out, taking a clumsy step toward them.
He does not hear me. The third punch lands against Ash’s stomach, and he crumbles to the ground. He’s bleeding, glaring up defiantly as Skylar straddles him, preparing for the next blow.
“Skylar, stop!” I shout, and he freezes.
Every muscle in his body tenses, his back straightening as he sits rigid.
“Oh, god. Call the police! Somebody help!” Felicita is screaming.
Slowly, Skylar turns his face toward me. Blood or sweat coats the tips of his hair, making it slightly darker than the rest of the strands. His eyes are wide and panicked, as if he’s just awoken from a long, pleasant dream and is startled to be back in this reality.
His fingers tremble as he whispers, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay. Come here, pup,” I coax him. “Just come here.”
He gently climbs off of Ash’s body, leaving him to curl up on the ground. Skylar wobbles towards me, stopping short just a foot away.
Tears flood his eyes as he says, “I’m sorry I couldn’t change. I’m sorry that it still lives inside of me. I wish I could… I wish I could be somebody else for you.”
I wonder if at any point in the past few weeks he has felt this kind of pity for me.
I wonder if he’s ever looked at me and thought, “I wish I could take this pain from you. I wish you could see how brightly you shine in my eyes. I wish you could understand that you, exactly as you are, make this entire existence so much easier to stomach.”
I wonder if he feels this sorrow for me, the way I feel it for him.
“I love you,” I say in lieu of asking. I can ponder this another time. “Even right now, I still love you so much.”
Ash stirs from his spot on the floor before Skylar can respond, and though he just beat the living daylights out of him, I still shove Skylar behind me.
“This is over, Ash,” I declare sternly. “We have the evidence of how you treat me, and how you attempted to blackmail me. Leave all of this as it is, and you won’t have to deal with me anymore. What’s done is done.”
“I could have him arrested,” Ash spits out, climbing to his knees with a grimace. “I’ll call the cops right now and put him away.”
“Do it,” Skylar demands, stepping out from behind me. He does not hide his bloodied hands—they are a reminder. A new threat. “I will gladly go to jail and have all my secrets exposed if it frees Everett from you. Do it.”
There is so much certainty in his voice. He sounds as if he’s had this internal debate a million times, and every go-around he came up with the same answer: I would give my life for his freedom.
Ash is weighing his options with Felicita at his side, fussing over him. His eyes bounce between Skylar and me in disgust, his nose crinkled and his eyelids squinted.
He can call the cops and expose Skylar, but only at the expense of outing his own abuse and mistreatment. It would ruin him. There is only one right answer for Ash Carmichael, and we all know it.
“Fine. Get out of my house,” he sneers. “But just so you don’t forget, I have copies of those court documents and will be photographing my face after you leave. If I get any whiff that your audio has leaked, it’ll be over for you both.”
Skylar huffs, gripping my hand in his as he leads me to the front door without sparing another word.
“I’ll collect my things once you’ve cooled off,” I say over my shoulder, not bothering to turn around.
“Everett,” Ash calls, and we freeze in the entryway. “You are my biggest regret. You really are a disgrace.”
I grip Skylar’s arm as he attempts to turn, to lung once more, and pull him from the house. I’ve heard enough.
We run to the car, and as soon as we tumble into the backseat, Kelly pulls away from the curb.
“What happened—oh, god! Skylar, you’re bleeding!” Henry shouts, having turned to look at us from the passenger seat. “There’s so much of it. Fuck.”
“It’s not mine,” Skylar mutters.
Henry’s face pales, and he turns back, facing the windshield in silence.
Kelly clears her throat, and after a tense silence, she asks, “So… What happened in there?”
Skylar has his thigh pressed to mine, one bloodied hand intertwined with the cleanliness of my own.
It’s a beautiful picture, the two of us.
Anyone would think that it’s me who could take down a man twice my age in the blink of an eye, but no—Skylar is a vicious little thing, and I’m coming to the realization that I never have to be afraid again.
For the rest of my life, the only man I’ll ever be at the mercy of is Skylar himself. And that, I think, is the safest place I can be.
As we exit Rockhill Heights, I finally speak, staring down at the crusting red leaking between our intertwined fingers. “I’m free.”