Chapter 42
Lily
Everyone enjoyed themselves today.
Everyone was moving on.
But I am stuck.
I had been stuck for the past month, trying so badly to act like everything was fine. Being a supportive girlfriend and friend; trying to give the people I love somewhere safe to talk and deal with all the bullshit going on around us.
Meanwhile, I was drowning in fear.
I backed away from the door and sank to the floor at the end of my bed. Every breath was shorter and shorter.
Sex was a coping method. And rough sex, I discovered last night, brought a different meaning to the word pain. Although temporary, it worked to draw me from my head — to reset my brain and bring back some kind of normal.
For Dean to put a stop to it…
The logical part of my brain knew why — we needed to talk — but it couldn’t stop the tightening of my chest and the lump in my throat.
Pleasure blocked the darkness. The memories.
It was a small cut, from a broken plate piece, yet my heart raced like it was worse.
It was a small cut, but I couldn’t breathe.
I lied about what I really did after leaving the rage room. Yes, I got a Band-Aid and changed my clothes, but I hurried straight to the restroom as soon as I could. I needed a moment to calm down.
I had locked myself in a bathroom stall and pinched my arms until I drew blood. It stained my nails.
Dean thought those stains were from the cut on my neck.
I’ve been lying to him.
I’ve been lying to everyone.
I lied to myself.
Nothing is fine—
There was a soft knock on the door.
“Lily?” Kira spoke gently. “Can I come in?”
I covered my mouth to catch a sob and curled my arm around my middle as that dark feeling, horrible and tight, rose through my body like bile, choking off my air supply.
Pinching my arms drew blood, but the pain wasn’t nearly enough to take away the pain I felt on the inside.
There was another knock on the door.
Or was that my heart pounding?
The knocks warped into distant gunshots.
I remembered the sharp pain of a bullet passing through my body.
All the blood.
“So much blood,” I whimpered, clutching my side as I squeezed my eyes shut. “I’m fine—I’m fine—I’m fine.”
Everyone else has moved on. Why can’t I?
“Lily.” His voice was steady. Calm. “Open the door.”
Not a week had gone by since I left the hospital without a single reminder of that one afternoon. Everything triggered that one goddamn memory: loud noises, cars backfiring, Mom’s overbearing control of my life, Roxy’s death. A fucking broken plate cutting my neck.
And then there was Dean, with the threat of prison looming over his future, while a mob boss and my father split him in two. I wanted to help, but I could barely help myself.
The gun, temporarily tucked under my dresser, was the cherry on top of it all.
“Lily,” Dean repeated.
“I can’t—” Failing to catch a full breath, I clutched my chest. “I can’t breathe.”
“Yes, you can, Lily. You can. Just unlock the door. Please.” The faint plea in his voice made my heart ache.
I wanted to unlock the door, but couldn’t bring myself to move. I was frozen to the floor and staring at the gap beneath my dresser.
There was a gun in my bedroom.
Hushed and quick whispers came from the other side of the door, followed by the soft scraping sound of metal on metal.
My eyes flicked to the door handle as its simple lock clicked and the door swung open.
Dean was crouched on the other side with a bent bobby pin between his fingers. Kira and Seb stood behind him.
All three peered into the room like they expected something far worse, but Dean moved first.
He knelt in front of me, quickly examining my arms but mostly looking at my face — holding my face in his hands while I struggled to exhale.
“What can I do?” he asked.
I shook my head, unable to form a single word. There was a lump in my throat, and tears were forming in my eyes.
“Hey-hey-hey.” Dean brushed a thumb across my cheek, wiping a tear. “Breathe with me, Lily. Come on, you’ve got this.”
Just breathe.
I inhaled with him. When he breathed out, mine caught. I forced myself to focus on him, his mouth, his voice, his eyes, the faint scar through his right eyebrow. Anything considered insignificant but simple enough for me to regain control.
We had done this before. At the hospital. It worked then.
I need it to work now.
I tried again with him, following each of his breaths.
“That’s it. Nice and slow.”
The instant relief of air filling my lungs came quickly before a wave of emotion forced a sob from my chest. The tears came next, falling in giant blobs on the backs of Dean’s hands.
Kira quietly stepped into the room holding a glass of water. “Seb and I are going to give you guys some space… Here.” She held the glass out for Dean to take and offered me a sympathetic smile. Her eyes were wet too.
As she left quietly with Seb, Dean handed me the glass.
I took slow sips. It hurt my throat at first, and I felt exhausted.
Soon it wasn’t fear or trauma that controlled my movements, but the heavy weight of embarrassment about the fact that my friends saw me at my worst. But I also knew they wouldn’t hold that against me.
I could deal with embarrassment.
Dean took a seat beside me on the floor, leaning back against the end of my bed with one leg bent and his arm slung over it.
When the apartment fell silent around us, he cleared his throat and pushed his hand through his hair.
I set the glass down, wiping tears from my eyes and breathing shakily.
“You didn’t call that doctor,” he said with no hint of disappointment in his tone. He was only voicing what was on his mind.
“I tried. And I really wanted to…” I looked down. “I should’ve told you what was going on.”
“Why didn’t you?” Again, his voice was steady, no disappointment.
“Everyone was moving forward and dealing with everything better than I was.” I pulled my legs up to my chest. “I thought if I pretended to feel normal, maybe I would get better and wouldn’t need a doctor after all. But then everything kept piling up. And the gun—”
On hearing the word, Dean moved across to the dresser and reached under it. He blocked the gun from view as he brought it to the kitchen and wrapped it in a hand towel to be left on the counter.
“I’ll keep it in my car from now on.” He joined me on the floor again.
“But what about the whole protection thing my dad talked about?”
“Don’t care. It’s stayin’ in my car.”
I nodded, and my lip trembled as I tucked my hair behind my ears.
Dean brought himself closer, wrapping his arms around me. The gesture was simple, but broke the fragile wall barely holding my tears back.
I cried into his chest, and he pulled me into his lap, stroking the back of my head as he let me crumble.
These tears weren’t for anything in particular. I was mentally and emotionally fried. But crying felt strangely better. A weight had been lifted from my chest.
My heart was a fraction lighter.
“I’m sorry you felt like you had to deal with this alone. I’m sorry I was so fuckin’ blind.” The complete adoration in his eyes, directed at me, was overwhelming and welcoming all at once. No one had ever loved me this much.
He gently lifted my wrist to look at the small pinch marks on my inner arm, where the blood had dried already. With a faint frown, he planted a kiss on my skin.
“You had enough going on,” I said quietly.
“Not enough that I can’t be here for you. Support goes both ways.” He brushed the back of his hand down my cheek. “Promise me you’ll call the doctor.”
“I promise.”
Dean rested his chin on the top of my head. His hand on my upper arm gently squeezed before he rubbed it in thought, huffing a solemn laugh. “I thought we had this communication shit down pat. Turns out, I was very fuckin’ wrong.”
I wiped my eyes. “I don’t think it’s necessarily bad. It just needs work… Although I do think rushing into things might’ve made us too comfortable.”
That didn’t come out how I wanted, and Dean pulled back to look down at me.
His brow furrowed. “Okay…”
“I mean, our relationship happened really fast with everything else going on. We sort of bonded over shared trauma… We didn’t have a lot of time to do normal couple things once we were together. Everything stacked up—”
His frown was growing deeper the more he tried to understand what I was saying.
“God, I’m butchering this explanation,” I laughed lightly. “I’m trying to say that we got closer faster than any normal couple would because of dangerous situations. But I don’t regret any of it… I’d do it all again if I could. Maybe without getting shot.”
A flicker of amusement flashed in his eyes, and the frown softened. “I think I get it… You are okay with us, though?”
“Oh my gosh—yes, of course! We’re in too deep to go back now.”
He hooked my hair behind my ear while his expression grew lighter. Even the room seemed less closed in as our moods shifted to something more positive. Open.
“Your turn,” I said, turning in his arms so I sat between his legs, resting my back to his chest.
“My turn?”
“What do you want to communicate?”
“Oh, right.” He pondered for a second, drawing idly on the top of my thigh with his finger. Then he took a breath, and I watched as his face grew nonchalant, keeping his eyes on where his finger traced the fabric of my jeans. “I started the fire at The Den.”
My eyes popped, and I turned sideways in his arms to gauge from him if he was joking or not. But his face was calm. “I’m sorry, you what?”
Dean shrugged. “I was pissed off with myself after I left you, and The Den seemed to be the one place at the time that caused us the most pain. I waited until it was quiet, cut the power so the cameras stopped working, broke in through the back, and sprinkled gasoline through the place. The club itself burned faster than anything in the basement… Burned myself in the process.” He lifted his right hand to show me the small scar on the heel of his palm.
I took his hand to look closer as my mouth dropped open. “Dean. You told me that was a lighter burn.”
He pressed his lips together as he cringed. “Sorry.”
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“For the plot?” he joked.
I deadpanned at him, but it only made him smile more.
“There never seemed to be a right time to bring it up. In comparison to everythin’ else going on, I didn’t care about some casual arson.”
“Casual arson. Jesus Christ…” I muttered, still mildly shocked as I processed the information. “Does Antonio know?”
“He thought it was his kids until they admitted they didn’t. I don’t know who he thinks did it now.”
“And Dad? He doesn’t suspect anything?”
“I don’t think so.”
“You know if they did find out—”
“Your dad would include tampering with evidence on my record, and Antonio would probably kill me.”
I breathed in deep, shaking my head. “Am I the only one who knows?”
He nodded once as he studied the end of my hair between his fingertips.
“I’m not sure if I should be concerned that you got away with it or impressed.”
“I’m kinda surprised myself,” he admitted.
“Well, your secret is safe with me. And from now on, so are any others. Open communication from here on out. Every little worried thought or uncomfortable idea. Or plans to burn down another mob boss establishment.” I offered him my hand to shake on it. “Deal?”
The crooked smile on his face created a dimple in his cheek. He took my hand, shook on the decision, and then brought my knuckles to his lips. “Deal.”
“Good.” I smiled easily, wiping at the remaining wetness of my eyes and cheeks as I sniffled again. “Ugh, I’m all congested now.”
“Sexy.”
It was harder to deadpan this time when the smile refused to leave my face.
I turned to face him, kneeling between his legs. “I love you.”
“Love you too.” His mouth twitched. “Snot and all.”
I pulled a face and then climbed out of his lap, taking a steadying breath.