Chapter 22 Sloane
SLOANE
The Christmas tree in Ellie's living room is modest but beautiful, white lights wound through artificial branches, ornaments collected over years hanging at varying heights, a gold star perched at the top that's slightly crooked.
Garland frames the windows, and stockings hang from the mantel above a fireplace that's currently dark.
The whole room smells faintly of pine from a candle burning on the coffee table.
I stand at the window, careful to stay back from where passing eyes might see me, and I stare at the decorations with an ache in my chest. I'm homesick and I crave something normal for this time of year.
We missed the damn Thanksgiving feast, and the reminder that life goes on for everyone else while mine has been suspended in this nightmare just makes me irritable and grumpy.
Erin's probably walking through Rockefeller Center right now.
It's what we do every December—make a day of it, hot chocolate and window shopping and taking terrible selfies with the massive tree in the background.
She'll be bundled in her good coat, the navy one with the fur collar, complaining about tourists while secretly loving every minute of it.
"You're thinking too loud." Dane's voice comes from behind me, then his arms wrap around my waist, pulling me back against his chest. "I can hear the gears turning from across the room."
I lean into him, letting his warmth chase away some of the chill. "Just looking at the decorations. Thinking about home."
"New York?"
"Yeah. Erin and I always go to Rockefeller Center this time of year. It's sort of a tradition, but it probably sounds stupid to you."
"It doesn't sound stupid." His chin rests on top of my head and his voice rumbles through me. Men like Dane aren't sentimental, or at least, I don’t think they are. He used to kill people for a living, so I find it hard to believe he hung stockings by his fire and hoped for Santa to visit him.
"Do you miss it? The city?" I ask, turning slightly to look at him. "I mean, you lived there for what, your whole life?"
"I miss parts of it." He sighs nostalgically. "The good food, anonymity in crowds, being able to disappear into eight million people." He's quiet for a moment. "But I don't miss the life I had, the violence of it all. I had peace until…"
"Until I showed up." My head drops as I finish his sentence. I'm a burden he never wanted, and I get that.
"That's not what I was going to say." He turns me in his arms so we're face to face. "You didn't ruin my peace. Cal did. You're the only good thing that's come out of this whole disaster."
The sincerity in his eyes makes my throat tight.
He couldn't admit to wanting me here and yet he says I'm the good thing, his silver lining in this situation.
I hold his gaze for a moment until his eyes shift away.
I can see he's uncomfortable and know his stupid pride is rising up, so I change the subject.
"Do you put up a tree?" I ask, gesturing at Ellie's decorations. "At the cabin? Did you do anything for Christmas before all this happened?"
"No. Never saw the point."
"Christmas is the point, Dane. To celebrate." I wrap my arms around him and rest my head on his chest, but he's just as stiff as ever. I don’t know how to make this man loosen up at all.
"There wasn't much good to celebrate." He says it matter-of-factly without self-pity. "Just me alone in a cabin, counting down the days until something from my past caught up with me."
"That's depressing."
"Yeah, but that's how I lived."
It makes my heart hurt for him. "So you never had someone to share it with so you never celebrated, but you kept everyone at arm's length, so it's really your own fault."
He doesn't answer, but I can see I've hit the truth. His jaw tightens, eyes going distant the way they do when he's retreating behind his walls. I've called him out and he is upset with me.
"Is that why you asked me to stay?" I press, not letting him escape this time. "After this is over, when Cal's dealt with—you asked me not to go back to the city. Is it because you're catching feelings for me?"
"Does it matter?"
"Yes." I cup his face, forcing him to look at me. "It matters to me. Because if this is just about sex and having a warm body in your bed and someone to talk to, that's different than actually caring about me, specifically."
"You know it's different." His voice is rough as he tries to pull away, but I hold on to him. "You know how I feel."
"Do I? Then why won't you say it?" Frustration bleeds into my tone. "I need to hear it, Dane. I need to know this isn't just trauma bonding or—"
"I'm terrified." His admission cuts me off mid-sentence and it shocks me. "I'm terrified of letting that part of my heart trust again. Because every time I've done that, it's ended badly."
I can't believe he's finally opening up. And fear? That's what he's feeling? Because men like him are afraid of nothing. Not once have I seen him look afraid—angry, yes, desperate, definitely. But fearful?
"Tell me." I slide my hands down to his chest, feeling his heart beating rapidly beneath my palms. "Tell me what happened that makes you so afraid."
He's quiet for a long moment, and I think he's going to deflect. Then he starts talking in a tight voice.
"I had one real friend my whole life. One person in the Ferraro organization who I trusted, who had my back, who I thought understood me.
We grew up together in that world and when the family politics shifted, he was the one who sold the family out, and I ended up having to put a bullet in his skull over it all. "
The pain in his voice is so raw as I realize he's talking about Domingo Maddox. I didn't know any of this and had I known, I never would've pressed. But now Dane's jaw is tight, his eyes fixed on the wall behind me, and I feel like a piece of trash for pulling this out of him.
"I'm not going to betray you, Dane… And I'm not going to hurt you." I touch his cheek, but he continues stiffly staring at the wall.
"You make it sound simple."
"It is simple. You either care about me enough to risk being hurt, or you don't. And if you don't, tell me now so I can protect myself before I fall any harder than I already have." Tears are welling up in my eyes now because I'm admitting to something aloud that I feel afraid of saying too.
His eyes widen fractionally and he looks down at me. "You've fallen?"
"Of course I've fallen." I laugh at him and smile, gripping the front of his shirt. "I'm in love with you, you idiot. I have been for weeks."
Opening up is scary for me, but I can tell it's terrifying for him.
Still, he kisses me, and his lips communicate everything he's unable to put into words.
His hands slide into my hair, holding me close, and I kiss him back with equal intensity.
When we finally break apart, both breathing hard, his forehead rests against mine.
"I love you too," I whisper, because I know what he's trying to say. I feel it. The words are quiet, reluctant, as though saying them out loud makes them more real and therefore more dangerous. "I'm scared to death of it, but I do. I love you."
He doesn't speak, but I finally know what he's thinking. I let my head rest on his chest, listening to his rapid heartbeat hammering against his ribs and clinging to him. So it's not perfect and maybe it never will be, but it's a start.
After all of this is over and we've managed to put Cal Maddox behind us, I'll make him open up more. For now, I have to be content with the way he communicates and as long as he keeps me safe, I'll assume he still cares.