29. Kaitlyn
TWENTY-NINE
Kaitlyn
Even though I insisted that I’m able to walk, Went picked me up when he was finished patching me up and carried me to his bed. Switching the bathroom light off, he navigates his way through the dark bedroom to set me on the edge of it, he gives me a frown and shakes his head before I can say anything. “It’s not even 4AM, Sunshine. I’ll call Damien in an hour or two to come get you and take you home.” Turning away from me, he makes his way to the dresser and pulls open the middle drawer. Fishing around in it, he pulls something out—a T-shirt. “For now, just put this on and get in bed.” Tossing me the shirt, he moves toward the door. “Try to get some rest—you’re supposed to be here, cleaning up after me anyway. No one is going to miss you. Not for a while. ”
He’s right.
No one will be looking for me anytime soon—except maybe Brock and I’d just as soon hide from him for the rest of my life.
Catching the shirt, I watch him move away from me for a few moments before I crack. “Went?”
Back toward me, he stops in front of the door, hand poised on the knob to pull it open. “Yeah?”
Shit.
Staring at his broad, muscular back, I lose my nerve. Never mind dances on the tip of my tongue but before I can say it, his voice reaches for me in the dark.
“You can say it, Sunshine,” he tells me, his tone low and rough, the words like gravel against his throat. “Whatever you want, I’ll give it to you. All you have to do is ask.”
“Will you help me? With my dress… it buttons down the back.” It comes out in a quiet rush like maybe if I say it fast enough, he won’t understand what I’m saying but will somehow do what I’m asking anyway. “My shoulder’s pretty sore and my hand hurts. I don’t think I can undo them on my own.”
For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. Just stands there, the huge, looming shape of him illuminated by the push of moonlight through the half-parted curtain. Never mind finds its way back to the tip of my tongue but like before, he speaks before I can push the words out.
“Okay.”
The shape of him comes toward me in the dark and I hold my breath while he kneels in front of me, the move bringing us nearly eye-to-eye. Leaning into the space between us, Went reaches behind me, the tips of his large, blunt fingers brushing against the base of my neck. Starting with the top button, he slips it loose before working his way to the next one.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper softly against his cheek and close my eyes, the feel of his hands working my buttons loose, rough fingers skimming down my spine, making my head spin.
The hands pause for a moment before he pulls back, his bottomless black gaze finding mine in the gloom. “What do you have to be sorry for?”
A lot of things.
I’m sorry I didn’t tell him about Brock sooner.
I’m sorry I dragged him into this mess in the first place.
I’m sorry for whatever is going to happen next because if there’s one thing I know about Brock, it’s that he won’t take what happened tonight lightly. He’ll get even, one way or another.
“About the other day…” I gasp softly when his fingertips brush against the base of my spine, a shiver winding its way down the length of it when he works the last button loose. “The way I… pet you like a goddamned dog ,” I tell him, repeating the words he used to describe what happened between us a week ago. “And the rest of it… I don’t usually do things like that.”
On either side of my back, his fingers push themselves between my skin and the parted edges of my dress. “You don’t usually ask strangers if you can touch and lick and bite their tattoos?” he asks, attempting to make light of the situation while the backs of his fingers slide up the length of my spine to grip my dress at the shoulders so he can pull it down my arms.
“I don’t usually ask for what I want.”
My answer puckers his brow. “Why not?”
“Because no one’s ever asked me before.” I shake my head, my own fingers nervously twisting against the skirt of my dress until they’re hopelessly knotted. “What I want has never mattered.”
“It matters, Sunshine.” The bodice of my dress pooled around my waist, my breath catches in my throat when I feel his arms close around me again, his finger tracing the notches in my spine until it finds the closure on my bra. Pinching the straps together, he unhooks it, letting it fall open before he presses his palms flat against my back. “To the right person, it’s the only thing that does.” His fingertips dig into my skin for a moment before he lets me go completely. “Is there anything else?”
Stay with me.
Because I’ve already asked for too much, or maybe because I‘m afraid of what it might make me, I shake my head. “No… thank you.”
Leaning into me again, he brushes a soft kiss against my forehead. “Try to get some rest,” he tells me before he stands and makes his way to the door.
This time, I don’t try to stop him from leaving.
Go after him.
My eyes open on the last, resounding echoes of it and I sit up. Momentarily disoriented, I look around the room, expecting to see my sister’s blanket-covered shape in the narrow twin bed next to mine.
No Abbey.
No narrow twin bed.
It’s morning, the bright, silvery light of the moon replaced by the soft, peachy glow of a brand-new sun. Checking the clock on the nightstand, I breathe a soft sigh of relief. It’s not quite 7AM—I’ve been asleep for a few hours.
After Went left me alone in the dark, I finished getting undressed on my own, wadding Abbey’s dress into a ball before throwing it in a corner. Giving my bra the same treatment, I worked myself into Went’s T-shirt, a soft, dark cotton that felt like silk against my skin, before I put myself to bed. Convinced it was a wasted effort, I dropped off to sleep from one breath to the next.
Pushing myself out of bed, I make my way down the quiet hallway to the stairs. Legs still a little wobbly, I take the stairs slowly, hand gripped around the banister. Expecting to find Went in the kitchen, I’m a little disappointed to find it as quiet as the rest of the house. Thinking maybe he fell asleep on the couch again, I look over the back of it to find it empty.
Remembering his penchant for falling asleep on front porches, I open the front door and that’s where I find him, sprawled out in one of the deep porch gliders, my backpack open at his feet. My can of bear repellant on the table next to him, on top of a stack of notebooks.
My notebooks.
The blue one—where I keep my list—is on top of the stack, open like he fell asleep looking at it.
Went didn’t throw my backpack into the lake like I hoped. Cheeks burning, I pull my blue notebook out from under the can of bear spray and carry it with me to the lake so I can sit on the dock and watch the last of the sunrise.