Page 65 of Pining for Pierce

“Try not to think about it now.”

“I’m scared. I don’t even know what that was, but it felt so real.”

“It wasn’t, though. I’ve got you.”

“Keep saying that,” she murmurs.

“I’ve got you, babe, and I’m never letting you go.”

“Hold me. Please. Just hold me, Pierce. Tell me I’m safe.”

“There’s nowhere safer. I promise.”

I hold her close, tight against my chest, stroking her hair, and although she’s too tense for words, she whispers, “I love you,” against my skin, and it’s all I can do to keep it together.

Chapter Fifteen

Harley

When I open my eyes again, it’s daylight. Although I’m not aware of having opened my eyes in the middle of the night. I’m just aware of feeling scared, that horrible sense of falling, and of there being no-one to catch me… except, of course, outside of that horrible dream, or whatever it was, Pierce was there. He was holding me, and he told me I was safe, just like I needed him to. I was safe enough to fall asleep again almost immediately, right here in his arms. He’s still holding me, his breathing soft and measured, and I smile, studying the detailed swirls of his tattoos. The ones on his chest are right in front of me, and if I turn my head just slightly, the ones on his arms come into view. I’m surrounded by ink, and I love it, taking in the complicated design. It looks almost tribal, the ornate patterns interlinking with streaks of light provided by his skin. As I glance from one arm to the other, I notice how symmetrical it is, with not one dot or curve out of place. Whoever did this was good at their job… but that’s not a surprise. Pierce would never have settled for anything less than perfection when it comes to art, including the art on his body, and that thought makes me smile even more.

I stretch my legs, trying not to cry out at the pain in my right one. It hurts, right up by my hip, and I wonder if this might be the bruising the doctor spoke of last night. Part of me wantsto take a look, but I like it lying here, and I nestle back against Pierce again.

He lets out a slight moan, as though he sensed that movement, or maybe my discomfort, although he hasn’t woken yet, and I shift a little closer to him, wishing I hadn’t when I feel that nagging pain in my leg again.

It looks like I’ll have to limit my movements today. But at least it’s Sunday, so there’s no need to rush up and get ready for work… or get up at all, for that matter.

What a wonderful thought…

I tilt my head, trying to see what I can of his bedroom. I wasn’t paying much attention to the decor last night, for obvious reasons, but I like it… at least what I can see of it.

There are three landscape pictures hanging above the bed. These are of the creek, rather than seascapes, and I’m fairly sure I remember being there when Pierce sketched them. That thought makes me smile again, although I don’t know why. Maybe it’s just that I like being with him, no matter where we are. That must be it, I guess, and I glance over his shoulder at the closet, which is metal framed and open, his clothes neatly on display.

At the end of the bed is the window, the deep blue drapes hanging open, and I let my eyes fall to the chair in the corner, my breath catching in my throat. Pierce wore his jacket when he came in here to change last night, and he obviously left it lying over the arm of the chair. Now, in the cold light of day, I can see the back of it. I can see the shredded leather, the torn shards of fabric hanging loose, and the internal padding bleeding through.

A sob leaves my lips as I think about how close we came… how close he came… and I hold him tighter, unable to stop myself from crying.

“Hey…” He wakes, taking in the sight of me, his eyes searching my face, and a frown forming on his as he pulls me hard against him. “Hey, babe… what’s wrong? What’s happened?” I can’t speak, but I sob into his chest and he waits, stroking my hair and whispering, “It’s okay. I’ve got you,” until I finally gather myself together, and pull back, looking up at his concerned face.

“I just saw your jacket,” I murmur.

He twists his head around, glancing over at it, and then looks down at me again. “Yeah. I don’t think I’ll be wearing that again.”

“It’s so torn.”

“I know. But so is yours. I noticed it last night.”

“Mine’s nothing like as bad.”

“It’s bad enough, babe.” He hugs me tighter. “But you mustn’t cry. They’re just clothes.”

“I know, but that… that could have been you.” I’m struggling to control my voice, and he pulls away just slightly, cupping my face with his hand.

“It wasn’t, though, was it? I’m here with you, and I’m safe, and you’re safe. That’s why I always wear protective gear.”

“Unless it happens to be a night when you insist on making me wear your jacket, and your helmet,” I say, recalling the other evening.

“Yeah.” He smiles down at me. “Because protecting you will always come first.”

---