Page 80 of Take Me to Church
Christian studies me for a minute, his hand clenching into a fist at his side before he turns to where Tate and Simon stand with him, lowering his head and his voice as they have a conversation I know I'll hear about later. Christian won't hide anything from me. Whatever they’re discussing, he will share it with me. Just like I’ll explain everything Myra has confessed to me.
About how she wasn't the only woman ready to leave. About how she promised she would come back for the other women desperate to find freedom. And, because I know Christian, I know Myra won’t be going back for them alone.
Piper nods off on my other side, her head dropping to the cushion as she dozes thanks to the lingering effects of twilight sedation and pain meds. Hopefully I can sleep soon too. It's nearly midnight and my head is starting to swim. Between talking to the police and our time at the hospital, we've lost the entire day to three men who don't deserve a second of our time.
I wish I could say they wouldn't get any more, but they will. Based on what we were told by the detective handling the case, there's a good chance the three of us will be testifying in court. I wish I could say I was excited for the opportunity to take down the three men who worked so hard to shut me up and steal my life, but honestly, I have better things to do.
Like go steal the rest of the women they’re essentially holding captive.
I smooth down Myra's hair, trying to flatten the tangled mess. "Why don't you go take a shower? It'll make you feel better, I promise.” A shower sounds heavenly, actually. Too bad my bandaged feet make that impossible. “Then get a good night’s sleep and tomorrow we can figure out where we go from here."
Myra sniffles again, her watery eyes searching my face. "Please tell me you're not mad at me. I didn't mean to—"
"I'm not mad at you. Not even a little bit." I give her a soft smile. "I'm actually pretty proud."
Myra's puffy gaze moves to the men standing in the kitchen.
"They're not mad at you either. I promise." I’m actually pretty sure I already know what they're discussing, and it isn't how upset they are. "Everything is going to be okay."
It's the first time I’ve said it and meant it. Really believed things are going to be fine.
Sure, there are still some obstacles in the way, but after today I feel remarkably capable. Like I can handle whatever comes at me. That's probably because I know I won’t be handling it alone, but still. I’m going to count it.
Myra presses her lips together, eyes remaining in the kitchen for a few seconds longer before she finally nods. "Okay." She smashes her ball of tissues against her face as she stands, wiping at the lingering wetness clinging to her flushed cheeks. "I'll see you in the morning."
"If you need me before then, you know where I’ll be." I don't try to hide that I’ll be sleeping in Christian’s bed. I'm done pretending. Done feeling guilty for who I am and who I'm not.
Turning to Piper as Myra disappears down the hall, I look over my friend’s injured form. She ended up getting the worst of it when the SUV crashed. Yet another thing I'm sure will dig at Myra. I reach out, intending to wake her so I can figure out how in the heck to get her to the second floor, but a deep voice stops me.
"I got her." Tate slowly moves in, carefully working one arm behind Piper’s knees and one behind her back before gently lifting her off the couch to cradle her against his chest.
Piper barely stirs, her eyes fluttering open, lids heavy as she gazes at Tate. Her lips flatten into a frown. "You said I was fine." Her head drops to his shoulder, lids slipping closed again. "You're a fucking liar."
I could swear I catch the hint of a smile on Tate's mouth before it flattens out. He carefully navigates his way into the hall, angling his body to keep Piper’s casted foot as far from the wall as possible.
Christian waits until they're gone before focusing on me. "What do you want to eat?"
My brain doesn't immediately recognize why he's asking, but my stomach does and growls loud enough I press one hand against it. "I don't think I've eaten today."
"I know you haven't because every time I tried to feed you at the hospital you swore you were fine." He opens the fridge and digs out a few foil-covered trays, reminding me that I have actually eaten, but not since breakfast. Which feels like forever ago. "And I was fine with that considering all they had to offer was shit from the vending machine, but now it's time for you to eat something."
I smile, finally willing to admit I don't hate a bossy man when the purpose for his bossiness is actually in my best interest. I came out of the IGL thinking I should never let a man tell me what to do, and feeling a little lost and ashamed because I don't actually hate being told what to do in certain situations. Specifically situations involving Christian.
I relax a little for the first time in hours, sinking deeper into the comfort of the sofa. Knowing he’s got so much handled makes life a little less overwhelming. Makes figuring myself out a little less intimidating. "I’ll eat whatever you put in front of me."
Christian’s dark gaze fixes on mine. "Good girl."
My stomach flips the way it always does when he says those two magic words. I don't hate how free he is with praise, which makes me even more inclined to do what he says. Happily.
I stay on the couch while Christian warms up a couple plates of food. He brings them both to where I'm sitting, bandaged feet propped up on the ottoman, and settles one onto my lap before sitting beside me with the second. He flips on the television and we eat our late-night leftovers, laughing at an episode of some show where a woman moves in with three single guys. Despite the hilarity of the show, I yawn no fewer than ten times, and the minute the last bite has cleared my lips, Christian is collecting my dirty dishes and carrying them to the kitchen. He rinses them off and racks them into the dishwasher before scooping me up from the sofa.
"You really don't have to carry me around. My feet feel okay." They still sting a little, but it's nothing that should keep me from walking.
"Not happening. You've had a shitty day and there's no way I'm making you suffer more when there’s something I can do to stop it." Christian moves down the hall, passing the front door as the alarm pings signaling the front gate’s been opened.
“Maybe it’s Tate and Simon going home.” I yawn again, unable to stop myself.
“They left while we were eating.” Christian’s eyes narrow, jaw tight as two shadowy forms illuminate against the windows beside the front door. He glances around, going to the entry table and sliding my ass onto it before unlocking the door and opening it a crack. He seems to relax a little at the sight of whoever's on the other side and widens the opening, stepping back as Damien and the giant guy married to Shelly step in. They both glance my way, nodding in greeting.
