Page 196 of Carrick
“Why?” she cried, voice hoarse and breathy. “Why him? Why would you take him and not me?”
She didn’t speak to me. Didn’t see me. Her eyes stayed closed, her face buried against my neck, but her voice reached beyond—aimed at something higher, farther, cast into the hollow, unforgiving air that had never once answered her.
“I begged you,” she whimpered. “I begged you to protect him. I prayed, I fucking prayed?—”
Then her voice broke entirely. She looked up—not at me. Through me. Past me. To something that had never deserved her faith. “Are you even real?” she whispered. “Did you ever listen? Do you even care?”
My throat clenched so tight I couldn’t breathe. Her hands curled into the fabric of my shirt and clung.
“You took him and left me here…” she sobbed. “You took the one good thing I had, and now I don’t even know who I am without him—” Her body fell limp like a marionette with the strings cut, like the last ounce of her strength was gone—and I held her tighter. Closer. Deeper.
“Why wasn’t it me?” she whispered, sobs starting anew. “Why wasn’t it me instead? I would’ve gone. I would’ve died if it meant he could live.”
She was drowning in darkness and despair—and I would rather fucking drown with her than let her face that pain alone. I sank to my knees, taking her down with me, folding her into my lap like something precious, something sacred, something made of flame and glass and grief. She didn’t resist.
She sobbed into my chest until her voice broke again, quieter now—words gone, just breath and shaking and the aftermath of ruin. And I praised her. God, I praised her. “You’re so strong,” I whispered. “So fucking strong. You gave me everything. You’re not alone anymore. I’ve got you.”
Her body melted into mine, limp and shaking. Not asleep. Not gone. Just… emptied. I brushed her hair back from her face. Kissed the crown of her head. Held her like I could keep her whole by the sheer force of my arms.
And then I stood. Lifted her again, one arm beneath her knees, one around her back. She didn’t stir. Didn’t speak. Her face rested against my shoulder, breath shallow against my skin. I wrapped the waiting throw blanket around her, tucking it tight like armor. Like reverence. Like something holy, and carried her across the room.
The bathroom door hung open, the light off, the air cool against my skin, and the quiet so thick it pressed in heavier than silence. I carried her through without looking back—not at the cross, not at the marks left behind, not at the place where she shattered.
Because she wasn’t broken. She was still here. And that was everything. She didn’t sob anymore. Didn’t scream. But she didn’t let go, either. And that was enough.
I kissed her hair. Closed my eyes. And whispered into the dark, soft and raw and absolutely true, “You’re safe now, baby. I’ve got you.”
And then I followed her into the dark.
38
Carrick
The bathroom wascool when I stepped through the doorway; the tile kissed with fragrance and silence. The door clicked shut behind me, sealing us in like the world outside no longer mattered—and maybe it didn’t.
Maybe, for once, it could all just fucking stop.
I didn’t turn on the lights. The room didn’t need them. The faint red spill of color from the playroom beyond glowed soft against the white porcelain tub, casting gentle shadows along the walls. It was enough. Everything tonight had already been too bright, too loud, too much.
This moment… needed quiet.
She was weightless in my arms, wrapped in the throw blanket, her face pressed against my throat, her breath still shaky and uneven. She hadn’t spoken since that last sob tore out of her and she had collapsed into silence. She hadn’t looked at me. Hadn’t resisted.
But she hadn’t let go either. And that was enough.
I knelt beside the clawfoot tub and held her for a moment longer, her body curled against my chest like a porcelain idol, both shattered and sacred. Then, slowly, I loosened the blanket. Her skin was hot from the tears and the aftermath ofimpact. The marks I’d left on her bloomed deep across her back, thighs, shoulders—lasting but not cruel. Evidence of what she’d endured. Of what she’d survived.
I set the blanket aside and reached forward to turn on the tap, adjusting the handles until the water poured smooth and warm. I added a handful of Epsom salts from a small jar on the ledge, watching the minerals dissolve into the rising tide. The scent of lavender bloomed in the steam almost immediately, curling up like a balm. I kept a hand on her thigh the entire time. I needed her to know I was still there.
The tub filled slowly, the sound soft and steady, like a heartbeat. I tested it again with my wrist. Perfect. Warm enough to soothe. Gentle enough not to sting.
“Almost there,” I whispered, unsure if she could hear me. “Just a little longer.”
She didn’t move. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted, lashes still damp with salty tears. I watched her for a moment; the faint tremble of her lower lip, the way her fingers curled slightly toward her palms like they were holding onto something invisible.
I wanted to speak—to tell her how proud I was, how fiercely brave she’d been, how deeply honored I felt that she had chosen me for this moment… this breaking, this bleeding, this sacred surrender.
But I didn’t rush it. I stood and stripped silently, leaving my clothes in a neat pile beside the tub. I didn’t plan to join her right away. Not until she was ready. This part was still hers.
