Page 122 of A Mistake of Worth
“It’s from Ellis,” Michael said softly, adjusting the blanket so it covered Henri more completely.
Henri’s face crumpled. The name seemed to pierce whatever fragile control he’d been maintaining. He collapsed against Michael, dropping fast and hard, his whole body going boneless as sobs tore out of him. Not quiet crying but gut-wrenching, gasping sobs that shook his entire frame.
The car began to move, pulling smoothly from the garage, but neither of them noticed. Michael was entirely focused on Henri, on the man shaking apart in his arms, on bringing him back piece by piece.
Michael wrapped both arms around him, one hand coming up to cradle his head, the other stroking his side in long, steady movements. “You’re safe,” he murmured into Henri’s hair, keeping his voice low and steady. “I’ve got you. You’re safe now.”
Henri sobbed harder, his hands fisting in Michael’s shirt again. “I couldn’t—I tried to stay but I couldn’t—I left and I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—”
“Shhh, no.” Michael’s hand moved to cup Henri’s face, tilting it up so he could look at him. Henri’s eyes were red and swollen, tears streaming down his cheeks. “You did nothing wrong. Do you hear me? Nothing.”
“But I left,” Henri gasped, the words tumbling out between sobs. “I wasn’t there, and I couldn’t come back and—”
“That’s not your fault.” Michael’s voice was fierce now, certain. “That was survival, Henri. There’s no shame in that.”
The words seemed to break through. Henri’s sobs turned into hiccupping gasps, his whole body still trembling but the panic starting to ease. Michael kept stroking his side, kept murmuring soft reassurances, kept holding him like he was the most precious thing in the world.
Because he was.
“Cold,” Henri whispered suddenly, his voice small. “I’m so cold.”
Michael immediately pulled the blanket tighter around him, then wrapped his own body around Henri’s, trying to share his warmth. “Better?”
Henri nodded against his chest, but he was still shivering. Michael rubbed his arms through the blanket, trying to generate heat, trying to soothe.
“Water,” Michael said, remembering Jean’s careful instructions. He reached for the bottle Jean had packed, unscrewed the cap with one hand while keeping Henri anchored with the other. “Can you drink for me?”
Henri lifted his head, confused and exhausted, but let Michael guide the bottle to his lips. He took a small sip, then another, his throat working. Michael watched him swallow and rememberedMarc’s voice on the phone, remembered what he’d threatened to do, and had to close his eyes against the surge of protective rage.
Henri was his now. To care for. To protect. To love…
“Good,” Michael murmured when Henri had managed a few more sips. “That’s good, sweetheart.”
The endearment slipped out without thought, and Henri’s eyes went wide. Fresh tears spilled over, but these looked different. Softer somehow.
“Say it again,” Henri whispered, voice wrecked. “Please.”
Michael’s chest tightened with an emotion so fierce it almost hurt. He cupped Henri’s face in both hands, thumbs brushing away tears. “Sweetheart. My sweetheart. You’re mine now, and I’m going to take care of you.”
Henri made a broken sound and buried his face in Michael’s neck, body going limp with something that looked like relief.
Michael held him, one hand stroking his hair, the other rubbing circles on his thigh. “You’re safe,” he kept saying, a mantra, a promise. “I’ve got you. You’ll never go back. Not ever.”
The car carried them through the city toward Gabriel’s Lafayette Square home, but Michael didn’t look out the window. Didn’t care about the route or the traffic or anything beyond the precious weight trembling in his arms.
His whole world was right here, finally free, finally his.
And he would burn down anyone who tried to take him away.
Chapter twenty-three
Henri
Henriwoketosunlightfiltering through familiar curtains. For a moment, he lay still, afraid to move, afraid to confirm this was real.
His bedroom at Lafayette Square. The same pale blue walls, the same heavy oak furniture, the same view of the garden where he’d played as a boy before everything changed.
But this couldn’t be real. Marc would never let him go. Marc would never—
