Page 23 of A Very Killer Christmas
“Baby, I never claimed to be sane. And yeah, maybe I am crazy, but I’m also dependable. I don’t break my rules, not ever. You can count on it.”
She snorts. “Yeah? And what if someone paid you to killme?”
“I wouldn’t take the job,” I say immediately. “Besides, I already told you I’m quitting. It’s time to launder my money, turn it into real wealth, and live a happy, easy life. With you.”
She considers me for a long time, her eyes reflecting the golden glow of the nightlight. I love that she needs one. It means we’ll never fuck in the dark, and I’ll always see her face when I’m inside her.
“I don’t know what to say to that,” she confesses after a long stretch of silence.
“It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything. But can I ask you some questions, too?”
“I guess it’s only fair.”
I think for a moment, listening to her breathing. It’s slow and deep, relaxed. She doesn’t mind having me in her bed. She’s not freaking out after what I told her. If I believed in God, I’d thank him on my knees for sending me this beautiful, wonderful woman.
“Why don’t you have heating on most of the day? Are you strapped for money?”
She sighs and looks away, her throat bobbing. I notice at once how her breathing speeds up. Something’s wrong.
“My… When I took care of my grandpa, he got steadily worse over the year. You know, Alzheimer’s. And he, well, he wasalways frugal and mindful about wasting resources, but the illness made it so much worse. He wouldn’t allow me to turn on the heat or go grocery shopping, and he’d say I should just check the pantry, that there’s always something in the pantry…”
She trails off, her voice sounding hoarse. Her eyes, stubbornly turned away, glisten with gathering tears. The urge to hold her rises in my chest, but I keep myself perfectly still to let her speak.
“Then one day…” She breaks off and clears her throat. The comforter vibrates around us. She’s shaking. “One day, there was just no food in the house. None at all. Not even old, moldy bread. Not even rice or cans. Nothing. He was asleep, and I snuck out to get groceries. When I came back, he…”
A choked sob breaks out of her throat, and I lose the battle with myself.
“Come here, sweetheart. It’s okay. You can cry all you want. I’m here.”
I pull her closer, enveloping her in a whole-body hug, and she shakes in my arms. Her muscles are hard with tension, and I stroke her back and shoulders, my chest filling with sadness and grief for her suffering.
She cries, her wails growing louder and louder, and I have a distinct feeling it’s not just normal pain. It’s something larger, something monstrous that she’d wrestled with for months and finally let out.
It lasts a long time. I hand her tissues from the box on her nightstand and then hold her more tightly until the front of my shirt is soaked with tears. At last, she calms down, her breaths short and shaky, followed by little hiccups. Tension drains out of her, and I know she’s exhausted.
“Do you want to tell me what happened?” I whisper when silence follows her last sob, and she burrows into me like a scared animal seeking warmth.
“He was dead,” she confesses in a hoarse, emotionless voice. “I was away for half an hour. He woke up, probably called for me, and when he got no reply, he tried to go downstairs. He was weak and tripped. I found him at the foot of the stairs, neck broken. If I had only listened to him… If I hadn’t gone out… Oh, well. Can’t change the past.”
I stroke her back as little trembles go through her frame. “You think it was your fault and that’s why you’re punishing yourself.” It’s not a question because I know I’m right, and it breaks my heart. “It’s a terrible burden to live with.”
She releases a heavy breath. Her eyes are closed, face swollen. “Can we sleep now?”
I kiss the top of her head and don’t move away, because nothing will make me abandon her now. This girl had no one to comfort her for months, no one to confess her pain to and cry, and I’m more than happy to be that person for her.
“Yes. Sweet dreams, my love.”
She goes out like a light, but I can’t follow. My body is deeply aware that this soft, warm woman is so close, separated only by easily removable layers of clothing. I feel a bit guilty for sporting a boner after she cried in my arms, but I’m only human. At least I’m careful not to poke her with it.
After much effort, counting my breaths, counting sheep, and wrangling my mind into a semblance of calm, I fall asleep. After all, she asked ifwecould sleep. That means she wants me here, and no force on earth would move me from this bed.
I’m woken by cool winter light falling in through the uncovered window. Prudy stirs sleepily. My thoughts are muddy, stuck somewhere between the dream where I was fucking her senseless and the reality of us being in bed together.
“Rowley?” Her voice is so deliciously hoarse, and it hits me again. Here we are, together in bed. This is real.
I groan happily, my hips moving on their own as I seek friction. I’m still hard, or maybe hard again, and since I’m the big spoon, her delicious ass presses just where I need it.
“Right there,” I mumble, pulling her closer with my arm wrapped around her chest. “Feels good. Yeah. Keep going.”
