Page 17 of Like Grim Death: Part One
I tilt my head up, searching his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he says again, with meaning.
“I know.”
“I just saw the blade, and you were leaning over the crib, and I thought…” He looks away from me.
Hands all over me. I was too small for him, but his fingers…he could use those. He could wrap mine around him. He could help me stroke him until something warm and sticky was on my wrist, and he was beaming at me and breathing hard and—
Lucifer wraps his arm around the back of my neck, pulling me into his chest, memories from my past dissolving with his touch.
Yeah, I know what he thought.
I go willingly, stumbling, one ear pressed against his heart, I can feel the even beats. He still has hold of my wrist, like he’s comforting me and forcing me close all the same. I close my eyes tight, trying to push away the evocations. All the things that can go wrong when you bring a new life into this world.
“Do you ever think about it? All the things that got toyouwhen you were like Rain?” Lucifer whispers the words, his chin on my head. “Because it fucking eats me alive, thinking of every bad thing that could happen to him if we aren’tconstantlyon guard. I know you would never hurt him, but it’s like this twisted shadow inside my head, constantly racing for him, and I’m running after it, but I feel so fucking behind. Andyou…”He’s quiet, a moment of silence between us as I envision his analogy, understanding it more than anyone else could. “I wish I could have stopped the shadow from coming for you.”
Bile threatens to burn up my throat. “Lucifer, I don’t want to…”Talk about this. Remember. I don’t want to cut open old wounds.
He’s quiet a moment, then he says against my hair, “You cry out sometimes in your sleep.”
My entire body flushes hot. I try to push away from him, one hand still planted on his chest, but he won’t let me go. He holds me tighter, crushing me to him. “I hate it for you, Lilith.”
I still, frozen. He always speaks of my past, of people who have hurt me, with anger.Rage.But now, his tone is softer.
It unnerves me.
I feel dizzy with emotion, and I don’t want it.Run away, run away, run away.Those words have been stuck inside my head ever since we first met at that intersection, nearly two years ago. But I can never run far enough, never fast enough.
He’s always there. A constant. And I know somewhere deep down, buried under my survival mechanisms, I’m grateful for his possessive love. I need someone tokeepme here.
“I wish I could take it all away from you, baby girl.” His grip is so fucking tight, but I don’t try to squirm away. “I wish I could…rewrite everything for you. Find you sooner. And knowing how my dad played a part in it all…” His tone hardens, rage taking its place again. “I just need you to know, if you ever want to talk about it,anything,I really am here, okay?” Finally, he loosens his grip, and I step back, meeting his gaze, searching mine.
I nod once, pressure building behind my eyes, but I won’t cry.
I won’t.
“Okay.” I say the word softly, ready to be done with this conversation, but I see something in his eyes. Some kind of buried pain. I wonder ifhewants to talk about something, but I’m almost scared to ask. I’m almost terrified to know.
I work up the courage though. If he can do it for me, I should for him. “Are you…okay?”
He blinks, surprised by my question. We are strangers to confessions. But all he says after a quiet moment is, “Yes.” His eyes search mine and his voice is a whisper as he asks, “Are you?”
But I break the spell because I’m so very good at it. Because I don’t quite know how to open up. “I’m fine,” I say, and it’s a festering lie.
He smiles a little, but it’s cold. Like he knows I won’t ever give him what he wants.All my secrets, all my pain.Sighing, he releases me and steps toward the entrance to our closet. He pulls off his hoodie, one handed, his shirt at the same time, and I see the broad expanse of his back, muscles flexing.
My mouth goes dry as he heads into our walk-in closet, his curls dishevelled. He disappears, then a soft light flicks on a second later. “You’re not going for a run,” he says from inside the closet, nonchalantly.
I dip my chin, my eyes wide. “Excuse me?” All the bad memories are wiped away, only annoyance is coursing through me now.
I hear him rustling around in his drawers, but he speaks over the sound. “You can get mad, baby girl. But you’re not going.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Yeah, fuck you.” I pivot, headed to our bathroom, full of black marble, and I know I left some leggings and a sports bra in there—since we can’t run together anymore because of Rain, we take whatever time we can get, and my house is messier because of it. But before I enter through the open door to the bathroom, he’s behind me.
I freeze.
He doesn’t touch me, but his presence stops me in my tracks.
