Page 105 of Red Flagged
She was still lying on her side when I stepped into the room, eyes open now. Glazed and red-rimmed, but she saw me.
“Got you some water. Can you try a sip for me?” I whispered, kneeling beside the bed.
Her gaze dropped to the glass, then back to my face, but she made no effort to move. “I’m sorry,” she rasped.
My heart tumbled. “No. Don’t—don’t say that.” I set the water down and cupped her cheek, thumb brushing gently under her eye. “You don’t have to apologize.”
Her lips trembled. “I called you. On my way down here.”
“I know.” My voice cracked. “God, I know, baby. If I’d known?—”
“I didn’t… I didn’t know if it was real,” she interjected. “I took one, then two more. Just to be sure.”
I swallowed hard, hand sliding to her damp hairline. “You don’t have to explain it right now. You don’t have to say anything you’re not ready to.”
She blinked slowly. “Can you just—” Her breath hitched. “Can you just hold me? And we can talk about it later?”
Jesus Christ.
I didn’t even respond out loud. Just slipped behind her, wrapped my arms around her waist, and pulled her in as gently as I could. She melted into me like she finally let herself stop holding everything in.
I pressed my lips to the back of her shoulder. “I’ve got you.”
And I wasn’t letting go. I didn’t know what tomorrow looked like. But tonight, she wasn’t going to face it alone.
When I woke,the world was hushed. I could sense that something was off.
I could feel it before I even opened my eyes.
My body was heavy. Not just tired, but bone-deep exhausted. My limbs ached, my joints were stiff, my muscles were sore in a way that made me feel like I’d been run over. A dull, throbbing pain sat low in my back, radiating outward, a warning shot from my body that things were not okay.
God, and my throat. I swallowed, wincing against the sandpaper dryness, my lips cracked from dehydration. My head felt foggy, my thoughts slow, like I was trying to swim through molasses.
For a second I thought I was dreaming, that the pills, pain, and blood had dragged me under and left me there. Slowly, I peeled my eyes open, blinking at the light creeping through the curtains in thin white ribbons, tracing across the sheets, across amuscular arm draped heavily over my waist. The air smelled like iron, bergamot, and lemon verbena.
Wait.
Callum was here. I didn’t let him in… did I? I reached for a memory, for something that would tell me how he got here. My stomach twisted. So how did he get in? I combed through fragments of thoughts until I recalled opening the bathroom window, which meant—merde.
And suddenly I remembered. I remembered everything. I wished I didn’t.
Then I felt his warm breath against the back of my neck.
It wasn’t a dream. He was really here. His weight was real, solid and grounding, his arm curved protectively around my waist like his body had formed itself to the shape of mine in sleep. I could feel the steady thrum of his pulse against my spine, slow and sure.
I inhaled, shaky, and the scent of him filled my lungs. It made my heart palpitate.
“Callum,” I whispered, so softly I wasn’t sure if I’d said it out loud.
He stirred behind me, his arm tightening, and a low sound hummed in his throat. His hand flexed against my stomach—bare skin, I realized dimly, his palm warm against my ribs. My shirt had ridden up sometime in the night, and his skin was pressed to mine.
The contact sent a shiver through me. Not from arousal, but from something deeper. Something that reached into the hollow of grief and filled it with a kind of intimacy that couldn’t be described. I knew that he knew. But now he needed the whole truth.
For a long, fragile moment, I couldn’t move. I just lay there, letting him hold me, letting myself breathe through the quiet, even though I hurt.
Then his voice, still rough with sleep, broke the silence. “Hey, baby.” He sounded wrecked, all gentle and hoarse and so goddamn concerned that tears sprung to my eyes. “Don’t move yet, okay? Just breathe. You’re safe.”
Safe. The word splintered me.
