Page 71 of Whispers of You
I hurried up to the house, finding the key and sliding it into the lock. Wren slid by me as I opened the door, and I didn’t miss the way her body vibrated with phantom energy—the shock setting in deeper. Shadow let out a low whine.
Pointing to the dog bed in the living room, I motioned for Shadow to lay down. She seemed to glare at me but did as I asked.
“Let’s get you in a shower,” I said quietly. It was the only thing I could think of. If I could get Wren warm, she would be okay.
Wren didn’t fight me. Didn’t tell me to mind my own business. She just followed me to the bathroom.
I turned on the water and held my hand under the spray until it was a soothing warmth. Turning around, I studied the woman who had always owned me, body and soul. “Will you be okay?”
Wren didn’t say anything, but she did nod.
I hesitated for a moment and then headed for the door. “I’ll be right outside.”
Quickly ducking into her bedroom, I searched for the comfiest sweats I could find. Grabbing those, a T-shirt, and some underwear, I headed back into the hall. It was quiet at first, just the steady fall of the water against the shower’s tile floor.
Then one guttural sob pierced the air, and my chest cracked right along with it.
Another sounded, a third on its heels.
There was a brokenness to the noise that I’d never heard in all my life. A brokenness that had been living in Wren since that day ten years ago. A brokenness I’d left her alone in.
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WREN
It was too much.As if my entire system were overloaded and short-circuiting.
My legs shook so badly that I had no choice but to slide to the shower floor. Water pelted down on me, but I wanted it to hurt—I wanted my body to hurt the way my soul did. At least after the shooting, after Holt left, my outsides matched my insides.
My fingers found the scar between my breasts, the one where they’d cracked open my chest and rearranged my insides in a bid to save my life. Now, it was like I was in the middle of open-heart surgery but with no anesthesia.
Memory after memory slammed into me. Holt’s voice telling me he loved me as I woke up after surgery. Mr. Peterson’s kind expression as he asked me how I was holding up. Gretchen’s wide smile as she recounted all the ways the shooting had made her grateful for her life.
The sobs came faster. Harder. I couldn’t take in any air. It was as if there wasn’t any in the room around me.
The shower door jerked open, and the water cut off. I couldn’t find it in me to care. All I could do was rock and gasp for the air.
A second later, a towel wrapped around me, and someone lifted me into strong arms. The world around me blurred. I thought there was a blanket then, too. A bed.
And then I was drowning in Holt. He was all around me—that pine and spice.
“I’ve got you.”
I felt the words against my skin as much as I heard them, a gentle brand that sliced to my very core.
“Do you?” I choked out, my voice raw.
Holt held me tighter against him. “I’m so sorry, Cricket. You’ll never know how much. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”
His words only made me cry harder.
“Cricket.” My nickname was an anguished plea.
There were no more words. Only soft caresses. His lips ghosting across my forehead. His hands skating up and down my back.
The last of my walls came tumbling down. Because the truth was, the only thing that could bring me comfort right now was Holt—the tender way his fingers moved, the feeling so achingly familiar. The way his mouth uttered nonsensical things in a language that was all ours.
I wanted nothing in this moment but him. Needed to lose myself in the man I had never truly let go of.
