“I’m yours, Bones.” Louder this time, steadier.
“Music to my fucking ears.” I let go of her wrist. “Turn around.”
For a second, I think she’ll fight me again. That stubborn chin lifts, her jaw sets, and I can practically see the refusal forming on her lips.
Then she turns.
I carefully peel off her jacket, let it drop to the floor. Her shirt is thin, worn, old and comfortable. I pull it up her body slowly, my fingers skirting over her warm skin.
“Arms up,” I say, and it doesn’t escape me that we’re both breathing heavy.
She glances at me over her shoulder, her hair a mess. But she’s still so fucking gorgeous standing there in nothing but her jeans and a pale pink bralette.
I run the tips of my fingers up her spine, watching the way she shivers and knowing I’m getting hard just seeing the way the goosebumps spread over her skin. When I reach her shoulder blades, I pinch the edge of the bandage and peel it off as gently as I can. She doesn’t make a sound.
It’s a bit of a massacre, with several grazed lines and a couple of deeper gashes. The worst of them is about two inches long, angry red around the edges, deeper than she let on. She’d wrecked her skin before stopping—or before the pain or blood or reality of what she was doing forced her to stop.
“Jesus, Emma,” I rasp. “Why would you do this?”
She’s quiet for a long moment. Then her breath hitches, and when she speaks, her voice is small.
“Because you never came.”
I go still. “What?”
“I stayed at the motel. Our motel.” She stops, swallows hard. “I thought maybe you’d know. That you’d see I was there and you’d come.”
My chest tightens. “Swan?—”
“You didn’t.” Her voice cracks. “So I got drunk and I tried to cut it out because what was the fucking point of having it if you weren’t even paying attention?”
“Emma—”
“For six months, Bones. You never came. Not once. And I did some stupid shit. Walked through bad neighborhoods at 2 AM. Took the subway to the end of the line in the Bronx just to see what would happen. Went to bars in areas I knew were dangerous.” She’s talking faster now, words tumbling out. “I kept thinking, if he’s watching, he’ll come. If he cares, he’ll show up. But you never did.”
“I didn’t know.” My hands are shaking as I touch her shoulders. “I couldn’tsee. Stone took everything when he stripped my rank. All my access, all my alerts, everything. I couldn’t see the tracker anymore. Couldn’t see where you were, if you were safe—” My voice breaks. “I’ve been blind for six months.”
She turns to face me, her mouth a thin line, and I cup her face. “You have to believe me, swan. I had no idea you were in danger. If I’d known?—”
“You would have come.”
“I would have burned everything down to get to you.” I press my forehead to hers. “I’m so sorry. I should have found a way. Should have just stayed in fucking New York with you.”
“No. You couldn’t. You’d die without the club.”
“I’m dying without you too,” I whisper.
Her hands come up to grip my wrists. “I know,” she whispers. “I know that now. But at the time, I felt abandoned. Like what happened between us meant more to me than it did to you. Like I was just another responsibility you were relieved to be free of.”
“Never.” The word comes out fierce. “Never, swan. You were never just a responsibility.”
“Then what was I?”
“Everything.” I kiss her forehead, her cheeks, her nose. “You’re everything. You always have been.”
Her eyes are wet when she looks up at me. “Bones?”
“Yeah?”
