Catfish’s voice instantly eases me. And I try not to panic like last time, priding myself on breathing through it, rather than dressing or hiding in a hurry.
I’m about to rinse off my conditioner when the bathroom door pushes open, and Catfish walks in. He’s still wearing all his clothes. The limited snow on his boots creates a puddle of wateron the floor. Dirt streaks his face, and there’s blood on one of his hands, like the evening didn’t go smoothly.
But what really tips me off are the fear and desperation in his eyes when the door opens, and the utter relief that fills them when he sees me.
He’s wide-eyed and wrecked.
He stands in the doorway like he doesn’t know how he got there. Like his only mission was to find me.
“You’re okay,” he rasps. Those two words are said in a tone like he doesn’t believe it.
He grabs his phone and says four words, “Wren’s alive and fine,” and then hangs up. As if the world is finally too much, he tosses his phone into the sink and then rests his fists on the counter. His shoulders hunch but rise and fall with his breath.
Steam swirls around, but he makes no effort to take off his clothes, and maybe I’m misreading things, but it’s as if he’s run out of the will to do one thing more.
And I can barely process why he might have need to call someone to tell them I’m alive, but I’m guessing I was at risk tonight and didn’t know it.
“What happened?” I ask.
“He was here. I had him, but he managed to get away.”
My heart thuds loudly in my ears. “How close?”
“Minutes. They almost got to you, Wren. And I failed to stop him. I’m so fucking sorry.”
“Strip,” I instruct, forgetting about rinsing the conditioner out of my hair, for now. I don’t know why it feels like the right thing to say to him in this moment.
“What?” Catfish asks.
“You heard me. Strip for me, River, and get in here.”
Without another word of argument, Catfish does as I say. Clothes get thrown out the door. His thick jacket, hoodie, and Henley. The boots follow. And the belt leaves a mark in thecupboard door when he rips it from the waistband of his denim and accidentally smashes it into the wood.
A kind of darkness has entered the room with him, and my body rouses at the thought of where it could lead.
When he’s finally naked, he walks into the shower like he’s hungry for me. I’m used to the switch, the one between the harmless Catfish and the version he becomes when he’s pushed. Around me, he’s usually the former, but right now, he is most definitely the latter.
I tug him under the water, and he wraps his arms tightly around me as it splashes over us. The sound is thunderous as it pounds on the glass and walls. I press my forehead to his chest, but as I do, I see the water by our feet has turned red.
“Oh God, River, honey, you’re hurt.”
“Hit my head. I’m fine.” But he doesn’t let go of me, and the tension isn’t leaving his body. I want to hold him, reassure him he’s safe. Treat him gently.
But something tells me that isn’t what he needs from me right now.
So, I do the only other thing I can think of. I shove him. Hard, against the cold tile.
His eyes widen as I stand in front of him and place my hand over his chest. His heart pounds like a war drum.
“You found him in time, River.”
He doesn’t look at me. “Barely.”
“But you did.” I place two fingers beneath his chin and force him to look at me. “Barely is enough. Barely means both of us are right here. Breathing, safe, and alive.”
His fists open and close by his sides, so unable to settle. And I know that feeling well. When the adrenaline is racing so fast and hard, but you don’t have anywhere to put it. When you feel so out of yourself that you’re screaming inside, but the rest of the world doesn’t see it.
I step into him, bare skin to skin. “You need to come back for me,” I say. “You weren’t too late. I’m here.”
