He stares back at me with nothing but pain in his eyes.
“I don’t know how you can love me,” he says in a whisper.
“I don’t know how you can think I ever didn’t love you. Even when I ran. I’ve always loved you.” A weak smile forces its way to my face as I struggle to use his name. He doesn’t want me to call him Jay, but he’s always been Jay to me. “My wolf.”
John stares back at me, confused for a moment. Sometimes it’s like this, when he doesn’t quite remember, but then it clicks.
“Wolf,” he huffs a sarcastic laugh and shakes his head. “You don’t need a wolf, little bird. You needed another, someone just like you. You needed Jay.”
I nod my head as my heart splinters. “I need all of you,” I whisper against his lips. I can feel it, the moment Jay comes to the surface, the moment the possessive man inside of him moves his hands to the back of my head and deepens the kiss.
I pull back and look into his eyes whispering, “Jay?”
A small smile tugs his lips up, only just and he says quietly, “You can call me whichever name you’d like.” He rests his forehead against mine and it’s then that I realize our past needs to stay where it belongs. “You can call me Jay if you want. I’ll be anyone for you. I’ll do anything for you. I only exist for you.”
I brush my nose against his, trying to lighten the mood. “Maybe when I’m mad at you I’ll call you Jay,” I tease and try to smile and when he does, my lips turn up easily.
“I love you, John,” I tell him quietly, brushing my fingers against his lips. “And I love Jay, too. Both sides of you.”
“I love you, little bird.” He says the words just like he always has, with a hint of teasing and a touch of darkness.
I lean against him, and he holds me tightly. I wouldn’t have it any other way. We’re both broken from what happened to us. But the love that’s come from it can’t tear us apart. As long as we stay together.
“Always?” I ask him.
“Always.”
* * *
***
* * *
John
* * *
I can hear the shower running as I stop in front of the shower door. The tips of my fingers tap against the wood. She’s waiting for me, and so many times I think I should leave her. As if I’m undeserving of her and hurting her, keeping her back.
I close my eyes and let out a slow breath. When I inhale, the gentle smell of lavender fills my lungs. It’s what my little bird smells like. And just that little bit makes the memories of holding her come back to me. They flood to me now. The bad ones I try to ignore, but the ones with her, the ones with my little bird, I hold on to them with everything I have.
It’s why I want to let her go. And why I never will.
My eyes pop open wide, the selfishness and depravity making me hate the thought. She’s a grown woman though, and she knows who I am in every sense of the word. As long as she wants me, I’m staying with her.
I push the door open slowly and the steam greets me with warmth and slowly passes behind me.
The anger surprises me sometimes, but more than that, the fear.
My father’s dead and burned to ashes, but the fear is very much alive. I always knew the other side of me was filled with a darkness, but I wouldn’t have thought it was fear.
But that’s what creeps up more than anything. Especially at night.
Until my wife leans against me, giving me much-needed warmth. Until my hand splays across her belly and we both fall easily to sleep.
“I heard something about you always being right,” I tease and then pull the shirt over my head. She peeks out from the shower curtain with a quip on her lips, something smart no doubt, but instead her eyes fall to my chest and the thought is long gone.
A deep groan of satisfaction rumbles up my chest and her eyes reach mine as a blush creeps up her chest and she pulls the curtain back into place to hide behind.
