“You want me to help you undress,” Eddie states.
I don’t know how to respond because maybe there are bruises I don’t want them to see—bruises that shame me because I didn’t know when to leave.And maybe the moment I met Dorian, it was already too late.
“We’re just trying to help,” Eddie says, voice even.
“Cleo, this man is trying his fucking best,” Barret adds, half-joking, half-pleading.“The restraint is killing him.Throw him a lifeline and let him pamper you before he spontaneously combusts.”
I laugh, a short, surprised sound.“That bad, huh?”
“He’s not bossing around or fixing anyone,” Barret continues as if Eddie has become infuriating in the best possible way.“This is a favor to him as much as to you.”
“Okay,” I say, small and a little afraid of what they’ll find—afraid and also relieved in a way I haven’t let myself name.
Everything is fine until Barret gasps.
ChapterNine
Barret
Okay, I shouldn’t have gasped—but looking at her, all skin and bones with greenish-yellow bruises blooming in places that can barely be seen ...it rips something out of me.
Eddie’s glare hits like a warning:don’t make this about you.
Cleo’s chin dips, embarrassment flashing across her face before she shuts it down.I’m not shaming her.It’s a reflex.Seeing the woman I love looking so breakable, like one more hard breath could splinter her, my soul aches.
I was already near the edge while we watched her run—first through the trees, then toward the cliff, like she’d finally found a straight line to somewhere far away from us, and this time we wouldn’t be able to save her.
We didn’t follow.
We swore we wouldn’t.
We let her be.
That’s not the whole truth.I went to the music room and played, hoping the sound might reach her.Hoping it would sit with her on that ledge, do the job my hands weren’t allowed to do.
Did it work?Who the fuck knows?But she came back, and I’m calling that a win.
“We should tell her,” I muttered, softer than a cuss.“About the island.That there’s nothing but us out here.The staff house is miles away.She won’t find a road, only more trees and rock.”
“Not yet,” Eddie responded.“Later.When it won’t feel like a fence.”
He’s right.I hate that he’s right.
Now we’re here in the bathroom trying to ...not sure what.Finally care for her?At least make sure that she doesn’t get hypothermia.
The tub is deep, built for weekends filled with sin and sleep—we haven’t used it for that yet.It’s just a tub that might be sold to someone if this version of us never works out.Eddie tests the water with his wrist, adjusts the handle a notch, checks again.“Cleo?”he asks, turning his body sideways so she can move past him without feeling penned in.“Can I help you in?”
She nods once.
He doesn’t look at me for permission—he looks at her.“May I touch your elbow?”
Another nod.He guides her with two fingers and a breath of space.When she sinks into the water, her exhale sounds like it’s been waiting for years.Goosebumps lift on her arms, then settle.The bubbles hide what needs hiding.I stare at the tile and count grout lines because I am not a saint, and now is not the time for my body to audition for anything.
“Would it be okay if Barret or I got in the water with you?”Eddie asks.
I whip my head around.“What the fuck, man?—”
“With swimsuits,” he adds, calm, a look thrown at me that says remember the plan.“Heat shares faster skin-to-skin.We’ll keep our hands where you can see them.It’s not sexual—just helping you warm up.”
