It’s not like she didn’t have time and opportunity while the twins were getting her ready and informing her of the Reckoning. She’s already shown she’s willing to starve herself. What else will she get into?
Neither did she want any aftercare once we got here either. I offered to sit with her in the living room for a while to decompress. “I just want to shower and go to bed.” She said tonelessly, refusing to meet my gaze.
“Fine.” I managed, letting her go ahead of me inside the elevator and down the corridor to her room.
She didn’t even look back when she entered, just proceeded toward the small shower without a backwards glance.
Spurred by the memory, I’m already halfway down the stairs not even bothering to pull on a shirt. Barefoot and in my boxers, I stride through the living room to the hidden elevator.
The concrete on the subterranean level is cold against the soles of my feet as I make my way down the corridor to her room. The sound of my feet is loud as it echoes behind me in a quick staccato in my haste to get to her.
I curse the seconds it takes me to enter the access code into the keypad and press my face close enough to allow my retina to be scanned.
There is a tumble of locks, a click and hiss signaling the door disengaging.
Stepping into the room, I notice the rumpled bed as I’m moving past it into the bathroom.
“Saban?” No answer and none when I call her name again.
Pushing the door open, I peek my head in. She’s not on the toilet. Pushing the door open further, I scan the small room.
That’s when I see her huddled form in the shower’s corner. Sobbing.
The ragged, soul-rending cry tears at my soul. Stepping inside, I say nothing more. Walking over to her, I get down on my haunches. “Hey, niña bella.” I say immediately going back to the endearment I used in those early days.
She only tucks her head deeper into her arms, making herself smaller.
Gathering the ball, she’s turned herself into I don’t try to disengage her locked arms. Pulling her tightly to my chest, I pivot in the small space, managing to grasp the door handle and pull it open.
Instead of putting her back into the bed, I walk by it, going to the secured door.
This time it takes me less time to enter the code and scan my retina.
The door opens with a snick. Stepping out, I breathe a sigh of relief, realizing then how claustrophobic that space must have felt for Saban if I felt this way when I was trying to reach her, fearing she’d somehow hurt herself.
We’re halfway to the elevator when her arms circle my neck. Adjusting her, I feel the hot burn of tears against my flesh, already cognizant of how wet my chest is from her crying.
“I got you. You won’t be going back there.” I promise as we enter the elevator.
The ride up the main level of the house is silent as well, nor do I relinquish my small burden as I stride with her in my arms through my house and up the stairs.
I keep her in my arms the entire time, even when I pull back the covers and climb into the bed with her. I hold her close, letting her cry and giving her the comfort she needs and craves.
“You were so brave and strong up there tonight. My beautiful brave girl, you faced The Reckoning, and you were majestic. It was the only way.” I whisper, holding her close.
Nodding her understanding, impossibly she curls closer to me, tucking herself close to my heart. Something squeezes tight in the place I long thought hallowed out by trauma and tragedy.
For some inexplicable reason, I hold on to that foreign feeling — only for tonight. Tomorrow I can be Snake again, the cold motherfucker most men fear. In the last hours of this night, I allow myself to be Hadrián, the man who allows himself this one thing, the comfort of easing some of the hurt of the girl who saved me as much as I saved her.
“Coffee?”Leaning back against the counter, I watch as Saban takes a seat at the quartz island splitting the kitchen.
“Sure and thanks.” She cast her gaze around the room, taking in the dark countertop, sink and pewter hardware. Dragging my gaze away from her in one of my t-shirts that reaches past her knees, I get busy prepping the coffee in the Moka pot.
The aroma of Colombian coffee fills the space.
“I meant for last night.” Blushing, she waves a hand in the air. “I know the alternative —”
“There wasn’t going to be another anything else. I wouldn’t have allowed it.” I vow, without equivocation.
