“I don’t know about fixing everything,” I admit, “but I can try. And I will. Always.”
16
Elias
Iwake up to silence.
Not the dangerous kind. Not the kind that means something is wrong. The kind that comes after a storm.
For a second I don’t move. I just lie there, staring at the ceiling of Lucian’s bedroom, watching the faint gray of morning press against the blackout curtains. My body feels heavy. Sore. Warm.
And then it all comes rushing back.
The snowstorm.
The cabin.
Lucian’s hands on my face.
His voice breaking for the first time since I’ve known him.
I love you.
My stomach flips painfully. I didn’t say it back.
I sit up abruptly, heart pounding. The sheets fall to my waist and cold air brushes my skin, but that’s not what makes me shiver. Lucian side of the bed is empty and cold.
I swallow.
Maybe he’s showering. Maybe he’s downstairs. Maybe he’s…
I throw the covers off and stand, pulling one of his black t-shirts over my head. It hangs loose on me, soft and familiar. I run a hand through my hair and step into the hallway.
The house is quiet. Mara is sleeping in with Riley. She was a mess when we returned home late covered in snow.
My feet carry me toward his office without thinking. I push open the door to see Lucian seated behind his desk, elbows braced on the wood, head bowed slightly like he’s thinking too hard. He’s wearing a plain white t-shirt and black silk pajama pants, dark hair falling messily over his forehead.
For a moment, he looks almost normal.
Then I see his arms.
Bruises bloom across his forearms. Purple. Blue. Angry. There’s a split along his knuckles. A cut at his bicep that’s been cleaned but not hidden.
I stop in the doorway.
“What happened?” I ask quietly.
He looks up.
His eyes soften when he sees me, but there’s something else there too. Something tired.
“Morning,” he says.
“Lucian.”
He leans back in the chair slowly. Doesn’t hide his arms. Doesn’t cover anything.
“It was Hartford,” he says simply.
