“She was.” Pulling back so I can look at him, I ask, “Will you tell me about your mom?”
Kissing me on the forehead, Colt lays me back down on the bed. He then flops down next to me and grabs my hand, threading his fingers through mine. He twists his head to look at me, and I meet his gaze.
“My mom was crazy good with machines. She loved anything mechanical, building stuff, and tinkering with her inventions. She couldn’t cook, bake, or craft to save her life, but she always created us the most amazing toys. She loved deeply, put everyone else before herself, and had the type of smile that made any day, no matter how bad, so much better. She was the best mom, and I hate that Wes and Win were too young to really know her before she died.”
My heart cracks for the parent Colt and Remy lost, and the mother Wes and Win can’t even remember. I feel like losing a good parent is infinitely harder than having to deal with a living shitty parent.
“Did she like to ride like you and Remy do?” I whisper, afraid to break the quiet moment between us.
His eyes fill with a sadness he’s quick to shake off. “She never got the chance, but I know she would’ve loved it. I sometimes wonder if Remy likes to ride so much because it makes him feel closer to our mom.” He pauses and smirks at me. “That, or he’s just an adrenaline junkie.”
I snort. I can totally see Remy being an adrenaline junkie. But I know there’s more to him than the upbeat, enthusiastic side he shows to most people.
Just like I now know there’s a lot more to Colt than the grumpy man I first met. “Why do you like to ride?”
He shrugs and stares up at the ceiling. “I mostly started riding because Remy did. I was worried the knucklehead was gonna get himself killed. Now, I suppose, I just like freedom and feeling the wind whip around me as the world flies by.”
He doesn’t ask me why I ride, too lost in his own thoughts, and I’m grateful for it. I’d rather think about the good times with Wren than relive my role in all the bad that happened.
We’ve been silent for a while when Colt turns to look at me again. “Think you can sleep now, sweetheart?”
I nod but don’t say anything, not trusting my voice to convince him. I’m pretty sure I’m going to be up the rest of the night, like I usually am after a bad dream. But I want Colt to get some rest tonight.
His gaze bounces between my eyes for a long moment before he reaches over and turns off his bedside lamp. He settles on his side, and I turn over to face away from him. Like last time, he molds himself to my back and curls an arm protectively around me.
But even feeling safe as can be in his arms, I can’t make myself fall asleep, too afraid of what I’ll see when I do.
CHAPTER 23
LARK
“Little bird?” Azrael’s deep voice asks from behind me.
I freeze at the sound, my spoon loaded with sugary cereal hovering in the air halfway to my mouth. Maybe if I stay still enough, he’ll just forget I’m here and walk away.
Because I really don’t want to get into it with him this morning.
I had a good morning with Colt, and I’d like to keep it that way.
Even though I never fell back asleep, it was still weirdly peaceful spending a couple of hours in his arms. We talked a bit before getting up to face the day. He let me use his shower first, so I got ready before him. At his urging, I went downstairs and made breakfast for myself while he finished up.
Apparently, that was a mistake. If I had waited in Colt’s room, I wouldn’t be having this uncomfortable encounter with Azrael right now.
Azrael rounds the island and braces his forearms on the marble before arching a brow at me. He looks so much better than he did last night. His eyes aren’t glassy, and his suit is neat and pressed. His jet-black hair is perfectly slicked back, and his olive skin looks healthy instead of sallow.
After staring at him awkwardly for way too long, I realize that he’s not just going to disappear. That means I have to figure out something to say that won’t cause a massive argument.
So, just the impossible. No biggie.
“Yeah?” I squeak, hating how weak my voice comes out.
Azrael winces imperceptibly at my tone before smoothing out his expression. “I’m not here to start anything with you, Lark. I just wanted to apologize for last night and yesterday. What I said and did was inexcusable, and you didn’t deserve it.”
“It’s okay,” I reply automatically. I try not to show how shocked I am that he’s apologizing. Azrael doesn’t exactly strike me as the type to admit fault or make it right when he messes up.
“Don’t,” he growls as he leans forward, getting in my space. “Don’t minimize what I or anyone else does to you. Don’t forgive so fucking easily. Stay mad or frustrated or hating my guts or whatever it is. Just don’t meekly accept it.”
I didn’t know apologizing could piss someone off. But why am I not surprised that I managed to anger Azrael by saying I’m sorry?
