He didn’t hide from me. Didn’t turn to keep his arm out of my line of sight. Even put his glasses on so we could still talk while I leaned against him.
“I know you’re awake,” he says, his voice rough with sleep. “Roll over?”
I do, and he traces my cheek with a knuckle. “How do you feel?”
The uncertainty written all over his face hurts my heart. “Griff, don’t.”
“Don’t what?” His shoulders tense, and he’s about to sit up when I rest my fingers on what remains of his left arm.
“Worry? I’m not a broken vase held together by bubble gum and a prayer.” Shifting my legs under the sheet, I smile. “I’m a little sore. But not in a bad way.” Relief smooths out the furrow between his brows, and I reach for him, my fingers curling over his hip. “There’s nothing on the schedule today. Marina said something about massages, and I probably should spend some time with her. One-on-one. This was supposed to be our ‘girls’ weekend. Amid all the parties and work, anyway. But…”
How do I tell him I don’t want to leave his side if he’s not coming home to San Diego with me? That I’m scared what’s going to happen when we break this magic bubble of the fancy resort and the very obvious danger following me everywhere.
I don’t realize I’m chewing on my lip until he brushes his thumb over my mouth. “Relax, sweetheart. As long as you let me check out the spa first—make sure there aren’t any hidden entrances or places someone could get to you—spend as much time with Marina as you want. I’m not going anywhere.”
Swallowing hard, I screw up the courage to just ask. “Tomorrow? When I’m supposed to fly home? You’re not going back to Virginia?”
“Until we know the threat’s neutralized, you’re stuck with me.” He grins, but my heart cracks in two. “Sloane? What did I say?”
“What about after?” I’m not proud of how weak my voice is. And for the first time, I wish Griff could hear it. I don’t know how to tell him what he means to me.
“Fuck. I’m sorry, Sloane. I didn’t think.” He sits up, starts to reach for me, and then drops his left arm with a heavy sigh. “Dammit. I can’t even hold you properly.” The raw emotion bleeds through his tone and he shuts down like a switch flipped. “I need a minute.”
“Griff!” But he’s already out of bed and striding for the bathroom. He’s not wearing his glasses and all I can do is watch as he shuts the door without a backward glance.
Five minutes later, when he hasn’t emerged and I’m close to tears, I shrug into the velvet and silk robe, belt it tightly, and flee into the main room. Thank God. Marina’s already up and the rich scent of coffee fills the space.
She doesn’t say a word as I pour myself a cup and stare out the french doors to the lake.
“What did he do?” she asks. “Because I can call Clive’s mom right now. Well, okay. Maybe not right now. It’s like 4:00 a.m. in Boston and she’s in her seventies.”
“Nothing.” If I tell her, I’ll end up bawling, and then I’ll look like I got punched in the face. Again. There’s only so much makeup can do, and there’ll be a red carpet for tonight’s gala. My life is enough of a disaster as it is. I don’t need more rumors about my love life, my weight, my face, my mental health…
“Bullshit.” Marina pushes up from the couch and stands directly in front of me. She’s a good four inches shorter than I am, and clears her throat when I don’t immediately look at her. “Sloane.”
With a huff, I try to side step her, but she moves with me. “Fine. I asked him what was going to happen after he and his team found Dimitri and I wasn’t in danger anymore, and he said, ‘fuck,’ then locked himself in the bathroom.”
“What?” She stares at the closed bedroom door like she can shoot daggers out of her eyes, and if anyone could, it’d be Marina. “Is he naked? Because I don’t think I could handle all those muscles naked. But if he’s not, I’m going to bust in there and—”
“Sloane.” Griff’s deep voice silences Marina mid-rant, but I don’t turn until he’s at my side, clad in one of the hotel robes with the belt tied crookedly and not very effectively around his waist. “I said a minute. I know it was a hell of a lot closer to ten. I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize.” Taking a sip of coffee to hide the wobble in my lower lip, I focus on the serene, shimmering waters of Lake Zurich and try to ignore how the most perfect night of my life turned to ruins in the light of day. “You’ll stay with me until I’m safe, then go back to your life.”
“Fuck no.” He hasn’t touched me, and when I finally do face him, his right hand is clenched into a fist and his knuckles are bone white. “I’m shit at expressing my feelings. I’ve gone through three shrinks in the past eight months because they keep telling me they can’t help if I’m not honest with them. I lost my goddamn arm, can’t hear a thing unless it’s loud as fuck, and some days, the only thing that gets me out of bed? Needing to take a piss.”
Marina backs away, shutting the door to her room quietly while Griff’s pleading gaze bores into me.
“I’m fucked up, Sloane. Not just my body. My head too. You shouldn’t want to be with me.”
I start to protest, but he shakes his head.
“Let me finish before I say something stupid—again—and hurt you. When I said I needed a minute, it was because I didn’t know how to tell you that even when my life feels like it’s falling apart, when I can’t do something as fucking simple as holding you with both arms or tying this stupid belt,youmake me feel whole. I’m not leaving you, Sloane. Not unless you ask me to. You’re all I’ve ever wanted in this world and so much more than I deserve.”
The moment I reach for him, he breaks, crushing me to his chest as I wrap my arms around his waist. Sobs wrack his body, the hoarse sounds pure, raw agony. We stay locked together for so long, I expect Marina to sneak back in the room for more coffee.
“Griff? Look at me.” His entire body shudders as he takes a deep breath, and I draw back so he can see my face. I don’t want him to read my words on his glasses. Tapping the right temple twice, I smile up at him. “Are they off?”
“You remembered.” With a nod, he loosens his death grip on my waist. “They’re off.”
