He turned his head slightly, nodding.
I scooted closer, gripping his shoulders and applying the pressure that I’d always used to help Andrei. “You tell me if you want me to stop, okay? Your body, your choice.”
His muscles were knotted and tense under my fingers, but I squeezed and released in a soothing rhythm, moving down to his biceps, going as far as his elbows before working my way back up to his shoulders. His breathing became less jerky.
“Wrap your arms around me. Here.” He tugged on my wrists until my chest was against his back, my arms forming a cage around his torso. “Tighter.”
I squeezed harder, my cheek pressed against his shoulder. His heart hammered wildly against my forearm, but his breaths began to slow, his fingers wrapped around my arms, squeezing me back.
Lucian appeared, broom in hand. His brows shot up when he saw us, but he didn’t voice his shock. Instead, he efficiently swept a path for Henry to make it past the dining table and clear of the rainbow debris of broken glass and sprinkles.
Henry gave my arms a deep squeeze and released me. I let him out of my embrace, my breath catching in my throat when he turned to me, found my hands and linked his fingers with mine.
“Thank you,” he murmured, and then he left, heading straight for his room and closing the door.
“How did you know?” Lucian asked, words clipped as he brushed the rubbish into a neat pile.
“Know what?” I responded, playing dumb.
Lucian cocked a sardonic brow in my direction. “How did you know what would help him?”
I blew out a breath. “I’m not blind. I’ve seen him self-regulate … often. I figured the same strategy would be helpful, even when he was too far gone to manage it himself.”
Lucian watched me for a long moment, then grunted once, switching the broom for the dustpan and brush. I spun on the bench, hopping down on the kitchen side. My coffee was cold. So was Henry’s. Not that I would have been following him into his room … unless he’d invited me. Which he hadn’t.
“Get dressed,” Lucian blurted, bustling into the kitchen to empty the dustpan. “I’ll take you to collect some more of your things.” When I didn’t move immediately, he sighed. “He will be fine. He won’t want anyone to see him for a while.”
I headed for my bedroom, dressing silently so I didn’t wake a snoring Abernathy. I waited up on the main deck. Easter Saturday was a glorious day, the sky a cloudless azure, the water of Sydney Harbour shooting sparkling reflections back at it. I let the sun soak into my skin.
My phone buzzed again, churning my empty stomach.
Kat: I won’t be home for a few days. Dad’s got Alzheimer’s, I only just found out. I’m on my way to the airport now
I let out a shaky breath. Poor Kat! She didn’t need anything else to be worrying about, what with her strained relationship with her mother and the stress of her confusing feelings for her teacher.
I typed out a supportive message but stopped short of pressing send. I tucked my phone back into my pocket. I’d call her later, once she’d had a chance to get home and process the situation. I was too fragile myself to call her now, and she was probably in a rush anyway, trying to get on a flight to Adelaide.
Still, guilt niggled at me. She was my best friend, and she was goingthrough something major. And I couldn’t be there for her the way she really needed me because I was going through my own mess, and I couldn’t even confide in her about it.
Lucian appeared, keys in hand, gesturing silently towards the gangplank. I complied without a single snarky remark, my mind still on Kat and her dad, and Henry’s meltdown, and whatever had happened when he went to get the bread to cause it.
“You’re not what I’d expected,” Lucian muttered as we made our way to the car.
All the combined anxieties of the morning got the better of me, and I snapped, “And what did you expect? A slutty gold digger, out to wring everything I could out of him?”
Lucian didn’t answer right away, opening the marina gate and ushering me through. When we reached the car, as I climbed into the seat and he was about to shut the door, he said, “I didn’t expect someone who would be good for him.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Satan’s Spread
HENRY
It had taken several doses from my vape, my weighted blanket and the first eighteen chapters ofThe Hunger Gamesbefore I felt some semblance of normalcy return. And with it, shame crept over me—that Irina had seen me like that. That she’d had to help me calm down.
But her deft fingers, her strong, toned swimmer’s arms had done more for me than anything else could have in that moment. And she had known to offer it, had approached it with such care and respect, and without making me feel somehow less for needing support. At least in the moment, anyway.
With the benefit of hindsight, I was horrified. I’d snatched up a bottle and smashed it against the wall. I hadn’t had such a violent reaction to anything in years. Not since before I left home.
