Matthew tilts his head to the side. “This isn’t your fault. None of it is.”
“I feel like I should have done so much more. Maybe if I hadn’t provoked him…”
“This. Is. Not. Your. Fault,” he repeats slowly. “Not dating him. Nor breaking up with him. Nor moving on. This is all on him. You hear me? It’s all on him.”
Tears fill my eyes, the frustration and the fear I’ve been fighting since I got home finally slowly seeping out of me, leaving me spent.
“Thank you for coming for me,” I whisper, my lips brushing against the back of my hand.
“I’ll always come for you, Trouble.Always.”
I’m not sure if it’s the determination in his gaze or the way he holds me like he’s afraid I might slip between his fingers, but I believe him.
We stay like that until the water turns cold. Matthew pulls out a big, fluffy towel and wraps it around me before lifting me to sit on the counter. This time, he’s the one cleaning up my wounds and scrapes. Then he takes me to his bedroom.
He opens one of the drawers, pulling out a shirt and slipping it over my head. The material is soft, falling to mid-thigh, and smells like him.
Matthew takes me in slowly. And this time when I shiver, it doesn’t have anything to do with the cold and everything to do with his heated gaze burning my skin.
“Off to bed with you,” he murmurs, his voice low and raspy.
He flips down the comforter, and I settle on the mattress before he tucks me in.
I glance at him, nibbling my lip. “Matthew?”
“Hmm?”
My fingers grip the blanket. “Stay with me?”
His body stills for a long moment, the tension growing. I’m just about to tell him to forget about it when he relents.
“Okay.”
I watch him take off his uniform, letting it fall to the floor, until he’s only in a tight pair of boxer briefs. My cheeks flush, but I don’t turn away as he slips into bed beside me, lying so we’re face-to-face.
“You should sleep,” he whispers, but I shake my head.
“I don’t know if I can,” I admit. “Every time I close my eyes, I seehim.”
Damien.
I shudder at the mere thought of reliving what happened in my dreams.
“Eyes on me.”
I blink, Matthew’s stern face coming into focus. He extends his hand, his fingers brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “He can’t get you here.” His hand falls on the mattress between us, and I slip mine into his. “You just keep your eyes on me.”
So that’s what I do.
Gazes locked, fingers clasped together, our breaths mingling in the space between us.
I’m not sure how long we lie here, just staring at each other.
But he doesn’t waver or pull back.
He just holds me.
Those chocolate eyes are the last thing I see before sleep finally claims me.
