“She’s secure. You guys need a ride to the doctor?” One of the men asks DiAngelo.
“I can make it there. Thanks for the help on short notice.”
“Appreciate you keeping life interesting.” The guy grins before heading back to the van.
D huffs and places an arm around my shoulder. I wrap my arm around his middle and try to help support him as he limps toward the main street. The car isn’t far away. He takes me to my door first, then retrieves a towel from the trunk and takes his place behind the driver’s seat.
“You sure I shouldn’t drive?” I push.
“Right leg’s fine. I can drive.”
Of course, hecan. But should he?
I swear these men around me are beyond mystifying.
“Stubborn ass,” I mutter under my breath, finally starting to feel more like myself now that we’re safely back in the car.
DiAngelo cuffs his hand behind my neck and brings my lips to his for a possessive tease of a kiss. “That’s my Rina,” he breathes against my lips. “I wondered where you’ve been.”
His words wrap a warm, fuzzy blanket around my heart.
“Just tryin’ to deal with all this the best way I know how,” I whisper back.
He drops a tender kiss on my forehead. “I know, baby. And you’re doing amazing.”
What’s amazing is how a few simple words like that can bolster a person long after they’re said. We spend an hour at a doctor’s apartment getting DiAngelo’s leg stitched up. As he said, the cut on his arm wasn’t bad enough for stitches, so that is a relief.
I don’t freak out once. And even after we get home, the fortified connection I feel with D keeps me grounded and feeling secure.
The worst of my struggles almost always hit in the evening, after the day’s activities have ended. When the world quiets. That’s when my thoughts are the loudest.
Today would be a perfect day for my anxiety to rear its ugly head. Except D doesn’t let me out of his sight, aside from a quick shower. He allows me privacy, but doesn’t request the same when it’s his turn. I’m surprised to find how normal it all feels. It’s companionable. Comfortable.
We’re just two people who’ve had a long-ass day and are ready to go to bed.
There’s no pressure or expectations. And while I can’t deny sneaking a few glances at him in the shower, it’s more to reassure myself he’s okay than anything else.
And once we crawl into bed, he pulls me snug into the crook of his body.
“You did really well today, firefly,” he murmurs into my hair.
“It was pretty terrifying,” I admit.
“Told you I’m not easy to kill.”
“I’m glad,” I say softly.
He gives me a little squeeze, and within minutes, his body grows lax with sleep. I’m glad he’s resting. He fought hard today. Seeing that side of him is quite the revelation.
He doesn’t just look like a warrior; he is one.
DiAngelo was skilled at defending himself against the assassin—and that’s what she was. It was like watching the Black Widow character from the Marvel movies. She was everywhere at once, yet he took her down in a matter of minutes. It felt like an eternity, but in reality, he bested her in no time.
Witnessing something like that changes the way you view a person. How can it not?
I still worry about him being hurt on my behalf, but I have a greater appreciation for his skills. I’m starting to trust that heactually does know what he’s doing. And maybe that means, just maybe, there’s a chance that everything truly will be okay.
Thinking something so contrary to what I’ve told myself for years is a scary proposition.
