“Is mine.”
My stomach swooped. It swooped so hard the whole room tilted.
Calloused hands caught me by the shoulders, the grip steadying and secure. “You dizzy? Disoriented? What hurts?”
My chin practically brushed the shirt—his shirt—when my head fell forward so I could take in the sight of his hands on me.
One hand covered my entire shoulder with his thumb resting along the ridge of my collarbone. Heat radiated from him like he had his own personal sun, and even through the fabric, my skin sizzled with warmth. Goose bumps chased down my arms and across my neck, and the urge to sag forward into his chest was almost more than I could fight.
I’d been with him for an entire day but was only just now truly alert. It sent a surge of homesickness through me. At least it’s what I imagined homesickness to feel like. I wasn’t sure I liked it—the hollow nostalgia underscored by sharp yearning.
A hand moved from my shoulder to my chin, pushing my face up. “Tell me what hurts, Pip.”
I had no idea why he called me that, but not a single cell in my body even thought to care. It sounded like he’d made mehis secret, something so special he gave it a name.
Maybe it was the fever, the fact that he’d literally pulled me out of a box when I was down bad, or maybe it was the way he watched over me when I was invisible to most everyone else.
No.
It was the way we sat almost huddled together, his hands and clothes on me, as nighttime swallowed the edges of the room, shrinking the world into a suspended moment of just him and us.
Overwhelmed, my chin wobbled. Emotion filled me until my skin felt tight, and it prickled the backs of my eyes, looking for escape.
“Hey.”
The softness of his voice was my undoing, and I fell forward into his arms, pressing my cheek against his chest. Afraid he would push me away, I slid my arms around his back, locking them beneath his coat to cling as if my life depended on it. In that moment, it did.
He stilled for the length of a heartbeat and then wrapped his arms around me to lift me into his lap. Whining, I burrowed beneath the leather jacket, fingers twisting greedily in the shirt against his back.
Pulling my knees into my chest, I inhaled lungfuls of his signature scent: cigarettes, leather, and something deeper. I don’t know who started rocking first, but when the polarizing grip of his presence eased just a little, I realized that’s what we were doing, swaying gently back and forth while he kept me tucked into his chest.
My heart fluttered so fast I thought maybe I’d swalloweda hummingbird as my clenching fingers loosened against his back, kneading the muscle there like I could make myself a home.
He said nothing at all, but I heard every intake of breath, every exhale, and felt the steady rhythm of his heart. Eventually, he shifted, chin rubbing over the top of my hair.
I panicked, thinking he would push me off, and went back to clutching his back.
“Why?” my voice was almost inaudible.
“Why what?”
“Why would you do this?”
He made a sound. “Should I have left you in that box, then?”
“Everyone else would have.”
“I don’t know if you know this, but most people in this world have forgotten that they’re human.”
Oh, I’d noticed. That was why this moment with him was so earth-shattering. “But not you.”
“Oh, I haven’t forgotten,” he rumbled. “It’s carved deep into my bones.”
The chill in his tone didn’t reach me. It was no match for the warmth in his arms. My lashes swept downward. Something about his world-weary tenor made me feel protected. Like he’d seen the worst of the world and knew how to keep it at bay.
“I won’t have it,” he said, chin rubbing absently in my hair. “You’re too good for that.”
I tilted my head enough to see his face. From this close, I could see the black stubble dusting his jaw and thick blacklashes attempting to soften the intensity of his obsidian stare.
