Page 154 of A Dangerous Kind of Love

When I reach it, I pull back the covers and slip in behind her. The second I touch her, she starts shaking. Her whole body trembles under my arm. I pull her closer, and the sound that comes out of her is rough, breaking, and dragged up from somewhere deep. I’ve heard her cry before. This is not the same. This is grief with no end to it.

She rolls into me and clings, pressing her whole body against mine as she sobs. Her arms are wrapped tight around my back while her shoulders shake.

“She’s gone,” she cries. “She’s gone.”

“I know, Doll. I’m so sorry,” I murmur into her hair, holding her tighter.

“It’s not fair,” she chokes out. “It’s not fair at all.”

“I know it’s not, Doll.”

She keeps crying against me as I run my fingers down her back, again and again. I feel every tremor that moves through her and every broken breath that catches in her chest. I don’t know how long we stay like that or how long her body keeps shaking against mine before it finally begins to give out.

When I look down, she’s asleep. Her face is damp, her hair is clinging to her skin, and her whole body goes slack against mine. She looks like grief hollowed her out and left her there. I shift us carefully, adjusting her against me, and making sure she doesn’t wake.

Even asleep, she isn’t settled. Every few seconds her breath stutters and catches like something inside her is still breaking.

“Okay, Doll,” I say, even though she can’t hear me.

I run my fingers through her curls, feeling the dampness still there, the aftermath of it, and I don’t stop, not once, until sleep finally takes me too.

She’s wrapped around me when I wake, clinging even in her sleep. I check the clock on the nightstand. Eight a.m.

Shit.

I run my free hand down my face and stare up at the ceiling, going over everything I need to tell Marco. Everything I won’t be there to handle myself. She shifts against me, and I look down as her eyes open. She’s already looking at me. Her face is wrecked and her eyes swollen.

“Hi,” I say carefully.

She gives me a small smile and squeezes my middle. She shifts, slowly pushing herself upright until she’s sitting against the headboard.

“How are you feeling, Doll?”

“Tired,” she says. “My head hurts.”

“You want me to get you some ibuprofen?”

“Okay,” she says, offering me another faint smile.

I get up from the bed, but before I head to the bathroom, I lean over and press a kiss to her temple. When I pull back, her eyes are closed, and a tear falls down her face. I wipe it away with my thumb. She reaches up and catches my wrist.

“Thank you,” she says, her eyes on mine.

I lean down and kiss her. “I will always be here for you, okay?”

She nods.

I head into the bathroom, grab the ibuprofen, and fill a glass with water before bringing it back. She takes the pills and swallows them down, then swings her legs over the side of the bed and stands.

“I’m hungry,” she says.

“Let’s get you breakfast.”

She goes to the closet and pulls clothes from the drawers. With her back to me, she lifts my shirt off, letting it fall aside, then reaches for a bra, fastening it before pulling a t-shirt over her head. She steps out of her silk bottoms, then her underwear, replaces them, and pulls on black leggings.

I stay in the doorway, watching her. I take in how quiet she is, and how contained she’s holding herself. My Katie is in there somewhere. I can feel it.

I pull on a shirt and linen pants and hold my hand out to her. She doesn’t take it. Instead, she steps into me and presses her body against my chest.