Page 22 of Prince of Wrath

It is just us now. Like before.

“You’re gonna get better,” I say silently, nodding to him despite his heavy eyelids. When I step out of the room after thanking Gretchen, this lovely angel I will have to find a way to thank properly one day, I blow a kiss to Dad and find Tristan waiting in the hallway. His thumbs move so fast over his phone that it looks like he might break the screen. At the sight of me, he stops immediately.

“Can we get my things?” I sign. “From the house?” His jaw tightens.

“I wasn’t sure if you wanted- I’ve actually sent people there,” he explains. “To pack your room, all of it. Clothes, books, the little things you like to collect, everything. You never have to step inside that house again unless you want to.” My knees wobble.

“Hey.” The back of his hand brushes my jaw, and it’s nothing and everything at the same time. I don't step back; instead, I lean in. His pupils widen. See, Tristan? Not hopeless. Just beaten to my core. Please let me regain strength. I am still here inside myself.

“More,” I sign, bringing both of my hands together, the tips of my fingers in a pleading motion. The world closes down on us, muting every other presence, the urgency of it all and the edge of collapse we all appear to be standing on. Without flinching or second-guessing, he steps closer, his digits falling flat against my cheek, cupping my face with his right hand, which is now my favorite hand, if such a thing could exist, and I lean in, purring if I could, crying if I had tears left in me. His thumb brushes my flesh, and it seems like all the colors have crashed against charcoal and decided to become their own shade.

“One step after the other, sweetheart. We’re-we’re gonna get there. I know how hard you’re trying right now.” His voice, heavy and soothing, coats me in an invisible blanket. “I can live with the rest of the world turning its back on me, but you…” Thumb. Brushing. Over the jaw. More. “You, I couldn’t, Ella.” A painful frown takes place on his handsome features as he stops the motion, as if he said too much and not enough at the same time. We stay like that for one second longer.

Then life, cruel and impatient, comes back to claim us. A phone rings somewhere. A nurse passes behind us. Tristan’s hand falls away from my face, slow, unwilling, as if leaving a battlefield.

“Matt will drive you here tonight if you want to check on him again,” Tristan says, offering his hand. Images turn blurry, and sounds turn into water, or perhaps a buzz, or perhaps dogs barking. I no longer know if I am doing the right thing, or if everything I do feels like opening a purse upside down. Off balance. I wish I could cry and sob and ask Tristan to guide me, tell me how to dress and what to think and what to choose between crying and grit, when to fight and when to quit, I’m tired of it all down to my bones and the impossible width of choices. But there are no words left in me. And so my hand finds his. He laces our fingers, pressing them twice in his thick, large palm. And I try to fight every image stapled to my brain, telling me that I’m only worthy enough to lie down against gray concrete.

Hold my hand, I beg silently.

And please, never let it go.

Chapter Eight

Chapter 8

Tristan

She fell asleep as we were heading home to rest before I went to the office. Should I let her sleep in the car while I run the biggest meeting of my life? Or should I carry her inside, where she will be more comfortable and, surely, avoid neck pain? Can I carry her in my arms if she is afraid of my touch? Would she be mad at me for it? Eleven is right around the corner, and I need to hurry up, but I’m still not sure how to proceed.

Fuck it.

I circle the car outside, open the door, and unbuckle her seat belt. Well, she’ll have to live with it, because I am not letting her sleep in my car for hours and hurt herself. Hoping she does not wake up, I come closer, her scent impacting every sense I had numbed in her absence.

“Please forgive me,” I mutter against her hair as I lift her in my arms. Too light. She should be heavier, healthier. Walking inside my house, I find the door already open, held by one of the men I hired to guard my home. Frank. Recommended by Matt. Men who used to protect presidents and high-profile public figures. I hired ten of them, along with more cameras, motion detectors, and, hopefully, if she does not mind it too much, a bracelet waiting for her on her nightstand. Thin and silver, with a light blue stone carved round at the top, hiding a GPS tracker. Learning from my past mistakes. Check. Despite her reluctance to touch me when she is awake, she nestles against my throat, her lips landing right on my flesh, brushing delicately against its surface. It takes everything in me not to freeze. Or worse, indulge in more than I should. I lay her on my bed and tuck her in as she curls onto her side, knees bent closer to her stomach. Still dressed, but I will not go as far as undressing her for her comfort. Standing above my princess, I rub my chin. What more could she need? Water? AC? Perhaps a blanket. No, it is already a hundred degrees here, and…

A buzzing sound vibrates against my thigh. I look it up. 10:45. Nate has sent me a thousand texts, all starting with capital letters, asking where the hell I am. On my way, I text back. My feet move on their own, turning my back on her, but right as I am about to pass the door, I retreat and rush back to her, kneeling with one leg down, close to my girl. My mouth hovers above her forehead, holding the inexplicable need to mark her with my tenderness and seal what has been stolen from us. Sensing my presence, her eyelids flutter, a fog of sleep still very much branding her.

“Tristan,” her lips say silently, because I know how she does that, and how her saying my name tastes like the first rain after an endless drought. “I have to go to work, but I’ll be back soon, sweetheart. I promise.” Another flutter. Heavy. So heavy. It is all coming back now, the heaviness. Now that she has seen her dad, it is like her body is finally turning off the lights and blowing out the candles, saying, rest. Taking the bracelet, I slide it around her wrist without her even registering it.

“Don’t ever remove it, ever. Wherever you go, I’ll know,” I tell her, even if the abyss are calling her back. I lock the bracelet in place, one I had made for her with an unbreakable clasp, platinum, impossible to remove unless you have time and perhaps a chainsaw.

“I…” I start, but she sighs, face against the pillow, her cherry lips saying my name again. “Right here, baby. You sleep, and I’ll be back.” And because I am perhaps nothing but a selfish man, I steal a kiss, light as cotton, from her temple and exit before my feet turn back for me.

On my way out, Matt enters the house, the only one I agree to let inside while she is asleep. He has to go into the security room I have that monitors the main living areas. The only one I trust enough to protect her.

“Anything I should know?” he asks as I head out, stopping on the Persian rug in the entryway. I look down at the floor. Or perhaps nowhere. Drifting away in a world where she is not in that bed, where I would have to burn everything to the ground.

“Protect her with your life.”

He nods, and we exchange the kind of look men have probably shared on battlefields for centuries, right before doing unforgivable things in the name of kings and country. With that assurance, and all the security I could possibly, humanly, put into place, including the camera inside my bedroom that only I can access, watching her sleep through my surveillance app because I will not stay calm if I cannot check on her every ten minutes, my brain switches from Ella to business mode as I slide behind the wheel of my black sports car. A black Land Rover with two bodyguards follows me as I exit my place. I have been to hell and back. This is routine. Nothing I cannot handle. Metal music replaces opera. My gaze turns dangerously focused, my senses sharpen, and if I were in the forest, I swear I could tell where the wind came from and whether it tasted like blood.

I’m about to step into the most important meeting of my career.

And all I can think of is her.

* * *

“Thank you for joining us,” Nate rasps, waiting inside my office, pacing as I nod briefly to the twenty suited people in the lounge area, all of them waiting for me to open the meeting room. I’m not late. Everyone is just early, and either way, I had bigger priorities. As in tucking Ella into my bed and not losing my mind over it, which I slightly did since I kissed her temple, but never mind. The first step into my elevator sucked everything out of me, and I have never been more clear-minded than I am now.