My chest twists even further, remembering what he told me that day in his bathtub. Darkness and weed is what he’d usually use to alleviate his headaches. But he’s sober.
For me.
“Did it work?” I ask, wincing.
“Not really.”
A long beat passes between us, neither of us wanting to admit to what we really want. Really need. But the truth is that I’m the reason he feels like shit. He did this for me, and the fact he hasn’t shoved it in my face tells me it’s about something more than getting me back in his bed.
If Dimitri Rathbone can give up his crutch for me, well, then it’s time I give something up for him, and right now that something is my stubborn pride.
“Maybe I can help,” I suggest.
His eyes hold mine for another lingering moment. “Yeah, maybe you can.” He pushes the door wider and steps aside.
As I step over the threshold, it’s not lost on me that Dimitri has given me the choice. He made me decide, just like I demanded.
I think it’s time for me to show him how much I appreciate that.
7
Rath
I watch as she takes in the room, reaching up to card my fingers through my messy hair. I still feel groggy, thoughts like sludge, but I can tell she’s surprised. I’d cleaned everything within an inch of its life—Killer would be so proud, and he can never fucking know—only partially because it was such a sty. Mostly, it just kept my hands and mind occupied.
“Wow,” she breathes, eyes taking in the space. “You’ve been busy.”
“You don’t need to sound so shocked,” I say, walking past her to the bed. There’s this way shit goes kind of sideways when I’m close to her. No one else has ever made me feel like that—annoyed and tender, all at the same time. As I pass, I reach out to graze her hip, just a little greeting so she’ll know what this is.
No hard feelings, girl.
Surprise registers, once again, in the flash of her eyes, and she’s not alone. Holding grudges is sort of my thing, but with her? I’m so non-stick, she could fry an egg on me.
“You should have told me.” When I turn to her, she’s got her head tilted, scrutinizing me. “I didn’t realize you’d—I mean, I knew you’d cut back, at the very least, but you’ve been sober for days now.”
I give a loose shrug. “I’m not really the bragging type.”
Her eyes narrow. “Yes, you are.”
Another shrug. “Yeah, I am.”
She shifts her weight and crosses her arms, but aborts the gesture, letting her arms hang awkwardly at her sides. “You really don’t want me to wrestle?”
“Would it matter?” I might not be holding a grudge, but the thought of it still makes my blood simmer. It’s not all about the wrestling. Most of it’s about the memory of the pit and all those fucking perverts taking a piece of what’s mine. Ours. “If I asked you not to do it, would you change your mind?”
“Honestly?” she asks, giving me a hapless look. “I don’t know.”
Well, that’s a surprise. She’s well within her rights—legal and otherwise—to do what she wants now. I gave her a ‘final answer’ because old habits die hard, but I’m not stupid. It doesn’t actually mean anything anymore.
Only it’s possible it does.
But she’s gazing up at me with those wide, guileless eyes, and I see it for what it is: a sort of plea. She’s begging me not to make her find out, because there’s fear there, too. She doesn’t want to face the fact she might care, might cave, and doesn’t want to give me that power.
I approach her, documenting the subtle changes in her expression. Her eyes flick down to my chest, lower, and then ping back up. When I reach for her wrist, she lets me take it and doesn’t move away when I lean in close, grazing our cheeks together. “Only if I can be there with you.”
I’m not sure if it’s the low murmur or my breath hitting her ear, but she shivers. “Of course you’ll be there with me. If you want to.”
Humming, I skate my fingertips up her arm, reveling in this newly earned ability to touch. “And you’re here to…what, exactly? Show your appreciation? Make good on your offer?”
Her throat clicks with a swallow. “I keep my word.”
“I bet you do.” Her jaw is soft and warm beneath my lips, but I don’t kiss the skin. I just rest my mouth there, speaking against it. “What was the deal, again? That you’d sleep in my bed?”