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The way she looks at him in that moment, with such trust and admiration, makes my tears, which I previously thought had dried up, come back with a vengeance.
“Oh, Nay,” Selene says, rushing to my side. “We thought you stayed with them. I had no idea. We would have come home sooner if we knew.”
I nod into her shoulder when she embraces me.
“Let’s get you cleaned up.” She gives me a tight squeeze before rising and taking my hands to drag me out of bed.
Selene and Gunnar coddled the fuck out of me in the following days, checking in on me and making sure I’m at least alive.
It’s reassuring to have people around. It staves off the feeling of being physically alone, but the emotional loneliness is overwhelming.
Time passes in a blur, and nothing feels real.
To go from the high of love to the low of heartbreak is brutal.
They say women are trapped in gilded cages made by their oppressors.
What happens when your heart is bound in chains that aren’t of your own choosing?
Chapter 25
Alvaro
Bex is hypervigilant over the next three weeks as I’m healing. I keep telling her that I’m fine, and honestly the effects from the concussion really aren’t that bad. Every time I try to shake her off, though, she just gets this furrow in her brow that tells me she doesn’t believe me.
I’ve been hiding in my workshop to try and avoid her mothering. But even there she’s restricted me from using any of my heavy-duty tools and won’t let me touch any of my leather conditioners or dyes that may have fumes, even though I always wear a respirator when working with those materials.
Bex asked me not to bring up Naomi until she’s ready, but as time passes, there’s an itch for me to reach out to her. I worry about her, just as much as I’m worrying about how Bex is handling their separation.
I’m currently in my workshop, cutting a new piece of leather from Italy. It’s goat-leather dyed a brilliant mixture of teal and purple and textured with a holographic finish.
Leather shouldn’t make me emotional, but a pang of longing shoots through my chest as I cut.
I turn around to grab the hardware I’ll need to assemble everything, and when I look back at my workstation, it’s like I’m hit by a freight train.
This is for her.
The pieces laid out on my table are for a pair of cuffs, a handle that will be attached to a chain, and a collar. All in Naomi’s favorite color.
I don’t know when I memorized that, but looking at the pieces, ones made only for my bunny, I know things can’t stand as they are.
The distance that’s pushed in between Bex and me since my return from the hospital isn’t there because it’s between us; it’s the place where Naomi fits. Where she belongs—with us.
I toss the hardware on the table and march into the house.
“Bex!” I holler, only to be met with silence.
I check every room, but she’s nowhere to be found.
Pulling out my phone, I pull up our texts, ready to hunt her down.
Bex: Went out for a ride. Be back in a few hours.
I sigh in relief, but it’s like my phone burns in my hand. My fingers itch to act, to fix this. Without a second thought, I bring up Naomi’s contact and hit the call button. Three rings in, I’m sent to voicemail.
“Fuck,” I murmur, pressing the call button again.
It only takes two rings this time before I hear the automated voicemail message play.
