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I was scared enough to pull Rose aside while she was here to stock up our fridge, and ask if she could speak to him. I was one step away from telling Jonathan and Eli about Damien’s stress,but that felt like crossing a line. They were his closest friends, but did they talk about their problems?
I spent most of my time on my phone, researching trauma responses and agoraphobia.
“Do you trust me?” I asked the Tuesday after our makeup family dinner. I sat in Damien’s lap on the sofa—he hadn’t opened the doors to the balcony in a week, as if Finch would pluck me off it given half a chance.
A furrow knotted the space between his black eyes, each one ringed with circles and redness. I kissed his frown, wishing I could erase his panic as easily as I erased the furrow.
“Of course I do, Vasya,” he murmured, stroking my thigh as he looked over spreadsheets on his tablet—in between routine checks of the security feeds.
I ran my fingers through his gold hair, the strands soft on my fingers, and didn’t stop until I found the spot on the back of his neck that made air punch from his lungs and a knot of tension unwind in his shoulders.
“Go get your guns and knives, Damien.”
“What?” He jerked back, his breathing quickening. “Why? We can’t go anywhere—”
“We’re opening the door, walking to the lift, and then coming back. We don’t even have to get in or push the button, but we’re walking out the front door and coming back in. Just that, no further. Baby steps.”
His stubbled throat bobbed, dark eyes roving around the flat. “It’s not safe.”
I pressed a long, soothing kiss to his forehead. “How many people have you killed?”
“I’ve lost count.”
I drew back, stroking his face, and held his eyes in a stare far calmer than the tempest of emotion inside me. “So why are you so worried about a single man, Saint?”
He exhaled a harsh breath, glancing beyond me. “Because—”
“Is he more dangerous than those brothers you killed? When you took out the whole family, then killed them with your bare hands?”
“I had less to lose then,” he murmured, his eyes returning to me. They were bright with pain.
“Did you lose me when Artur took me?”
“Yes.”
“So I’m an apparition? Am I haunting you, Damien Marshall?”
“You came far too close to being a ghost.”
“OrI would have killed them all and found my way back to you,” I argued gently, turning to straddle his hips. “I know it was close,” I admitted. “But I had my gun, Damien, and I had bullets left. Enough to shoot the other soldiers and get out of there. You just got to me early and stole my thunder.”
He smiled a smile that made my chest hurt, where it didn’t reach his eyes.
“I’ve got my gun now,” I told him, laying a long kiss on his lips. “And I know you have at least one on you. Two,” I hedged when his lips quirked up. “Three?”
“More or less,” he agreed, his hands skimming up my thighs.
“Ten seconds outside. That’s all I ask.”
“Five, and I’ll time them.”
“Eight.”
“Six.”
“Seven,” he allowed, his throat bobbing.
I kissed the scruff on his jaw and agreed, “Seven. Where are the rest of your guns? And how many do you want?”
