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That was good. Anything else wouldn't have worked. You couldn't separate the inseparable.
Still, he was a good man for trying his best to understand us.
I tried my best to explain it to him.
"We were throwaway kids," I told him quietly. "It's a tough thing to be, though at least we had each other. Looking back at it, I can tell you right now, I know for a certainty, neither of us would have made it, if we hadn't found the other.
We are fundamentally connected. We met when we were broken seeds, when we were still being formed into something. We had to grow together to survive. Some part of us will always be like that, connected, growing together. We're different flowers, but we were nurtured from the same damaged root."
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
MY PROMISE TO YOU
PAST
STEPHAN
I stepped out of the shower, briskly toweled myself dry, and pulled on fresh boxers and shorts.
Some ass**le at the club had barfed on the dance floor, spraying half the crowd, but luckily I'd been close enough to the hotel to run back and change.
I was still shirtless, toweling my hair dry and wondering where I'd left my phone, when I heard Bianca's voice in the adjoining room.
"Ste-Stephan?" she called out haltingly.
I came out of the bathroom, surprised that she was back, and so early. "Hey, Buttercup. Some knucklehead got barf on my shirt, so I had to come back to change." As I spoke, I moved toward her.
The room was dimly lit, but as I got close to her, I caught a clear look at her face.
And went cold, then hot, my heart pounding as I pulled her into my arms.
I knew, just knew, that something was horribly wrong. She looked so lost.
"Oh, Bee, what is it?"
She started sobbing. My heart seized up in my chest, and I began to shake and cry myself.
My strong, stoic angel breaking. It was too much. I couldn't stand it.
What had happened? I was afraid to ask.
I was afraid of what I would do when I found out what had brought her to this state.
"Shh, it will be okay," I soothed. "We will survive it, Bianca. Whatever it is, we'll survive it together."
Someone started pounding at the door to her room.
"Bianca, open the door," James shouted, his voice filled with desperation.
I stopped breathing, my vision going red, head filling with a great, vile, black rage.
"We need to talk," he continued. "Don't lock me out. Open the door. Now."
I held her to me, trying to get a handle on myself, on my temper.
He just kept pounding at the door.
We tried to wait him out.
It became too much for her, and suddenly and violently, she ripped out of my arms, flinging herself onto the floor on the far side of the bed.
She folded her legs up to her chest, leaned her head forward, visibly trembling, and began to rock herself.
I nearly lost my mind.
I was at the door flinging it open to glare at James between one breath and the next.
"Don't do that," I bit out. "She doesn't want to see you. Just look at her!"
James tried to move past me, to her, and I met him head on, shoving my shoulder against his hard enough to bruise us both.
"What have you done?" I panted, trying to shove him out the door.
The bastard was strong, though, and I had to settle for pinning him up against the wall.
He stopped pushing at me, as though he'd given up, and I involuntarily let up on him.
He jerked, trying to get out of my hold.
I contained him again, barely.
He made no move to hurt me, instead trying frantically to get to her.
But that wasn't happening. No way.
I'd been avoiding looking at his eyes, and when I finally met them, they were imploring.
"Just let me see her," he pleaded through his teeth. "I just want to make it better. I'm not here to hurt her, Stephan."
That set me off. "You've already done that! Look at her! What did you do?"
No wait. I didn't need to know, shouldn't know, before he left. I'd really lose it then. "You need to leave!"
"I see her," he said, sounding as tortured as I felt. "Bianca," he called out to her. "Just hear me out. That woman was just a friend."
I felt ill, and so enraged I couldn't contain it. I reared back, then forward, driving my fist into his stomach. I'd have kept going, but now I wanted answers, and a few more hits like that would render him unable to give them. "What woman?" I growled, panting into his face.
"Please, just let me go to her. I can't see her hurting like that. It's killing me."
"So leave. You made her like that, and you need to leave. If she wants to talk to you, she has your number."
"Bianca," he tried again, voice breaking.
I slammed him hard into the wall, putting my elbow to his throat. I knew this left my stomach and sides unprotected, but he didn't take the opening. In fact, he made no move at all to hurt me back, only struggling to get around me.
Over my dead body.
"Just say you'll hear me out, Bianca," he told her. "If not now, then later. But promise me you won't just shut me out completely. Promise me, and I'll leave. If that's what you want."
