“Yes, Little Bird?” he said as he fished the last shard out and started cleaning blood from my leg with a wet rag.
“Why did you say sorry to me?”
“You were sad. We hurt your feelings. I don’t like to see you cry. It upsets me,” he said simply without hesitation.
I considered his words. Did he really care about my feelings? The rest didn’t seem concerned with my emotions at all. Cade manipulated and controlled them. Talon enjoyed my tears, especially when they were a response to my pain. Ryker had once tried to lift my spirits when I cried because of the female scientist, but other than that, he normally just joked around and brushed me off.
Was Killian different?
After cleaning and dressing all the cuts, Killian kissed the inside of my unmarked thigh as I sat on the counter. It was a small, tender gesture that shot to my heart and core at the same time.
He stood towering over me and pressed his forehead to mine. We stayed there, both covered in wounds and bandages, mirror images of one another. In the bathroom's harsh light, I could truly see the extent of his wounds, including the many long-healed scars that scattered his body. Were they all battle scars? Who or what had hurt this man in such a way?
“I want to make you happy. Not sad, Crane.”
My heart lurched in my chest.
Then he signedsadandhappyslowly, showing me the motion for each. He was teaching me his secret language. I copied his signs, and when I made a mistake, he smiled gently, guiding my hand to correct the motion forsad, and then nodding when I tried again and got it right.
“Perfect, Little Bird,” he said proudly.
“Will you teach me more?” I asked, yawning.
“If you want me to. But not now, you’re tired.”
He lifted me off the counter, and I wrapped around him again. I hated to admit it, but I was starting to enjoy the way Killian carried me. I thought being picked up and carted around would be degrading, but when he did, it made me feel… cherished.
No one was in the common area anymore, which I was grateful for as I wasn’t ready to face anyone, especially not Cade. Someone had cleaned up the blood and broken dishware. It looked as though nothing had happened at all.
I thought Killian would take me to his bedroom, but he turned walking into mine, and he carried me to the bed, placing me on top of the covers. He grabbed the copy of Treasure Island off the nightstand and passed it to me before sliding his massive form behind me and straddling his big thighs on either side of my back.
Propping up a bunch of pillows behind himself, he leaned into them and laced his thick fingers behind his head. Killian was so massive and dangerous, but at that moment he looked cozy and content, like a bear before hibernation. I had never seen him so relaxed.
“Read it to me,” he said gruffly, pulling me backwards against his chest.
“Cade said your dad used to read this book to you both when you were kids,” I said, curious about their childhoods, as I flipped to the bookmarked page.
“Sometimes when we were really young. Rarely, though. He is not a kind man or a good father,” he said, using more words than I had ever heard him use.
His voice was like gravel. Even though it was deep, raw, and rough, it soothed me. His words wrapped around my heart every time he spoke, causing it to skip a beat. He rarely spoke to anyone. Ryker said he was particularly “chatty” around me, which made me feel special. I wanted to ask him more questions so he would keep talking.
“He said you grew up together, but that you are half-brothers. So you share a dad, but have different moms?”
“Yes.”
I felt his muscles stiffen and his relaxed demeanor shift to tense. He clearly didn't enjoy talking about his parents or childhood, but I needed more. I needed a connection to fill the gap that Alex had so recently vacated. I needed a friend. Maybe Killian could be that for me, a port in the storm, someone to confide in. At least until I escaped.
“Did you know your mom? Cade said his mom is dead. Is yours still around?” I asked, knowing it was invasive, and he could easily shut down. His fingertips had been tracing my collarbones, and they stilled completely at the question.
I waited, giving him time to answer.
“Dead. She died giving birth to me. I didn’t know her. I didn’t even know her name.”
This was progress, being it was the most consecutive sentences I had ever heard come out of Killian’s mouth.
Without thinking, I blurted out in excitement, “Mine too!”
Realizing how strange my excitement must have sounded, I nervously clarified, “I just mean, mine is dead too. She died during childbirth also, and I didn’t know her either. I guess… I knew her name at least, so I guess that's something, but sometimes it feels like I’m a murderer. Do you ever feel like that? Guilty even though you couldn’t control it?”
