Of course not. Haven ismine.
The sedative doesn’t last as longthis time. About ten hours later, the door to my bedroom creaks inward, a ghost of a woman prepared to tiptoe out into the hall.
I’m sitting on the floor, positioned opposite of the bedroom door so that—unless she decided to take a swan dive off of my balcony—she couldn’t leave without me seeing her. I’d beentwirling my knife, the tip pricking my finger as it spins, whistling under my breath while I waited for her to come out and noticeme.
See, by the time Haven was up again, I’d convinced myself that we really can try again. That’s the funny thing about obsession. It makes optimism look like insanity, and hope feels like a drug.
I heard her shuffle around the room a few minutes ago. I wasn’t sure how long she would stay inside. Would she get up, realize I sedated her again, then try to escape? Knowing Haven, probably, and I’m prepared for that. I’ve got my shoes on, ready to run if I have to, plus a plate of a freshly sliced mango by my hip.
Her grey eyes go wide when she sees me with my legs stretched out in front of me, crossed at the ankles, the knife in my hand. I palm the handle, then grab the plate.
I offer it up to Haven. “Mango?”
She recoils. Weird, because Haven has a fondness for fruit—since she doesn’t have to do anything other than eat them, no cooking required—and mangoes are up there as one of her favorites.
I lift a brow. “What?”
She looks at the knife, then the plate of mango slices I’m holding, then at me with as much distrust as she can muster.
A slow grin spreads across my face. “Haven,” I murmur, “if I wanted to hurt you, fruit would be a weird fucking place to start.”
I will feed her if it kills me. I will take care of her no matter what. That’s what husbands do, and maybe I’m notquiteher husband yet. Way I see it, that’s just semantics. I’ll be her everything. She just has to let me.
I offer up the plate again. “Go on. Have some. I know you want to.”
She frowns. I’m beginning to think that maybe she doesn’t when, crouching slightly, she grabs a slice with trembling fingers. She darts away, bringing the piece of mango up to her mouth. A few nibbles as though she’s making sure it’s safe to eat, then it’s gone.
Finally.
I lift up the plate. With a little more certainty this time, she takes another slice.
I grin, beaming at her as she puts it to her lips. “That’s my girl.”
Haven chokes.
I don’t even think. Flinging the plate to the ground, I jump to my feet and reach her in two strides. I get close, patting her back in case she has a piece of mango caught in her throat.
She shies away from me, and I force myself to put some space between us once I’m sure she’s fine.
Okay… that could’ve gone better. Especially when her wide eyes are drawn to the knife I’m still holding.
Shit.
I tuck my hand behind me so I don’t frighten her any more. Crouching down, I clean up the spilled mango, dropping them on the plate.
“I’m going to get you some more,” I tell her. “You can come down and join me in the kitchen. Or you can stay up here. Your choice, sweetness.”
Her nose wrinkles, and she takes a step back, clutching the doorjamb. Taking that to mean she’s staying up here, I promise I’ll be right back, then head for the stairs.
I had every intention of going to the kitchen and grabbing Haven another mango; if she’s willing to eat it, I’ll slice up a hundred to feed her. However, just as I’m making my way down the hall that intersects the first floor of the house, there’s a knock at the door.
I freeze.
Who the fuck can that be? Since my parents moved out of the house and everyone in Harmony Heights knows it’s mine, I rarely have a visitor. I especially don’t have any that I’m not expecting. If it’s one of my bros, they’ll shoot me a ‘stopping by’ text to let me know they’re on their way. Especially now that they know I have Haven with me, I’d definitely expect a call over a visit.
And yet, when I reverse course, loping over to the front door so I can peek through the peephole, I see a plume of smoke first, followed by a pair of pale green eyes peeking back at me, and I know exactly who’s out there.
I throw open the door.
