Page 48

I burned with a fresh wave of violence. “You piece of fuck,” I barked, trying to get around the guard to kick Pavel one last time, but the officers held their ground, pushing me away.

“These bastards put their hands on what's mine!” I roared at the guards.

“Calm down, son, we’ll take care of it from here,” the lead guard said. While they were busy restraining me, Marcus and the other goon scrambled away into the darkness, cursing and bleeding, but Pavel lay there on the concrete, crying openly and holding his side.

“Sig, baby, are you okay? Look at me,” I gripped his head with both hands, meeting his frantic golden eyes. He blinked up at me, completely dazed and in severe pain.

I didn’t ask any more questions. I scooped his lean body up carefully, carrying him bridal-style toward my car. He didn’t fight me for a single second. He just pressed his bruised face deep into the crook of my neck, holding onto my shoulders, and stayed entirely quiet for the entire drive back to the Heavy Anchor 72.

George

BACK AT THE BOAT, I laid him gently onto my bed and stripped him down with steady hands to check the extent of the damage. First I zipped down and removed Santiago's battered black hoodie, then carefully opened his buttoned shirt, then his leather belt. After removing his polished shoes, I lifted his hips slightly and pulled down his trousers and briefs, exposing his marked skin to the cabin air.

His breathing was ragged. New, dark bruises were already blooming angrily across his ribs and stomach from the kick. His bottom lip was swollen and split. I touched his heated skin around the discoloration, then carefully examined his ribs, feeling the alignment under the pads of my fingers.

“Hmmm,” he moaned, flinching under my touch.

“Shh, baby. I'm just checking if anything is broken,” I murmured, gently palpating the muscle. “It’s good. You are good.”

I finally exhaled the heavy breath I’d been holding in since the parking lot. I reached into the medical kit and started applying soothing ointment and ice packs with infinitely careful hands. Sig winced sharply as I pressed a cold pack against his battered side.

“Why aren’t you asking me?” he breathed out, his voice rough and completely raw.

“Asking what?”

“What I said to that NFL scout. You saw me talking to him on the sideline. Didn’t you?”

I kept my eyes anchored entirely on the bruise I was treating, spreading the arnica cream slowly across his skin. “It doesn’t matter what you said to him, Sig.”

Santiago let out a bitter, broken laugh that cut right through me. “Of course it fucking matters, George! I could’ve ruined absolutely everything for you tonight. One single sentence to that league official, and your draft chances would've been over before the press conference even started.”

I stopped moving. I looked up from his torso, meeting his frantic golden eyes steadily.

“The wounds I gave you in high school are deep, Sig. They’re going to take a hell of a lot longer to heal than these new ones from Pavel. And I’m going to be right here for as long as it takes to fix them. That’s the only thing that matters to me right now.”

He lowered his head, his golden eyes filling with fresh tears. Then, his voice turned sharp, almost accusing. “You actually thought I’d do it? You thought I'd ruin you just like that?”

I froze, staring at his pale, trembling face. “I told you before, Sig... I wouldn’t have blamed you even if you did.”

He grunted, gripping the blankets and trying to sit up against the headboard.

“Hey, don’t move,” I ordered, my hand instantly pinning his shoulder back down.

“Why the fuck not?”

“Because you are hurt.”

He shook his head violently, a tear cutting through the dirt on his cheek. “Why wouldn’t you blame me, George? Why?” He searched my face, completely confused, desperate for a boundary. “Is it because you think you owe me some kind of penance? Because you feel guilty?”

“Because I own you,” I said, my voice dropping into a low, dark, unyielding register that silenced the entire cabin. I leaned down and cupped his chin, hovering over his face until he could feel the heat of my skin. “You are my absolute responsibility now, Santiago. Everything you do, even if you try to tear my world down, is not on you. It’s on me. I carry it.”

His golden eyes stared into mine in pure disbelief as fresh tears tracked down his cheeks, his shaky, shallow breaths telling me exactly how much he was hurting inside.

I set the arnica cream aside on the nightstand and carefully pulled his bruised, aching body into my arms, hauling his bare skin up against my chest with infinite care.

“You’re safe now,” I murmured deeply into his hair, burying my face against his crown as his fingers finally latched onto the fabric of my shirt. “You are mine now, Santiago. I won’t ever let anyone hurt you again.”

Sig stayed completely quiet for a long, heavy moment, his forehead resting against the crook of my neck as the gentle, familiar sway of the boat rocked us both. I pressed a slow, lingering kiss to the top of his head and simply held him tighter, anchoring him to me in the dark.