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He needs gentleness.
Calm.
Warmth.
He needs all of the things he keeps trying to push away, and I don’t care if he doesn’t think he’s worthy, I’m going to give them to him anyway.
I’m afraid to try to touch him right now though. Afraid it’ll hurt him more than he’s already been hurt. My throat still aches a little, and I’m guessing I’ll have some bruising on my fair skin tomorrow—hell, maybe the marks are already visible—but that’s the least of my concerns right now.
As Ciro closes his eyes, his whole body shuddering, I glance at Hale, a helpless plea in my expression. I want to make this better, but I don’t know what to do. He’s Ciro’s best friend, and I hope like hell that he’ll have some idea how to ease the broken man’s agony.
Hale is still sitting on the floor in the spot where he pinned Ciro down earlier. His knees are bent, his elbows resting on them as his head bows slightly. He looks exhausted and sad, but when he meets my gaze, he nods.
He pushes to his feet and walks over to me, helping me up with a gentle grip on my arms. He leads me over to the bed and sits me down on the edge of the mattress. I’m wearing the same clothes I fell asleep in, a soft sweater and a pair of jeans, and my sweater got twisted around my body a little as I struggled with Ciro.
As he straightens out the fabric, I glance over Hale’s shoulder to see Ciro watching us with a blank, haunted stare. Almost as if Hale can feel that stare, he speaks to his friend.
“She’s okay. Grace is okay. See?”
Ciro shakes his head, his fists clenching. His knees are up by his chest, his back against the wall, and his dark hair is wild and untamed from his fingers.
“I’ll check on her, all right?” Hale’s voice is even and calm. There’s no anger or frustration in his tone, just boundless patience. “What do you want me to do, Ciro?”
“Check her neck,” the man across the room rasps.
I wasn’t even sure he would answer, and a little bubble of hope rises up in me at the fact that he did.
Hale sits down next to me, his knee brushing against mine as he uses one hand to tilt my chin a little. The fingertips of his other hand move softly over my neck, feeling the contours of my throat and checking for painful areas. I can feel a few sore spots, but I don’t jump or wince as he touches them.
“A little bruising,” Hale says, his voice pitched loud enough for Ciro to hear. “No swelling. Nothing too bad.” He glances over at his friend. “You held back. I’ve seen what you can do when you want to hurt someone. Even in your sleep, even in a nightmare, you didn’t want to hurt Grace.”
Ciro doesn’t respond to that. His lips press together as he swallows, then he says quietly, “Check for scratches. The back of her neck. Her shoulders.”
“Okay.” Hale moves my chin the other way, then releases it to run his fingers over the back of my neck, moving my hair out of the way. He slides them over my shoulders and along my collarbones, examining my skin as he does. “There are a few spots on her shoulders, but they’re light.”
Ciro’s hands curl into fists again, as if he wishes he could break his own fingers for hurting me. Self-recrimination fills his features as he shifts his gaze from Hale to me and back again. “Are there any other bruises? Anywhere else?”
Hale’s blue eyes find mine as his hands move down to the hem of my shirt. “May I?”
I nod, lifting my arms up to let him pull it over my head. Goose bumps scatter across my skin as I feel both men’s gazes move across my skin. I try to stay perfectly still as Hale moves his hands over my ribs and the dip of my waist, but I’m deeply conscious of the way Ciro’s gaze tracks the movement.
Hale really is his surrogate, I realize. He’s doing what Ciro wishes he could do, touching me without fear or worry.
The thought makes my heart ache a little, even as my nipples pebble at the sensation of Hale’s calloused palms sliding over my skin. He looks at the man in front of me, watching as he examines me with focus and concentration, and a sudden rush of emotion wells up inside me. There are too many feelings for me to identify each one, but tears sting my eyes again as they threaten to overwhelm me.
“Where else would you touch me, Ciro?” I murmur. My voice is quiet, but I know he hears me. “If you could. Where would you touch me? How would you touch me?”
Ciro blinks at me. He looks shocked, his gray eyes wide. When my gaze flits back to Hale, I see surprise in his eyes too.
Honestly, I’m surprised myself. I don’t know exactly where my words came from, but I know that this moment feels like a crossroads. What happens in the next few minutes will affect all of our lives. And if I let Ciro leave this room thinking that he can never touch me again, that I don’t want him to touch me, I’m sure he never will. He’s kept himself locked up so tightly for so long that if he retreats back into himself now, I don’t think he’ll ever get out.
I can’t let that happen.
I don’t know what will play out between me and the men who kidnapped me, or what my future holds. But in this moment, it doesn’t matter. I refuse to let Ciro’s demons win. I can’t fix him, I know that. But maybe I can keep him from shutting the door and locking the world out entirely.
“Hale would never hurt me, would he?” I ask, looking over at Ciro.
He shakes his head, looking at me like I’m crazy for even suggesting it.
