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Something warm settles in my stomach as I notice not for the first time how devastatingly handsome he is. My eyes move back up to his lips. Amazingly, I wonder what it would feel like to kiss him. I blush, even though he’s asleep and can’t possibly know what I’m thinking.
My thoughts move to yesterday morning when he and Trouble came back from their trip. Something was different about him, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. He seemed on edge, but there was also something calm about him. His eyes, which always carry demons in them, seemed a tiny bit lighter. When I asked where he and my brother went, he said he’d explain it to me tomorrow. Which is today.
Last night, I woke up from another nightmare. This one was from one of my times with Aziah. His father was being unusually cruel toward him as he raped his son, which in turn caused more pain for me. Physically and emotionally. I not only hurt because of what Aziah was forced to do to me, but it was always more painful because I knew he was hurting too from what his father was doing to him.
I woke up to Aziah down on his knees on the floor beside my bed. His fingers were gently stroking my forehead, and he was murmuring soft, soothing words. Thankfully, when I woke, I did so fully, not still gripped in my nightmare. I immediately recognized Aziah. He hesitated when I asked him to hold me again, but after a moment, he agreed, with the stipulation that he would stay above the covers and I would be beneath them. He was stiff as he held me, and I knew he was fighting with himself. He still feels guilty for touching me a few nights ago. For the few moments I was in between sleep and consciousness, I’ll admit, I was terrified. But as soon as I realized it was Aziah, that fear went away. I hate that he blames himself for something out of his control.
Curiosity has me lifting my hand slowly. As a kid, I was always fascinated with his hair, because it was so dark, thick, and shiny. Tentatively, I allow my fingers to run through it. I’m not surprised when his eyes slide open. I’ve noticed he’s a very light sleeper. Black eyes meet my blue ones, and a small V forms between his brows. When he doesn’t stop me, but watches me curiously, I continue to feather my fingers through the strands. It’s so soft and silky.
After a moment, I glide my fingers down his temple and over his scruffy cheek. I use my nails and scrape them across the stubble. It almost feels like Velcro. Looking back at him, I see his pupils are more dilated than before and his eyes are half-closed.
All of a sudden, he grabs my wrist gently and lays my hand back down on the bed. I’m wondering if I’ve done something wrong when he flips my hand over so my wrist is facing up. I see what he’s looking at, and an ache forms in my chest. I want to cover it up and not let him see the two-inch scar on my wrist. I wear shirts with long sleeves that come up
over my palms so no one can. My sleeve must have ridden up in my sleep.
Pain etches Aziah’s face as he stares at my shame. His hand shakes as he traces the scar with his finger.
“Aziah,” I whisper, my voice hoarse with emotion.
“Did it hurt?” he asks quietly.
“Yes.” I clear away the lump forming in my throat. “But at the time, I wanted the pain. It wasn’t as bad as what we were forced to go through. I just wanted it all to stop.”
This is the first time we’ve really talked about my attempted suicide. I knew we would eventually, and I knew it would be hard. The pain Aziah, Trouble, and the others went through is my biggest regret.
“I should have killed him the first time he made me touch you.”
I ball my hand into a fist, the tendons making the scar move. He continues to trace it.
“You were eight years old, Aziah. There’s no way you could have killed him. He would have killed you first had you tried.”
“Maybe that would have been better,” he rumbles.
“No.” I shake my head against the pillow. Tears form and slide down my cheeks. I can’t imagine what my life would have been like had something happened to him. “Losing you would have been much worse than what he made us do. Besides, that wouldn’t have stopped him. He would have picked someone else or done it himself.”
The muscle in his jaw twitches as he clenches his teeth. I hold my breath as he leans over and places a soft kiss over the scar. The move is so sudden and unexpected. Butterflies flutter in my stomach. His lips feel so warm and soft against my skin.
He leans away and settles back on his pillow. The touch was short and sweet, and a small part of me wishes he would do it again.
When he pulls his hand away, I reach out and grab it, lacing our fingers together and laying them down on the bed between our heads. I like holding hands with him. It feels right and comfortable. I never thought I would feel that way, especially with a man.
“We found Marco and Gabriela,” he says suddenly. “That’s where Trouble and I went.”
“What?” I ask loudly. My hand jerks in his, and I try to sit up. He pulls me back down. “How? Where were they?”
Alarm creeps through my body. I haven’t seen them in ten years, but just the thought of them still scares me. I always knew they were out there, but I forced my mind to not think about it. I very rarely left Deanna and Mick’s house, so the chances of me running into them were slim. Being in Malus doesn’t change that chance, because there’s no reason for me to venture out further than the town, but knowing Aziah and Trouble know where they are doesn’t settle well with me. Before I could almost pretend like they no longer existed. I can’t do that now. They’ve become real again.
Seeing the panic on my face, Aziah squeezes my hands. “Hey,” he calls, and I bring my eyes back to him. “There’s no need to fear them anymore.”
I take a steadying breath and blow it out slowly. “How did you find them?”
“Through a friend of JW’s. Marco and Gabriela were trying to adopt a three-month-old little girl. Background checks are part of the process. His friend is a detective and came across the background check and noticed some discrepancies. He did more digging and realized they fit the descriptions JW gave him. They were in a small town northeast of here called Red Rock.”
“They were going to adopt a baby girl? Oh my God,” I reply, horrified. My stomach twists and plummets at the thought of them hurting another child, especially a baby.
“They were, but not anymore,” he replies darkly.
I glance at him, my eyes roaming all over his face. His expression is hard, with white lines by his eyes and his mouth a straight line.
