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I heard him come in.
The truth was, I hadn’t slept since he left.
When he’d come to collect his gun from under his pillow a couple of hours ago, I’d pretended to be asleep. I knew something was wrong, and if it was something to do with Romeo and Ham needed a gun, it definitely wasn’t good or reassuring.
Even when his lips brushed my cheek, I still didn’t open my eyes waiting until the door clicked closed and the room was once again shrouded in darkness.
I wanted to sit up and question what was going on and sit nervously watching him gather his shit so he could disappear and take care of business. Instead, I chose to let him be free from my worried voice and panicked looks that I would probably give him as he pulled out dark clothing from the dresser.
I was learning.
Being an Old Lady was about knowing your man, and I knew that I would only be a distraction and keep him from his focus if I tried to pull his mind away from the task at hand. Being an Old Lady was about trusting he would come to you if he needed you and being there when he did.
I should have waited for him to come to me, but he was back, he was alive, and I desperately needed to touch him after a few hours of wondering what I would do if that didn’t happen. I flipped on the light beside the bed, sitting up and pulling the blanket around my body as I blinked into the shadowed darkness.
“Meyah…”
His face was covered in smudges of black soot, his hands not faring much better.
I threw back the blankets and climbed out of bed, my mouth hanging open. The closer I got, the more I could smell the smoke that had soaked into his clothing.
“Oh my God,” I muttered.
“Go back to sleep.” His voice was raspy and raw, and it sounded painful for him to speak.
“I think you need to get checked out.”
He snorted. “I’ve been down there on oxygen for nearly two hours,” he explained, followed by a dry and scratchy cough. “I just want to get the hell out of these clothes and wash off tonight. Skins has a medic coming in with some stuff to make sure my lungs and shit are okay, but she’s not due for another hour. Don’t stress.”
Pulling my lip in between my teeth, I took his hand and led him to the bathroom.
“Meyah, go back to sleep,” he tried to order, but the way his voice sounded like a harsh whisper just made me smile. “I’m getting you all dirty.”
I stopped and turned to face him. He wasn’t wrong. The mixture of dirt and black sooty crap which covered him and his clothes was now all over my hands and also on the white T-shirt I’d borrowed of his to sleep in.
“See.”
I didn’t care.
Ham was back.
He wasn’t completely uninjured, but he was alive, and he was in one piece.
I stepped forward pressing my body against his and took his face in my hands. My thumbs swept through the dirty, greasy mess that stuck to his cheeks, doing nothing but leaving smears here and there and rubbing off on my hands.
“Meyah.”
Without giving him a chance to pull away, I tiptoed up and pressed my lips to his. My hands slid up into his hair, my favorite place. I twisted it in my fingers, tugging at it as I sliced my tongue through his lips, forcing him to open for me. Then just when I thought he might hold his ground on this one, he pulled back, breathing heavier than usual but with a look in his eyes that instantly made my pussy twitch.
“You need something?” he growled, the rough texture of his voice just adding to the intensity.
I licked my lips, trying not cringe at the bitter taste. “I need you. I just want to look after you.”
I never expected seeing him like this would make me want to touch him so bad. It was like I knew he’d been somewhere, he’d done something that he couldn’t tell me, that I was naive if I thought it couldn’t get him into a lot of trouble. But he’d come home to me. He was here, and I just needed to touch him, to make sure that he was okay, and that he was back with me.
I guess you could call it a fear.
Fear that one day he’ll walk out and not come back.
