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“Mina. Open your eyes, baby.”
She did, and found him crouched by the tub, his pale gold gaze boring into hers with an almost painful sincerity.
“You don’t ever need to apologize for telling me what you need. Even if it’s not what you think I want to hear, you don’t apologize. Okay?”
“Yes, Daddy.” The response slipped from her without her even thinking about it, and on some level, she realized it was because in that moment he was all Daddy. Even more so than when he was teasing her, or busting her ass, or dominating her in bed. He was her Daddy, and she was his girl, and he was going to make sure everything was all right.
A smile curved his lips. “Good girl. I’m going to go see about dinner. You take as much time as you need up here. I’ll come check on you in about an hour if you don’t come downstairs.”
“Okay.” Closing her eyes again, she rested her head back against the padded cushion that served as a sort of built-in pillow.
It wasn’t until she heard the telltale click of the door pulling shut and his footsteps on the stairs that she let the tears come. Just a trickle at first, her chest aching as though it might shatter if she didn’t release them.
And as they traveled down her cheeks, disappearing into the colorful water she’d submerged herself in, she let herself pull Gabby to the forefront. Long, dark hair, straight as a pin, unlike Mina’s untamable curls. Even darker eyes, full of mischief and mystery. That wild laugh of hers when she wanted to do something outrageous despite—sometimes because of—Mina’s protests.
A sound she barely recognized as her own echoed off the walls of the bathroom as she jerked up to a sitting position, not caring that water sloshed over the sides onto the tile floor. Wrapping her arms around her legs, she pressed her face to her knees and wept. And as she wept, anger worked its way to the surface, mingling with her grief, amplifying it.
Desperate to purge herself of all of it, the grief, the anger, the fear, everything, she screamed, the sound ripping from her like shards of glass scraping her throat raw. But fuck if it didn’t help, if she didn’t feel a smidge lighter.
So she did it again.
The third time she tried, the scream was cut off by a great, big, gulping sob and she surrendered to it. Gave herself over completely to the pain of knowing she would never see her best friend again. Never hear her laughter or listen to her swearing up a storm after a man had broken her heart.
There would be no more late-night, drunken dance parties in the living room. No more secret sharing, no more long talks about their dreams and falling in love.
Her person was gone. And Mina knew she would never be the same.
ChapterTwenty-Three
The first scream sent him running for the stairs. By the second, he was already at the bathroom door, his hand on the door handle, his heart thundering in his chest.
But some instinct held him back, and he listened for another scream. When all he heard instead were her heart-breaking sobs, he stepped away and gave her the solitude she’d requested. It didn’t matter that everything in him just wanted to scoop her up and hold her, to rock her gently until she fell asleep in his arms and assure her that everything was going to be fine.
She’d asked to be alone, and he had agreed. So even though it felt like leaving a part of his own soul behind, he forced himself to walk back down the stairs to wait for her to join him.
Nothing held his interest as he waited. Work was out of the question, and he didn’t want to risk turning the TV up so loud he couldn’t hear her, so he sat in silence, his mind working overtime to process the events of the day.
The fact that he hadn’t heard from his brother at all worried him. He’d thought for sure Adrian would be around to gloat, to remind him that he was waiting for Cyrus to agree to his terms. And every second that had passed without contact had only ratcheted Cyrus’s nerves tighter and tighter, until he felt like he might burst.
Which, he hated to admit, was probably what his brother wanted.
As they closed in on the agreed upon hour, Cyrus found himself glancing at the stairs more often. Just when he’d decided it was close enough, one of the stairs creaked, announcing her descent. Jumping to his feet, he rushed to the entryway to wait for her.
She’d wrapped herself in one of his robes, even though he’d bought two for her to keep at his house. Oddly, the sight of her wrapped in the oversized cotton soothed something inside of him. That part of him that wanted to know she was stillhis, even after everything, quieted at the sight of her.
Her eyes were shot through with red, and his heart broke again seeing the evidence of her tears. She’d washed the rest away, leaving her face clean of the makeup she was almost never without.
It made her seem younger, more vulnerable, and the Daddy in him ached to hold her. To comfort her. To take care of her.
Not trusting his own voice, he held open his arms, relief flooding him when she ran the last few steps to burrow into his embrace.
“I hate this,” she whispered, her voice somewhat muffled from where she’d pressed her face against his shirt.
“I know, baby. I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”
“Don’t do that.” Pulling away, she looked up at him, a fierceness in her eyes that took him by surprise. “I know you, Cyrus, well enough to know you’re taking this on. But this is not your fault, in any way, shape, or form. Got it?”
How could she say that, when it was his flesh and blood that was responsible for her friend’s death? Saying it out loud was likely to just rile her up more, and he wanted her calm, so he kept those opinions to himself. “Dinner should be here soon. I, ah, ordered soup.”
