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“Fuck.” I lean her way and press my forehead against her body while she crouches to be on my level. Her knees support my chest, and her chest supports my head. But when she slips her fingers into my hair and gently scratches, she completely undoes me.
So pure.
So sweet.
So perfect.
And in so much fucking danger, it makes me sick to think of a world without her in it.
“Drake?” Violet’s voice softens, like she somehow knows I need the reprieve. “You there?”
“Yeah.” I inhale all things Rory and feel guilty, knowing her crouched position no doubt burns her thigh and the steel rod buried deep inside. “I’m here.” Pulling back and earning a look of confusion, I push up to stand and bring the woman up beside me. Starting us forward, so I can put her to bed and an end to this fucking day, I speak to Violet and bring our call to an end. “Head to the lake house if you want.”
“Yours?” she questions. “The one where you and Gord would always go fishing?”
“Yeah, that one. There’s no internet out there. No TV. There’s barely a flushing toilet. Take Tilly and let her swim in the lake. Call it a vacation and try to relax.”
“Relax,” she laughs. “Yeah, right.”
“I’m doing everything I can to solve this, Vi.” I lead Rory into her room and swallow when she continues forward and peels her hoodie off to reveal her bare back and shoulders. I wait by the door, rooted to the spot and unable to leave. But unable to follow her in. I’m in purgatory and don’t know which way to go. “Give Tilly my love, okay? Tell her Uncle Drake will call again soon.”
“Sure,” she sighs. “I’ll tell her.”
“Great. I’ve gotta go for now.” I pull the phone from my ear and kill our call, no fucking clue if the woman was still talking or ready for me to go. But Rory tosses her hoodie and unbuttons her jeans, pushing them down to reveal matching black underwear and a monster fucking bruise on her side, somehow shaped like the hood of a Cadillac. “Jesus Christ.”
“Will you stay with me tonight?” Her eyes are still red and puffy from an emotional day. Glassy from exhaustion. Haunted from the video call she had to endure today. “Please?” she adds shakily. “I won’t hit on you or anything.” She sits on the edge of her bed and pulls her jeans the rest of the way off, revealing a scar the length of my foot from her surgery. “No touching or anything.” Her eyes well up with sadness. “I just don’t want to be alone.”
“I’ll stay.” I move away from the door and bend as I walk to unfasten the laces of my boots. I won’t take my jeans off. I won’t remove my shirt. But I’ll be damned if I let her feel alone on the night of her mother’s death. “I’ll have to get up again later,” I tell her, kicking my shoes off, dragging the holster from my shoulders, and setting the leather and guns on her bedside table. “I can’t sleep all night,” I continue, sliding her blankets back and making space for her to crawl in.
She probably expects me to slide in after her, but I wait for her to get comfortable, then I pull the blankets back up and create a wall for us. An impenetrable stopper to keep my hands to myself and my world from imploding. Lying on top of the covers and drawing her closer, I brush her hair back and press a kiss to her forehead.
“You don’t want to get in?” she mumbles, her voice already dragging with fatigue. “It’s cold out of the blankets.”
“I’m okay.” I stroke her bare shoulder and deem itallI get. That’s all the skin I allow myself to touch. Then I pull her closer, so she can set her cheek on my chest and her arm across my torso. “I can’t get too comfortable.” And yet, I snuggle in and wrap her close, so the scent of her sweet shampoo fills my lungs and the warmth of her trim body is enough to penetrate even the blankets. “I have to get up in a bit and check the house.”
“Will you stay until I fall asleep?” She releases a long, drawn-out yawn that almost has me doing the same. “I’m so friggin’ tired.”
“Yeah, Little Bird.” I press a kiss to the top of her hair and close my eyes. “I’ll stay till you’re asleep.”
“What do you think will happen tomorrow?” she mumbles, already edging toward sleep. “What did you and Detective Malone talk about when I wasn’t in the room?”
“Not a lot.” I lower my hand and rest it on her hip. And though I’m above the blankets and she’s below, it still feels almost as good as the real thing. To feel her shape so close. To have her breath over my heart. To be held by her, just as securely as she’s held by me. “We’re gonna try to figure out a way to get you over to see your mom.”
Her breath comes to a stop, like I knew it would.
“It’s not fair what happened today, Rory. No one should have to go through what you did. So I’m gonna try to bend some regs and make something happen.”
“You promise?” she asks hopefully. “I get to see her tomorrow?”
“I promise to try my best,” I hedge quietly. “I promise to always put your needs first. And right now, you need to see her. But go to sleep,” I mumble, my heart stuttering when she hums something soft and sweet in the back of her throat. Her lullaby. Her coping mechanism. “I’ll protect you. Forever,” I promise on a whisper. “Even when I kill Vallejo for a second time.”
Drake
LOOK LEFT. ACT RIGHT.
“We have a window,” Archer Malone’s voice bounces through my phone speaker and fills the car. White-faced and a little sweaty, Rory glances across and trusts me to have her back. To keep her alive, especially when we’re driving the streets of Copeland City. “Bring her along West and Thirty-Third,” he murmurs. “Then you’ll be close. Be careful,” he adds seriously. “The press are on the front steps of the George Stanley building, and they’re hungry for an exclusive.”
“Me arriving to see my mom would be kinda exclusive.” Rory nervously spins a ring on her thumb and looks in every direction as we pass houses and cars. Her jeans, like every day, are a little too big, to make room for her leg, and her hoodie is oversized.
