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In so many ways, being alone was a relief.
Dylan and Kingston wouldn’t be back for a few days. Tony would stay in Portersmith with Marianne until they could arrange for a transfer to Evergreen General. Right now, it was a waiting game, a matter of hoping Marianne would regain consciousness or, barring that, finding an empty bed.
Left to our own devices for the first time in a month, we unloaded the groceries and filled the fridge, then opened the windows to let in the fresh air. We unpacked our bags. There was no one to hassle us while we did it, no maids to insist on doing what we could easily do for ourselves, no friends or family around to ask us how we were feeling (bad), or if we were okay (of course we weren’t).
The silence between Xander and me continued to stretch on, and the force field between our bodies only grew. That night, we went to sleep on separate sides of the bed, parted by a gulf of empty mattress and undisturbed sheets. We woke up in the same positions and immediately checked our phones for updates. There were none. When I forced myself to shower, I took my clothes into the bathroom with me and changed in the lingering humidity of the shower, not caring that it made the fabric of my shirt cling to my skin. Xander did the same. It was easier, I guessed, than the vulnerability of seeing each other naked, or of being naked in front of another person at all. We were both already stripped so raw.
If we’re both dying, surely we don’t need to die alone.
It was a lovely proposition. One I was still struggling to navigate or make real.
Every word I said to him stuck in my throat before I forced it out. Every time I thought of taking his hand or folding myself into his arms, that strange feeling I’d felt in the car on the ride here stopped me just short of acting on it.
And the longer I went without touching him, the less he touched me back.
* * *
I hissed, then whimpered, bracing myself against the glass of the shower. A few inches away, blistering hot water rained down, filling the space with steam.
At Morrow Manor, after the boys were taken, I’d had a hard time sleeping. Our first night back at the lodge had done little to remedy that. When I finally managed to drift off for a few moments, a sharp pain in my breast launched me right back into consciousness. Now my body had given me a thrilling new reason to evade the rest it so desperately needed.
The breast pump made a soft mechanical noise as it sucked at my nipple, then released. I felt like a dairy cow, and not a particularly good one. The bottle attached to the pump remained empty. No milk came free.
I’d have to turn the water off soon. Steam was supposed to help, but it was making my body too slick for the pump to take hold.
I whimpered again and shoved a knuckle between my teeth, squeezing my eyes shut. Every pull from the pump burned like a cigarette being put out under my skin. Deeper in my breast, a dull and throbbing ache dug trenches in my muscle tissue, tender as a bruise. Sweat poured down my face and trickled between my cleavage. An outright cry left my lips when the pump slipped and, instinctively, I jerked it back into place.
My heart leapt as Xander tore open the door.
“What’s wrong?” His eyes scanned the bathroom frantically before landing on me. He was shirtless, in only his boxers. His hair was messy, his gaze, terrified—like someone might have emerged from the drain to steal me away, too.
“Nothing. Just one of my milk ducts.” I slammed the shower off and pulled the pump away from my skin. They’d both been useless, anyhow. “It’s clogged, I think. Not a big deal.”
My shoulders hunched as I emerged from behind the glass and reached for a towel. The steam would give me a little privacy but not for long.
“Sounded like a big deal. Here. Hold still.” Xander stepped between me and towel rack, reaching for me. “I’ll take care of it.”
“No.” I took a quick step back and steadied myself against the wall. The tiles were slick beneath my bare feet. “It’s okay. I’ve got it. Normally, the boys…” I trailed off. We didn’t need another reminder of their absence, even if feeding them was the prescribed solution for this. “It just needs a little massaging, that’s all. I’m sorry I woke you. I’ll be quieter. You can go back to sleep.”
“Let me do this for you, Cheeks. I’m not—”
“I said I’ve got it!” I snapped.
I took another step back. This time, my feet lost their purchase. They slipped out from beneath me, and the floor rushed up as the ceiling whooshed away.
Xander’s strong, firm arms wrapped around me just in time. He caught me beneath the armpits and dragged me to his chest. In my panic, that only made me struggle even more.
I didn’t want to be held. I didn’t want to be sweaty and wet, or wielding a breast pump at three in the morning, or dealing with my misbehaving tits.
I wanted to stop hurting.
I wanted our sons back.
Xander held me tightly until I stopped fighting him long enough to get my feet beneath me again. Only then did his arms relax, but he didn’t let me go.
I had no choice but to feel his body against mine, sturdy and strong like a well-built home.
Slowly, the tension released from my own body.
