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When I look up again, I realize that we’ve stopped in front of the house on Clementine Lane. “Thank you.”
“Should I call for backup? Or medical?”
“No, I can take it from here.”
The young officer looks uncertain, but I don’t care. I get out of the vehicle and start for the door, my steps heavy and unfamiliar. The sound of the vehicle pulling away from the curb chases after me.
My heart is heavy as I approach the door. Three days, I think, pausing momentarily. So much can happen to a person after three days, and I can’t help but wonderhow hurt Catherine’s going to be. It doesn’t matter to me—I’ll be there irrespective. But I hate how helpless I feel knowing that somebody harmed her. And I did nothing to prevent it.
The door swings open immediately. Drakos is standing just inside, one hand in his pocket, and one hand on the open door. “That was quick.”
My body relaxes instantly as everything slots together. I suspected as much. I’ve seen Drakos and the way he guards Antoinette’s every move. “Where is she?”
“I-”
I hold up a hand, silencing him. “I don’t care right now. I just need to see Catherine.”
He nods, his ice-blue eyes warming with understanding or, maybe, pity, but he takes a step back, giving me space to enter. “Upstairs. With Toni.”
In the kitchen, Primrose, Lyla, Suzanne, and Juliette are whispering amongst each other. Dylan Duke and Rye Chery are looming over their huddled trio.
When the door shuts behind me, they turn en masse. Ignoring them, I make for the stairs. Each lift of my foot takes all of my energy. Each push upwards feels like wading through cement.
Whispering voices reach for me from the door on the right. Raising my hand, I knock.
I wait, my heart beating impatiently against my ribs.
The door creaks open, and Toni pops her head out. When she sees me, she smiles. “The doctor is here. Cat’s just bathing. Give her a few-”
But I put my palm on the door and push it open, forcing Toni to take a step back. “Cat?”
“Aiden?” Her voice is dry and raspy.
“I’m-” But I can’t talk past hearing her voice again.
“Come,” she says, her voice small and tired.
I step into the room and turn right towards the en suite bathroom, ignoring Antoinette and the woman I’m assuming is the doctor. Everything feels slow and unreal, suspended in time. When I get to the bathroom door, I stop. And for a full five seconds, I just look at her.
Catherine is sitting in a full bubble bath, her legs pulled up to her chest, her green eyes still heavy and sleepy with whatever Sascha gave her. Her fiery hair is dirty, the color of rust. It hangs limply down her back before disappearing into the water.
She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
“Hey,” she chokes on a sob, and, turning her face away from me, begins to cry.
Unable to say anything, I toe off my shoes and walk to the tub. Catherine’s entire body is folded in on itself, her face buried underneath her far arm. Tremors rattle her small form.
Not wanting to scare her, I strip my jacket but leave the rest of my clothes on. And then, dressed in slacks, a shirt, and a tie, I climb into the bathtub behind her, unfurl my legs, one on either side of her, and wrap both of my arms around her as the hot water soaks through my clothes and spills over the side of the tub.
She tenses for only a second before relaxing back into my arms. When her tears turn to dry, choked sobs that vibrate through her back and into my chest, I don’t shush her or try to calm her. I bury my face in the back of her neck and hold on.
There’s nothing to say. I’m not going to lie to her and tell her that everything will be all right—because what if it’s not? So, tightening my arms around her, I tell her the truth I know: “I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.”
She doesn’t reply, but I feel her small nod as her head brushes against my arm.
I don’t know how long we sit there, submerged in cooling bathwater, anchoring each other in the world, but when I eventually look up, the door is closed, and Antoinette has gone.
Catherine’s sobs have quietened and, other than the occasional residual tremor, she seems calmer now.
