I felt bone-weary. The rest on the plane had hardly been sleep. It had been filled with people’s hands on me, my neck, my legs. Holding me down and back. Each time I woke, my throat felt like it was closed. Both my neck and throat were still throbbing as were my knuckles underneath the bandage Nash had wrapped around them in the penthouse.
As if sensing my increased pain, Nash handed me a bottle of ibuprofen he must have retrieved from his bag and the water bottle I thought I’d left behind on the plane. I downed the pain relievers and then looked at all of their quiet faces in the predawn light filtering in the tinted windows. I noticed a red mark on the side of Nash’s chin, and my eyes flicked to my brother’s in the rearview mirror. His face was tight, and I could see the tension in his jawline and shoulders.
“Squirter, please tell me you did not hit Nash.”
Neither one of the men spoke.
“Really?” I said, anger winging through me. “You’re both ridiculous with your male hormones flying about like we live in the prehistoric age. Should I have hit Georgie when I found out she’d slept with you? Or how about when she broke up with you and moved out? Should I have hit her then? Would that have solved anything?”
Georgie snorted a half-laugh, and I knew again why I loved her.
“This is different,” Mac barked.
“How? Tell me how it’s different.”
“Because he let someone get their hands on you. Because he hasn’t once been honest with any of us about his family or his relationships. Because he’s going to go off on every damn mission and leave you sitting here wondering if he’ll ever come home,” Mac said, and pain radiated through me at the truth of his words.
I leaned forward, wrapping my arms around the seat and his chest from behind, giving him the best hug I could while he drove. “He saved my life. I wouldn’t have been able to stop her from choking me if he hadn’t taught me what to do.”
Mac’s eyes turned glossy as I watched his face in the mirror.
“That doesn’t mean you owe him your life like in some damn movie,” Mac said, choking on emotion.
I leaned my head on the back of the headrest, turning my face to look toward Nash, who was staring out the front windshield. Quiet. As if he had no right to interfere in the conversation between my brother and me. As if he deserved the harsh words.
I sat back, laying my head in Georgie’s lap and falling into another fitful sleep while she ran a hand over my hair. She tried to soothe me every time I startled awake with the feel of a chain sinking into my throat, but the only place I’d felt safe was in Nash’s arms.
???
When I climbed out of the back seat, Mom was already there, hugging me, a little sob coming out of her. I hugged her back as tight as I’d hugged Mac and Georgie at the airport. “I’m okay, Mom,” I said into her shoulder.
The sun had risen, but it was still early, the cold, November air making me shiver in just my yoga pants and sweatshirt. Mom let me go but grabbed my hand as we entered the house with the men trailing behind us with our bags.
“Do you want breakfast?” Mom asked, and I couldn’t help the smile that hit my lips. She was back to trying to feed me. It felt like it had been months since I’d been staying there, with her trying to force food into me, when it had only been weeks. But in those weeks, my world had completely changed.
“I just want to go to bed,” I told her the truth. She nodded, and I started up the stairs. I turned at the top, looking down at my family gathered with Nash in the entryway, their faces somber. “You coming, Pretty Boy?”
Georgie smiled, Mac glowered, and my mom’s mouth dropped. But Nash… Nash’s eyes turned dark, and he followed me up the stairs with our bags.
We went to the room I’d grown up in, and I removed my sweatshirt along with my yoga pants and shoes. Then, I slid into the double-sized bed that had been mine since I was a girl, holding the sheet open for him, my invitation clear.
He removed all his clothes except his boxer briefs before sliding in with me.
He pulled me to him, and I lay my head down on his chest. The tattoos my pillow. The hardened muscles somehow softer and more yielding than you’d expect. He wrapped me in an embrace that felt like coming home even more than walking in the front door had. And finally, I could sleep. I fell into a dreamless state where there were no hands on my neck, no alarm running through my veins. Just peace.
When I came awake, hours later, the entire house felt quiet and still. The sun was pouring through my windows because I hadn’t shut the curtains. I wasn’t sure I’d moved once, because I was still lying half on top of Nash like when I’d fallen asleep. I turned my head to find his eyes open, watching me.
“Did you rest at all?” I asked.
“Some.”
“You can’t remain awake for the rest of our lives. I’m fine. You should have slept.”
“I will, but it’s still too fresh. Right now, it’s helping me to be able to watch you.”
I kissed him. Slowly. Taking my time like he normally did. Slipping a tongue along his mouth and then dancing it away, turning so my body was more on his. So my hands could roam over the wide expanse of his chest, down over the scars that showed his external wounds, over his heart, and down the taut abs to another taut part of him awakened by our kiss and my touch.
He reversed our positions so I was on my back with his hands trailing a hot, sensual trail over my skin and the tiny underwear I’d been wearing for too long now. I undid the bra and flung it out of the bed. Nash’s eyes went dark, hooded, his hand stilling on one breast.
