Page 109 of Desecrated Saints
We escape upstairs, taking the elevator back in stunned silence to decompress. Hunter will no doubt track me down for a bollocking when he sees the news, but I don’t give a fuck. All I want is a soft, warm bed and Eli’s lips on mine. I step into our borrowed apartment with a sigh.
“Bed?” Eli suggests.
His arms band around me from behind, holding me close.
“What about the others?”
“They… find us.”
“Then bed,” I decide.
I’m lifted off my feet and spun around in a dizzying circle before Eli cradles me in his arms. My lips find their way to his on instinct as I’m carried towards one of the bedrooms we’ve been crashing in. Our kiss starts slowly, gently, with repressed emotion and promise.
When his tongue slips inside my mouth, I suppress a growl. Eli kisses me back with fervour, seeking to devour me with his touch. Everywhere his skin is on mine feels like it’s on fire. His foot impatiently kicks a bedroom door open, and a sharp squeak has us breaking apart.
“Oh my God, Nix?”
Phoenix’s head is stuck in a loose white t-shirt as he wrestles to take it off. Cursing colourfully, he manoeuvres his heavily bandaged hand.
“Firecracker? Eli?”
We rush at Phoenix together, both shouting his name like an answered prayer. My arms snake around his neck in a tight, desperate hug, while Eli snuggles his waist from behind so we’re wrapped in a teary sandwich. Phoenix grunts in pain, but he doesn’t push us away.
“Nix,” I repeat, on the verge of sobbing.
“I’m here, guys.”
“H-Hurt?” Eli stammers.
“It’s alright. I’m getting better.”
There isn’t a part of him that isn’t bruised or discoloured. Covering his face in light kisses, I feel the relieved tears flow. He’s greedily drinking me in with his eyes. When we pull the t-shirt over his head, his torso reveals more abuse and suffering. Hearing Eli curse is a clear indication.
Dark stripe marks meet heavy bruising and endless scabbed-over wounds from a knife. My hands cover my mouth, nausea locking my throat up tight. Knowing what instruments and malice cause these injuries is one thing. I can handle my own pain. The people I fucking love? That’s a no-go.
“It’s okay,” Phoenix offers weakly. “Please don’t cry.”
“No… it’s not.”
His one good hand strokes over my hair. “I’m back now. Nothing else matters.”
“I’m sorry, your sister… she… I…”
“I can’t talk about her,” he croaks, cutting me off. “I just want to hold you both.”
I carefully guide him over to the unmade bed I slept in last night with Kade and Hudson. Eli fluffs the pillows and tucks the duvet around Phoenix, fussing over him with such adoration, it makes me cry even harder. Fuck, I could win awards for emotional overload as of late.
Phoenix pats the space next to him. “Come on.”
“I could leave you both to—”
“Brooke,” Eli interrupts in a stern whisper. “C-Come.”
Taking the other side, he’s careful to avoid Phoenix’s bad leg from the stabbing. It’s still bandaged and stiff, along with his tightly wrapped hand. Stripping off the sweats I stole, I shove my stupid self-doubt to the back of my mind and slide in next to Phoenix.
He smells like hospital antiseptic and cheap shampoo, but I don’t care. Beneath that, he’s still my blue-haired maniac. Curling up against his side feels like throwing the doors to our cosy cottage open and running inside with open arms. Next to him, I’m finally home.
“I thought we lost you,” I choke out.
