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“Crosby promised that he would come home to me in one piece,” I admitted, heat creeping up my cheeks because saying it out loud sounded ridiculous.
Wrenley’s breathing hitched. “You know,” her words were slow and measured, like she didn’t want to spook me, “he might not be able to keep that promise.”
“I know,” I whispered, my voice cracking, “but I needed to hear it all the same.”
“I get it,” she soothed me, her voice gentle. “But what you don’t want is for him to be so focused on keeping his promise that he loses sight of what he’s doing, and he gets hurt because of it, or someone else does.”
Tears welled up in my eyes and shakily admitted, “I didn’t think of it like that.”
“I know,” she assured me. “Just talk to him about it when he gets home. And he will come home,” her voice was fierce, and I found myself believing her. “Believe in him. He’s not an enforcer just because he has muscles. It’s more than that. He’s good at what he does, they all are. Give them your faith.”
Even though her words hit their mark, I huffed out a breath. “Weren’t you the same person who was worried just moments ago?”
“Oh,” her voice was lighter than it was when we started talking and it helped to buoy me, “I’m still worried, but talking to you helped to remind me that I need to believe in my man and our family.”
“Yeah,” I mumbled, but her words stuck.
Thankfully, we changed the subject, and we started brainstorming about how she was going to tell Cherise about becoming a grandmother. I made Wrenley promise that I could be there because her face is going to be priceless, and I don’t want to miss it.
Even now, hours later, I know Wrenley was right. I need to believe in Crosby and his ability. He’s smart and capable. It’s not that I doubt him, really.
But I also know how quickly things can go wrong. I don’t just want him to come home to me, I need it. I need him.
When I hear the lock of the keypad on the front door disengage, I jump up. My feet move quickly out of the living room, the thought of it not being Crosby a distant consideration. But I don’t stop.
I can’t.
When he looks up, the starry night behind him and the porch light I left on illuminating flecks of blood decorating his t-shirt and skin, I don’t hesitate. I launch myself at him, knowing he’ll catch me. He hasn’t let me down since the moment I met him, even when I pushed him away.
Crosby’s burly arms wrap around me and pull me against his chest. He holds me so tight that it’s difficult to breathe. But I’ll never complain about it. Not when I need the stark reminder that I’m in his arms and that he’s home.
“Crosby,” my voice is a whisper that barely makes it past my lips as I cling as tight as I can to him.
The sound of the door closing behind him barely registers before we start moving through the house, the lights turning off around us as he moves through the space with sure steps that don’t slow or falter.
“I’m okay, Firefly,” he assured me as he kicked the door to his—our—room closed behind us.
I pulled my head away from where I had buried it in his neck when he caught me and take him in. I can see the sincerity in his words, but there’s something in his eyes that I can’t place. More darkness? It makes me feel unsettled.
Not because I’m scared of him, but because I don’t know what to do to help him. I want to help him. I want to carry some of the burden on his soul for him.
“You have blood on you,” I whisper, holding his gaze because I want him to see that I’m not afraid.
Not of him or whatever he did tonight. Not of the specs of blood he’s adorned with.
He grimaces and tries to set me down, but I just cling to him tighter. “Sioux,” his voice is choked but I just shake my head. He sighs, “Okay then.”
When he strides into his large bathroom, I can feel hesitance in each step. I hate it.
“I’m not afraid of you,” I whisper, needing to say it just as much as I think he needs to hear it.
His dark eyes are filled with surprise as his gaze snaps down to mine. “You aren’t?” I shake my head and he narrows his eyes. “Are you sure?”
The glare I give him would level a lesser man. But that’s not who my man is.
His large hand grips my ass, holding me steady as he reaches into the shower and turns it on. When he goes to lower me down, this time I allow it reluctantly. I pout up at him and one side of his mouth tips up in an almost smile.
The shadows in his eyes are still there and I hate it.
