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I just… snapped.
Growling in frustration, I turn the water to icy-cold as my traitorous body gets aroused at the memory—despite the fucked-up day I’ve had.
I need to do better about setting boundaries.
And hopefully, I can get Mel on her feet and out of my immediate proximity before I completely lose sight of my moral integrity. Because no matter what the marriage license says, Mel doesn’t belong to me.
She never did.
I know her behavior is triggered by her survival instinct. She’s scared and doing what she can to protect Gabby. She gave herself to me last night because she thinks pleasing me will keep her daughter safe.
It has nothing to do with having feelings for me.
She might not even be attracted to me.
And I will not take advantage of her like that again.
The dreams that plague my sleep rouse me at dawn despite the late and draining night I had. Hunger gnaws at my stomach because the last thing I ate yesterday was a sandwich around lunchtime. But the guilt overrides all of that—guilt for the men whose lives we sacrificed, guilt for the way I’ve handled Mel.
Unfortunately, I only have the power to correct one of those things.
So, today, I intend to mend things with the woman I’ve been charged with protecting.
I scrub my face back to life, then roll out of bed. I throw on a pair of joggers, and while I typically would prefer to go shirtless when I’m alone in my condo, I can hardly get mad at Mel for the way she’s dressed last night if I won’t cover up myself.
The house is still dark and quiet as I pad out into the hallway. The girls sleep soundly in the guest room. I pause in front of their door to make sure that’s true and linger a moment to listen to their steady breathing.
I just catch the soft hums Gabby makes in her sleep—a fact I learned while I was watching over her during Mel’s stay at the hospital in New Haven. As far as I can tell, the humming whimpers don’t mean anything; perhaps they’re an unconscious reaction to her dreams. They don’t sound like she’s in distress. They’re more… thoughtful.
A soft smile curls the corners of my lips.
That little girl is something special. No doubt about it.
After a moment of hesitation, I head out to the living room, then on to the kitchen. It’s as clean and tidy as I left it, despite the two additions to my household. A sliver of anxiety creeps into my stomach as I wonder if Mel might not have felt comfortable making herself at home yesterday.
Did they even eat?
I’ll feel like an even bigger ass if Mel showed that kind of concern for me last night when I let them starve for an entire day.
I open the fridge, and my heart sinks.
Thankfully, enough food is missing to make it apparent that they did eat.
But the Tupperware of stir fry with a sticky note on top is what leaves my heart at my feet.
Mel wrote, Made some dinner for you. I hope you like it. I promise we’ll do our best to stay out of your way. I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done.
Pulling the container from the fridge, I lift a corner and inhale. My mouth immediately starts to water—despite the food being cold. I don’t know how she learned to cook like this, but I don’t deserve it after my behavior last night.
Sighing, I reseal the container, granting myself permission to indulge in her treat only after I’ve set things right. I glance at the clock, debating whether it’s too early to start breakfast for the girls. Pyotr gave me the morning off after such a shitty night. So I don’t have to worry about going to work until this afternoon.
Deciding to start with a cup of coffee, I make a full pot. I remember Mel being a coffee drinker from her time renting out the Harlem house with the other girls we rescued from Mikhail’s truck.
As I get started on breakfast, an idea hits me for how I can make things up to Mel.
Resolve setting in, I get to work whipping up some fresh hash browns and bacon, followed by some fried eggs.
Thirty minutes later, I head back down the hall.
