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“Look at me, sweetheart.” She gazes up at me, and I cup the back of her head gently. “I love you to the edges of my sanity. If I felt any more, there’d be nothing of me left, only you filling the space.”
The tears that slip from her eyes break my heart. After everything she’s been through tonight, that she would cry for this. For being loved.
We’re both exhausted. I wipe the tears from her cheeks. “Come on. Let’s get the clean-up finished so we can go home.”
It’s after three in the morning by the time we have the log hauler and all the tools we used cleaned and put away. Bothcovered in dirt, blood, and dried sweat, we strip down in my bathroom to share a shower.
“I liked those jeans, damn it,” she mumbles, throwing her clothes into the paper bag along with mine to be burned in the fireplace.
I’m too busy running my eyes over her to respond. In the harsh overhead light, the finger shaped bruises on her neck are more noticeable, along with the swollen lump under her eye. Dusky purple splashes across her ribs on both sides. He must’ve been squeezing her with his knees as he straddled her. When she turns to step into the shower, an array of bruises and marks are visible on her back as well.
My frozen stare draws her attention as she steps into the spray. “What’s wrong?”
It takes me a minute to swallow the rage and let the knot in my stomach loosen before stepping in to join her. She looks up at me as I run my fingertips gently over her bruised ribs. “He hurt you so badly. I wish he was standing in front of me right now so I could kill him slower.”
She swallows hard. “He’s dead. That’s what matters. It’s over. We won.” Her words are strong, but exhaustion washes out her face.
“Let me take care of you.” There’s no argument when I take the soft washcloth from her hands and gently run it over her shoulders. She tilts her head, letting me continue to her sensitive neck. I wash her from head to toe, wishing I could erase all the painful marks as tears slip down her cheeks.
She looks up to let me shampoo her hair and winces when my fingers brush over a small lump on the back of her head. “Sorry,” I murmur, being more careful rinsing out the soap. “Did you hit your head too?”
“He slammed it into the ground. Good thing it was mud.” Her quick, forced smile isn’t reassuring.
“I think you should go get checked out at the hospital. You could have a concussion, broken bones. We can think of something to tell them. A random attack…attempted carjacking.” It’s not the most realistic idea but what if she’s seriously injured?
“No. It’s been over eight hours and I’m not dizzy or anything. I don’t even have a headache. I’m just sore and tired. I’ll be fine.” She traces the scar on my chest and looks up at me. “Are you okay?”
It feels like so much is contained in that question. Am I okay after killing a man? Is my heart okay after a strenuous night? Am I okay with her loving me? “I’m with you, darling. I couldn’t be better.”
Her lips lift into a cautious smile. She hooks her arms around my neck, folding her hands over my nape. “Are you?Withme?”
I am. Selfish or not, I’m done spending my time alone, desperately struggling to rearrange the pieces of my life to hide the gap love has left. She loves me and I’ve never loved anyone like this. She’s mine. “If you’re sure that’s what you want. For what it’s worth, you’ve got me.”
Her smile widens and her wet lips brush mine. “It’s worth everything. Every risk and worry running through your head right now. You’re worth it. So let that go and just tell me you love me.”
Our warm wet bodies press together when I pull her close. “I love you, Calliope.”
CHAPTER 32
CALLIOPE
A groan slipsout of me before I’m fully awake, driven by the deep ache that’s devouring my body. The bed next to me dips, and Arlow’s concerned face comes into focus as I blink away the grittiness.
“Hey, how do you feel?” His soft voice wraps around me.
“Like I was strangled in the woods.”
“You aren’t funny.” He brushes my hair back, gazing down at me.
“Sorry. I’m sore, but I’m okay.” It’s a bit of an understatement. I’m sure nothing is broken but I’m so stiff and full of pain. On top of the injuries from the attack, I’m not used to hours of shoveling heavy dirt.
Arlow lays a large hand on my back, supporting me as I sit up with a wince. I reach up to touch my cheek under my eye where Carl’s fist landed. It’s tender but not terribly painful. A spot on the back of my head is sore, but there’s no bump like last night.
“What time is it?” I ask. The dim light coming through the windows makes it look like it’s late in the evening, but surely I haven’t slept all day.
“Just past three.” A sudden wind howls, whipping ice against the house with a thousand little ticks, and the lights flicker for a moment. “It’s been storming for a while.”
Damn, I slept almost eleven hours straight. Not even alcohol and weed knock me out like that. Trying not to die then burying a body is tiring. The reality of what we did last night slams into me. “Is everything okay? Did Lee…you know…has anyone been here...our clothes, we have to?—”
