Page 53 of Hush, Little Baby

“Bring it on the plane.”

“Already planning on it. The blanket, too?”

My eyes flicker open, and through my hazy vision, I see my blankie in Constantine’s hands.

Thin, faded, frayed at the edges, one corner completely smooth from years of rubbing. It looks smaller than I remember and sadder than I want it to look, but it is mine, mine, mine, and my hand reaches before I can make myself pretend otherwise.

Constantine’s face changes, becoming softer. “I thought it might be special.”

My throat closes.

I can’t answer. I can’t even nod.

Nikolaus’s hand strokes over my hair. “Give it to him.”

Constantine does, and the second the blanket touches my fingers, I pull it against my chest and curl around it so quickly that I nearly slide off Nikolaus’s lap. His arm comes around me at once, steadying me before I can fall, and I burrow into both things at the same time without thinking—my blankie against my face, Nikolaus’s thigh beneath my cheek, his hand warm over my head.

A tear slips out and disappears into the old fabric.

Nikolaus bends over me slightly. “There you go, sweetheart.”

My fingers clutch the blanket harder as I breathe it in.

I can smell my apartment on it and feel the faint stale warmth of my bed. It should make me want to go home so badly I can’t breathe, and it does, it does, but I’m too small and worn out right now for the feeling to grow. It just aches. A dull, heavy ache I hold against my mouth while Nikolaus pets my hair.

Constantine says something about a doctor again.

Then the car.

Then the plane.

Then someone named Alex.

Their voices move around me in low, adult currents, words slipping past without asking me to catch them. Medication. Schedule. Breakfast. Bags. Security. Flight plan. Doctor in New York. He’ll need clothing. He’ll need rest. He’ll need—

He’ll need.

He’ll need.

He’ll need.

I close my eyes.

For once, the needing doesn’t feel like a failure.

Nikolaus’s fingers continue to rub at the base of my skull, then behind my ear, then down the side of my neck, each touch calm and repetitive enough that my body has no choice but to relax. I’m not asleep, nor awake, but somewhere in between, cuddled up in the strange, frightening safety of his lap while the world gets decided over my head.

I should be listening harder.

I should be planning.

I should be figuring out how to run again, how to get past the guards, how to make it downstairs, how to survive New York if I can’t.

Instead, I hold my blankie to my cheek and listen to Nikolaus tell Constantine that the smoothie should come with a straw. A bendy one, if the hotel has it.

Nikolaus’s hand rests over my hair, heavy and possessive and perfect.

“That’s right,” he murmurs, so softly I’m not sure Constantine hears. “You just stay there, little one. Daddy will take care of everything.”