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“I’m sorry,” I murmur against his skin, my words muffled and not nearly enough.
Nothing will be enough.
He runs his huge hand up and down my back, whispering soft words. Soothing me when it’s all I want to do forhim.
“I know those words mean nothing. I know they aren’t nearly enough, but they’re all I have,” my voice breaks.
“That’s not true, Rebel. Those words coming from you mean everything and you’ve given me so much more than you realize. So much more than your words.”
“It’s not enough,” I whisper.
His fingers tangle in my hair and give a gentle tug until there’s enough space between us that we can look at each other. He lets go of my hair and wipes the tears from my cheeks. When did I even start crying?
“You take my pain and make it into something else, something that doesn’t sting. You wrap my soul in your love and blanket me in warmth. It’s enough,” he assures me as fresh, hot tears roll down my cheeks.
I nod slowly, his steely eyes capturing mine. “He’s dead,” I don’t phrase it as a question, but an irrefutable fact.
Hell, if I would have been there and gotten to him first, I would have killed the bastard myself. I’ve never been someone prone to violence, but I would figure it the fuck out.
Tyler nods slowly, not saying the words we both know are true. I nod, my voice clipped, “Good.”
One side of his mouth lifts, wonder in his tone, “You’re perfect. So much fire wrapped in softness I can’t get enough of.”
Gah, this man and his mouth.
When I met the old ladies last week, they told me how happy they were that Tyler found someone and that they were worried about him. They could see his tortured soul, same as me. They also knew they couldn’t mend the broken pieces of him.
They described him as a man of few words, and I almost laughed. Not like he chats my ear off or anything, but I don’t find it to be a completely apt description. It made me feel special knowing I get a part of him no one else does.
I search his face, needing to know one more thing. “Are you okay?”
“I will be.”
I nod slowly, a thought popping into my head and making me blurt, “Did you come here thinking that seeing the truth behind who you are would scare me off?”
“No,” his voice is firm. “I just needed to see you. I needed to be wrapped up in you and your light after what happened tonight. I knew you would help to heal a little more of me with your touch,” he pauses, his voice dropping an octave, “and your love.”
I capture his face in my hands and kiss him, needing him to feel how much his words mean to me and how honored I am that he chose me.
Or maybe he didn’t, and fate did.
Not that it matters how we came to be, not anymore. What matters now is how we walk through life together.
Always together.
When he sets me back down, I make sure every part of him is washed clean. He does the same for me, his hands reverent against my skin. I can feel it in his touch, and I feel reborn once he’s done. It’s a heady feeling, one I welcome. Because the weight of it matters.
I try to grab a towel and dry him off, but he gently bats my hands away and wraps me up in the towel instead. His movements are precise, but there’s an edge of need there as well.
I know why.
I know what he needs.
When he scoops me up in his arms and strides into my bedroom, I’m more than ready for him.
I’ll be exactly what he needs.
His soft place to land.
