He pulled back at that. “You have his next Preacher novel?”
My lips quirked into a smile at the sight of his first buzz of excitement. “Yes, I do.”
“I-I don’t want a bath though.” His big green eyes peered into mine like I had all the answers to the world’s problems, and how I wished I did.
“Why not?”
His brow puckered. “I don’t like—I don’t want to be naked.”
“Why?” I queried, for the life of me, unable to figure it out.
“I just don’t want to look at myself.”
That this beautiful man could say that to me was enough to blow my mind.
I refused to let Rhode rob him of his sense of self—the question was, how to help him?
Stroking my hand over his head, I let out a sigh and murmured, “Maybe you need to speak with someone, Micah? I’ve told you countless times that you’re so beautiful you’re painful to look at—”
My words triggered a reaction I didn’t anticipate. “You think I’m so fucking beautiful when this body is the reason she could do that to me. She fucked me, Devlin. She fucked me. My dick was hard.”
“From chemicals!” I retorted, pissed that he was somehow failing to remember that salient piece of information.
“How can it be beautiful if someone so ugly thought they could use it against me? And it worked!”
“You’re—” The words ‘being irrational’ were on the tip of my tongue, but I knew if I flung them down at this moment, it would be the verbal equivalent of tossing a gauntlet at his feet.
I had no desire to argue with him, not when he was well within his rights to be irrational.
If anyone deserved the freedom to think and do and feel whatever they wanted, it was him.
So, I raised my hands in surrender, and murmured, “Why don’t you get into bed? I’ll email you the manuscript. You can tell me what you think of it.”
The light sparked into being in his eyes for a split second, but I knew any joy he’d felt had perished under my mentioning the bath and then trying to make him see himself for what he was—gorgeous.
If he wanted to think he was ugly, then I’d let him. For the moment.
I had no experience in how to handle this, and whenever I tried, I fucked up. The only thing I knew how to do was to be there for him. To be there with him.
If he wanted to shout, he could shout at me—I had broad shoulders, I could take the burden.
If he wanted to hit me, I’d even take that. Didn’t I deserve that? I felt like I did.
Until we could leave New York, until the cops said they were done with him, officially, I’d let the status quo rest.
But when we were in the UK, when we were in London, I’d work harder to bring him out of his shell.
And if that didn’t work, then, God help me, I had no idea what to do.
“I’ll bring you some coffee,” I told him, not mentioning that I’d also bring him a sandwich.
He blinked at me. “Why are you being so kind to me? I-I cheated on you.”
My eyes flared wide at that, and I reached up to pinch the bridge of my nose. The desire to shake him hit me again, but Christ... he didn’t need me to do that, he just needed me to understand.
Why did I feel like I was the worst person in the world to be standing here, understanding him?
I was losing him. Inch by inch, he was fading before me, and if I didn’t stop it soon, it would be too late. Maybe even the trip to the UK would be too late.
So, I forgot about the coffee, forgot about the sandwich I’d intended on encouraging him to eat, and instead, I grabbed his hand and tucked it in mine before I led him to the bedroom.
I felt his tension grow with each step that took us nearer to the bed, but I didn’t acknowledge it, just climbed onto the mattress and settled down there. With our fingers still entwined, and with him not bothering to pull them apart, he followed me. Warily, but he was there, at least.
With a sigh, I rolled onto my side and encouraged him to do the same. Now tucked against me, I murmured, “Micah, many things happened that day, but you cheating on me wasn’t one of them. You were forced. You were drugged. Your will was snatched from you. If I have to tell you that a thousand times, I will.” I kissed the crown of his head. “I will.”
And though it wasn’t the vow I wanted to tell him, it was all I knew he could handle right now.
It seemed to work.
He relaxed in my hold, and for the first time since the rape, he rested. Actually rested. I did too. It might not have been dream-free, and the guilt was still there, but it was the best rest I’d had in a long time.
That, for the moment, was all I could ask for.
Twenty-Seven
Micah
With a frown, I watched as my cum drifted in lazy circles down the drain amid the suds from my shampoo. Now that was done, I reached for my cock and scrubbed it hard with the sponge, then rinsed. I did so three times, to the point where it was stinging with how briskly I’d touched it, but only then did it feel clean enough.
It was stupid to feel dirty when I’d wasted so much soap on it in the weeks since the attack, but no matter what I did, even when I’d made it bleed a few days back, it still felt soiled.
That pretty much summed up how I felt too.
Dirty.
Used.
The adjectives had me nipping my bottom lip to the point where it stung, and I raised my face to the water, letting it drown me for a second before I heard Devlin call out, “Micah?”
“Yeah?”
I saw him hovering in the doorway, but he didn’t come in. Didn’t even look.
Did I repulse him now?
I wasn’t sure how I couldn’t, but he seemed to have those same starry eyes when he looked at me. Even if it was dampened with regret and guilt.
That was, I knew, my biggest fear.
That he was only putting up with me because of what had happened, but then, I’d remember I was being stupid. No CEO instigated what Devlin had for a man he didn’t give a shit about.
I had to take comfort in that.
Harried, he called out, “You’re going to need to hurry it along. We have to get to the airport soon.”
The situation I found myself in was stressful, emotional warfare wasn’t my strong point, but I had to admit—Devlin before a flight was amusing. Enough to make me smile as I finished cleaning up.
I was the one with claustrophobia, but he was the one who was so anal with the details it was a joke.
We had four hours until the flight to London, and you’d think we were running late. I could practically feel the stress throbbing from him.
Because he’d been so patient with me, I tried to be the same with him, even if he’d reminded me twelve times so far that we were flying today.
I wasn’t sure if he thought the drugs had addled my brain or not, but I wasn’t that nuts that I’d forget I was flying into Heathrow for the first time in my life.
Visits to Europe had been frequent in my childhood, but mostly, we’d returned to visit family in Sweden, and then had gone down to Germany or France, never Britain.
I was looking forward to it, and I was pretty sure that during this horrendous waiting period where leaving depended on the cops approving our plans, it had been the only thing getting me through.