I think in the days we’ve been apart, he’s aged.
Again, I try to speak, but I can't. He puts a glass to my lips. I sip the cool water but only manage a little.
“You’re back,” he says, attempting a smile, and without warning, it’s as though a dam breaks. All the anxiety, the doubt, the fear comes pouring out of me in loud, ugly, choking sobs. He pulls my head into his chest, holding on to me. One big hand cups my head while the other rubs circles into my back.
I cling to him. I cling as if I would die without him.
“Did they...” I trail off.
He draws back, shakes his head. “No. We were in time.”
I suck in a sob. “Thank goodness.”
The door clicks as someone closes it. He kisses my forehead, my cheeks, my mouth, all the while whispering that it will be all right. That I’m safe. The baby is safe. That we're home.
Through the blur, I see his face, familiar and dark. I take it into my hands, feeling his warmth, the soft, scarred flesh, thumbs on lips, lips on lips, the salt of tears as we kiss. I push away his shirt, popping the buttons when I slide my hands underneath to touch him, needing his skin, needing to burrow closer, kissing him while my fingers brush over years-old scars. I want them to become familiar. I want to memorize them. To know the past the ink hides. To see the broken man hidden beneath.
He draws back, but I pull at him. I need to be close. To touch him. To feel him.
“I need you,” I manage.
He hesitates, but a moment later, he slips the nightgown I’m wearing over my head. I’m naked and shivering until he takes me into his arms again, skin on skin, his shirt gone, ripped away, my hands on his face as I memorize his eyes, feel the stubble that grows on the un-inked side of his face. My gaze follows the path of my own hands over his neck, shoulders, chest as he lays me on my back and straddles me, keeping his weight on his forearms while my fingers trace over skin and scars and ink.
I see the bandages that circle my wrists before I close my eyes and feel him kiss me, kiss my face, my neck, my breasts. I wrap my legs around him, wanting him inside me. Needing him inside me.
He draws back just a little, eyes locked on mine, and I hear the buckle of his belt, the zipper of his pants, and then he’s at my entrance. I draw in a rattling breath, and I watch him as he pushes inside me, watch how his eyes shift, darken, pupils dilated, skin flushed, mouth open just a little as he dips his head down to kiss me, gentle at first, then as the fucking grows more frantic, teeth scraping teeth as he says my name again and again like he needs this too, as much as I do.
One hand wraps around the top of my head, and the other closes over my shoulder. His eyes lock on mine with the final thrusts, and when we come, it’s a deep, slow thing, not frantic, not hurried, neither of us taking but instead giving, and I feel tears again sliding down over my temples when he kisses me, the thudding organ inside my chest not twisting but something else, something different.
I draw a shuddering breath, look at the top of his dark head as he bows it into the crook of my neck, his breathing labored, cock still throbbing inside me. I bite my lip so hard when the words come that I taste the copper of blood to swallow them back and shove them down. And when he looks back up at me, something’s inside his eyes I can’t name, and I wonder what he’s swallowed down. If it’s lodged in his throat like the words are lodged in mine. And I think how sad we are. Even now.
Santiago rolls to lie beside me, our heads on one pillow, face-to-face. He brushes my hair back, wiping away stray tears, and here come those words again, that choking emotion. They want out, but I swallow hard.
Because I can’t say them.
Because I can’t love him.
“Did you come for the baby?” I ask instead. It’s important we’re clear. We’re each where we belong and know where we stand, even if it hurts.
He looks confused, and it takes a moment for him to reply as if he’s considering. “I came for you.”
7
Ivy
Santiago doesn’t leave my side. After bathing me and helping me dress, he stands at the wall, arms folded across his chest, watching as the doctor asks me questions and explains what they’d injected me with. A muscle relaxer rather than an anesthetic, albeit a strong one.
Santiago snorts when this doctor uses the term doctor about that other man. “He was no more a doctor than I am. More like a piece of shit.”
“It wasn’t harmful to you or the baby. That’s the most important thing,” the doctor continues after clearing his throat. He turns my head to study the bruise at my temple. “You were lucky.”
“Lucky?” Santiago interrupts again. “I’m not sure I’d call her lucky.”
“I meant any damage will heal.” He smiles, giving me a wink. He takes a card out of his pocket and sets it on the nightstand. “If you need anything or have questions, I’m available day and night to the members of The Society.”
He’s a Society doctor.
“We want our members to feel safe and well cared for, and you certainly are, Ivy. Especially during such an important time.” I guess he means the pregnancy.
I glance at Santiago. His hair is still wet from the shower, but he’s dressed in a fresh white button-down and dark slacks and looks more like himself. It makes me smile a little. He’ll be a cantankerous old man, I think.
He shifts his gaze to me and momentarily appears puzzled by my expression, but then there’s a knock on the door, which is open just a little, and to my surprise, Eva peers inside.
“Eva!”
She pushes the door wide open and gives me a big smile that shows all her teeth as she hurries to hug me even tighter than she had at the hospital. I hear her sniffle and rub her back.
“I’m so glad you’re safe and home,” she says, voice quiet so only I can hear her.
“Me too.”
I look at Santiago over her shoulder and gesture to the door. I know he understands I’m asking him to give me a minute with my sister, but he just carries on talking to the doctor like he doesn’t, so I clear my throat as Eva pulls away.
“Can you give us a minute?” I ask outright.
The doctor smiles. “Of course. I need to be going. If you need anything, just call.”
“Thank you,” I say and shift my gaze to Santiago, who just keeps on standing there. “Why don’t you walk the doctor out? I promise I’ll be right here when you get back.”
He shifts his gaze to Evangeline, who I can see is smiling, then back to me. “Fine,” he says, but he sounds far from fine. “I’ll be right back.” They head out a moment later, Santiago making a point to leave the door open.
“He’s sweet, I guess. In his own weird way,” Eva says.
I’m confused. “Santiago?”
She nods.
“Sweet?”
“You should have seen him when you were missing. He was really worried about you.”
That makes me smile. I want to believe it’s true.
“I came for you.”
A thought niggles at the back of my mind. Did he just say that because I’m pregnant? Because he doesn’t want to upset me for fear of something happening to the baby? I can’t forget the days leading up to the hospital. I can’t pretend they didn’t happen.