Page 11 of Vegas Baby

One of Sebastian’s thick, dark brows quirks up. “It’s okay to not be fine, Kira. You’ve been through a lot.”

White hot anger rises to the surface. “What do you know? One night where I tell you a little of my past, and you think you know what I’ve been through? You know nothing. Stop trying to pretend like you have any idea what’s going on. Stop trying to save me.” I rise, storming past him and into the bathroom, slamming the door behind me.

And I sink to the floor, overcome with hate and anger and despair, silent sobs wracking my body. Every jarring motion sends pain shooting through my neck, but I don’t stop. I can’t stop. The floodgates have released.

I don’t even hear the door open. Don’t even know he’s there until he sinks down behind me, wrapping his arms around me until I lean against him. He braces my head and shoulders, and the pain lessens. He holds me there without a word as I let go.

When my tears begin to abate, I know it wasn’t about him. Not really. I’d been breaking for a long time. The knowledge I was only at Andrei’s mercy because I allowed it was the straw that broke the camel’s back, as they say. Or broke me, as it were. And in hitting bottom I threw insults at the man who now sits beside me, all the broken pieces of me in his arms without judgment, without agenda.

At first, shame washes over me. But then, I realize — I can let this undo me, or I can accept the gift of his kindness and use it to get stronger. Even if the idea that I need his help leaves me deeply conflicted. With a sniff, I pull my pieces back together and sit up.

Through watery, puffy eyes, I look at him, unsure of whether to say, “I’m sorry” or “Thank you.”

But before I can say either, he rises, pulling me gently with him.

“Come on,” he says, tugging me out of the bathroom. “I know exactly what you need.”

8

SEBASTIAN

“Oh my god, I had no idea,” Kira says, sinking back into the couch, happy tears leaking out of her eyes. “You’re right, that was exactly what I needed.”

With a chuckle, I mute the credits and set aside the empty container of Chunky Monkey. “There’s also Legally Blonde 2,” I offer teasingly.

Her eyes light up. “Yes, please!” she says enthusiastically, then hesitates. “I mean, if you want to.”

I stare at her for a moment, holding back what I really want to say. Because after seeing her break down this morning, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to make her feel better. But such a strong statement freaks me out, so I can’t imagine how she’d take it. No, better to keep it light. Easy. Until and unless she’s ready to talk about it.

“You think I’d have watched the first one if I wasn’t prepared to watch them both?” I tease instead. “I have two older sisters, Kira. I know the healing power of a good chick flick.” I wink and reach for the remote, but she stops me with a hand over mine.

“Thank you, Sebastian. And I want to apologize —”

I hold up a hand. “You have nothing to apologize for. You weren’t wrong. I don’t really know what you’ve been through.”

“Still, I am sorry,” she insists. “You’ve been kind. And obviously I do need your help. I had no right to speak to you in anger. I was just upset.”

“I understand,” I assure her. I resist telling her I know how she feels because I don’t. Though I have hit rock bottom a time or three, so I know what that part feels like. And it has to be you who wants to climb out. Nobody can do it for you. “You’re allowed to feel everything you’re feeling right now. I’m not going to hold anything you say against you. I know this isn’t easy for you. I’m not going anywhere.”

Her dark lashes flutter and suddenly, to my surprise, she’s crawling into my lap and wrapping herself around me. I can feel the gratitude and relief in her embrace, and I can’t help but kiss the silky, dark crown of her head. As much as I’ve tried to keep a polite distance, I’m relieved. Because it’s hard not to feel protective and affectionate toward her. And it feels good to know she feels that way too.

“Sebastian?”

I pull back and look into her eyes. “Yeah?”

“Let’s order pizza and watch the movie. Yes?”

I laugh and shake my head. Fucking hell. Under any other circumstances, I would’ve kissed a girl for saying that. “Sounds like a plan.”

So we watch chick flick after chick flick until she falls asleep on the couch, leaning against me. I know she enjoyed the movies, but I also got the sense she wanted to avoid thinking about anything else, much less talking about it. Something else I understand, which is why I didn’t question her. Even though I’m curious as fuck what set her off this morning. And what she plans to do about the dark cloud named Andrei hanging over her head. It’s good I have to go back to work in the morning because otherwise my curiosity might get the better of me, and I don’t want to push her before she’s ready.

I pick her up carefully, marveling at how light she is in my arms, how the worry which always tightens her eyebrows and lips is smoothed away in sleep. I gently tuck her into bed, closing the door behind me. And in what I’m pretty sure is going to become a ritual, I touch the door and say another prayer for her.

* * *

We fall into a routine for the next three days where I work, spend all day wondering how she’s doing, then bring home dinner only to spend the whole night talking with her, watching movies, or whatever she wants to do. I don’t know if it’s her pain levels and ability to move getting better, or because she’s had solid time and distance from her abuser, but every day it seems like she’s more alive, more energetic, more talkative.

And the more she opens up about herself — her past, her passion for her work, her desires — the more I want to know. The more questions I have, most of which I never voice because they skate too close to the few subjects she avoids or shuts down completely, all having to do with the future, both immediate and distant. But she asks me plenty of questions of her own, all of which I answer.

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