Page 136 of Captive Omega

Vaughn stopped drumming when I wasn’t paying attention.

He knows Henry moved on. They all do. It’s humiliating that they know as much as they do. No one wants to be replaceable, and that’s what I am.

I swallow the lump in my throat and hope I’m doing a good enough job of hiding how close I am to crying. “You said I could?—”

He offers me the sticks before I’ve finished speaking.

I cross over to him, take the sticks, and I beat the shit out of the drums while perched on his lap. I don’t give a fuck about rhythm or accuracy. I don’t even care if Vaughn is secretly laughing at how bad I am. All I want is to get this pain in my heart out, and what better way to do that than through violence?

My cheeks are wet when Vaughn takes the sticks from my loose grip and tucks my face against his neck, wrapping his arm around me. There’s no funny business or flirtatious behavior. He just hugs me.

“You’re positive you don’t want him dead?” he asks. “I’ve always wanted to take someone out with a throwing star.”

Sniffing, I shake my head and lean into his hug.

“Anytime you want to come down here, the drums are yours, okay? This bit of kit saw me through one of the toughest periods of my life.”

I pull away so I can look at him. “Violet died. Henry just…”

He frames my jaw, one thumb gently thumbing away the moisture from my cheeks. “Loss is loss, beautiful. And grief, no matter the reason, still hurts.”

When he’s not trying to make me laugh, sometimes, he has this ability to say the exact thing I need to hear. “Thanks, Vaughn.”

He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear and his touch lingers. “Any time.”

We’re too close.

Way, way too close for him to be looking at me with the tenderness he is.

I push myself up from his lap. “I should go. Thanks for the drums, and sorry for making your ears bleed. It really helped.”

His hand snags mine in a loose, easily breakable grip, gently squeezing. “Or you could stay?” he suggests.

“No, I can’t.”

I should be grieving Henry, not… whatever the hell I’m doing now.

“Okay.” Vaughn surprises me with his easy acceptance.

I’m not sure if I’m disappointed or relieved he’s letting me go just like that, but I need to leave, so I walk away. Feet from the door, I grind to a halt.

Vaughn is drumming. He’s also singing. His singing voice is deep, a little husky, but real. Raw. The song is cheerful and familiar. I’ve heard it before, only I can’t remember where or even when. But I like it.

“What are you doing?” I ask with my back to him.

He pauses his singing. “Serenading you.”

I briefly shut my eyes and then turn to look at him. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Why?”

“You’re sad. Bad Moon Rising was the first song I learned to play. It put the biggest, stupidest grin on my face. Maybe Creedence will make you want to smile too.” His amusement fades. “And Resa?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re worth waiting for. You have three men under this roof who would wait forever for you.” He salutes me with a stick before he resumes serenading me.

I mean to walk away.

I even take two steps and then I stop.

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