Page 22 of Cuts Like An Angel: Part 3

She listened for footsteps. Did he go to the bathroom? Was he okay? His footsteps approached and Rosie flew to the fridge. “I was thinking tuna,” she announced when he burst in. “Eggs and tuna? Sandwiches?” She finally turned with eggs to face him, and froze at seeing him pacing behind her, blood glistening inside three deep scratches across his face. “Oh, God. Did she do that?”

He hurried to the sink and turned on the water. “First order of business, have her declawed.” He shook his head as if he was shaking something off himself and sniffed, then breathed. Giving the soap container several pumps, he lathered his hands, making them thick with soap. He didn’t wince when he wiped the soap across his face and cleaned the wounds.

Rosie was too shocked to move or speak. She didn’t know what she was more freaked out over, the fact his mother had scratched him, or the amount of hate she saw in the stiff movements of William as he silently moved around the kitchen, his jaw tight, his eyes set. She didn’t remember ever seeing him like that before. And to think … he was just talking nicely to her.

“I’m so sorry. What can I do?” Rosie finally asked, setting the eggs on the counter and approaching hm.

“Don’t antagonise her,” he said.

Rosie paused a few feet from him. “I … I didn’t mean … what do you mean? How do you mean?”

He yanked several pieces of kitchen towel off the roll and used them to wipe his hands and face. Blood still welled in the cuts. “Being nice to her.” He patted the cuts on his face, not looking at her still.

“I was … not doing that to antagonise …” she said, softly.

“I know you weren’t, but that’s what it does. It pokes the beast.”

“William …”

He stormed to the trash can and dumped the paper towels in there and turned to face her. The fight in his face and posture hit her like a brick wall. “What?” he said. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

She fought for her courage, remembering who he was to her, who she was to him. But especially what this woman was to him and all the things she’d done to him. She remembered the room, and the stories he’d been afraid to tell her, but they were there nonetheless, old wounds, still festering under the surface of this handsome man. A man she loved … adored. How did she break through the sudden python that had wrapped itself around the man who meant the world to her?

The panic of not having the answer to that, sent her running to him with a hug. Wrapping her arms tight around him, she murmured. “I’ve got you.” Whispered words against his shoulder. It was the right thing to say. It came to her without thinking, like instinct. “I’m here. I’m not leaving. I’m on your side. I’m on your side. I am on your side,” she said over and over until his arms softened at his sides. She pushed through the small opening he’d given her and slipped her arms under his, hugging him closer, tighter. “Me and you, William. We’re together. We’re a team. I love you. I’ll never leave you. I’m here.” She whispered the last part against his ear, breathing in the scent that was all him. The hint of soap, his cologne, the outside, all mingled into something warm.

His arms went around her so quickly, it startled her. She let out a gasp and a sob, wilting in relief. “I’m afraid, Rosie.”

Dear, God. He’d taken the words right out of her mouth. She was terrified too. “I’m here.” It was all she could think to say. “Don’t be afraid. Whatever it is, we can face it.” As she soothed him, her courage and purpose returned. To love William. Restore William. Protect William. She must never lose sight of that. “I have your back. I love you.” She pulled back enough to meet his gaze. “Tell me you believe me.”

He nodded—desperate nods.

“Say it. Say you believe me.”

“I believe,” he said. “I believe you. I believe you.”

Pain crushed her heart as he continued to repeat those words—the mantra of a man who was sure his childhood bogeyman was hiding under his bed, and the words would hide them and keep them safe.

Dear God in heaven. What on earth were they both in for?

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