Page 146 of Devilish Ink

The tears escaped between my eyelashes as his head came to rest against my chest, his cheek warm, his stubble scratchy through the thin cotton of my hospital nightgown.

“Ryleigh,” he whispered back, his voice trembling. “I thought I’d lost you.”

The tubes tangled as I reached for him. He wrapped his arms carefully around me, lifting my back from the thin mattress and drawing me close to him. Eyes still closed I clung to him, breathed in his scent, shuddering in relief.

I thought I’d lost you, too.

“I woke up earlier and you weren’t here,” I said, pulling back to see his eyes. “Where were you?”

A darkness shadowed his brow. His gaze shifted at something that I knew was far off and away from this dim hospital room. I could look over there. But I wouldn’t see what he was seeing. And I feared it would divide us forever.

“Liam,” I whispered.

“I don’t want to lie to you,” he said,his voice haunted. “So don’t ask me again.”

I knew. Of course I knew. I could see it, written as if in black ink in the deepened lines around his eyes. I could feel it in the weight of his body against mine, heavier than when he left me.

I cupped Liam’s face and he flinched. When I tried to tug his face in the direction of mine, he resisted. “Liam…”

“Don’task.”

“Iknowwhere you were.”

“No,” Liam said, anguish seeming to rip apart his vocal cords.

“You were—”

“Don’t say it.” Liam’s gaze met mine with such ferocity.

But I didn’t flinch.

“You were giving me my home back,” I whispered, running my thumb along his cheekbone, his skin dry from too much recent scrubbing. “You were stealing Ireland back for me. You were returning these emerald hills to my heart.”

I brushed aside a fleck of dried blood on his ear. “You were giving our baby a safe place to grow up in. You were giving our baby a wide, big, open world. You were making a home…for ourdaughter.”

His eyes widened as my words sank into him. “We…we have a daughter?”

I nodded, tears running down my cheeks. She was still in ICU and not out of the woods yet, but…

“We have a daughter.”

RY

Six months later…

I climbed out of the bath, avoiding the mirror over the pedestal sink. It was probably fogged up anyway from the steam. But I didn’t want to take that risk.

Out in the bedroom, I leaned over the basket of fresh laundry and grabbed a pair of long baggy pants and a sweatshirt. I threw out all my old miniskirts and tiny tops. I didn’t see a way back to that old version of me.

My bathrobe had slipped slightly from my shoulder and when I looked up and caught my reflection in the full-length mirror, I saw what I’d been trying so hard to avoid seeing. My stomach twisted at the sight.

The knife wounds had healed over the months. They no longer hurt. But they sometimes itched, which was almost worst.

With pain, the last thing you want to do is touch it. When Iscratched the itch, I was forced to feel the raised skin inch by inch, forced to relive the memory of him cutting me.

The scars were healing. But like me, not fast enough.

My fingertips trembled at my sides as I stared at the jagged line which followed the angle of my shoulder. I knew what I should do: turn around, pull on the pyjamas still warm from the dryer, and snuggle up beneath the covers till Liam came in and kissed the back of my neck. But…

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