His body slid down until he sat under the spray. Wrapping his arms around his legs, another sob escaped, and another. His head fell to his knees, and he let himself cry.
Chapter 36
Opening her eyes was one of the hardest things Summer had ever done. She’d escaped what was happening to her body by imagining Ramiro. It was better to stay in her daydreams.
Even when the anger had spilled over, Ramiro had stayed. He’d told her he’d never leave her. That couldn’t be real. Her mind liked to soothe her with pretty lies that let her hide from the pain.
Opening her eyes would take all that away. She struggled to do it, so worried he wouldn’t be there.
He was the first thing she saw. He sat in a chair pulled next to her bed, and his hand covered hers, the white bandage around it no longer soaked with blood but a clean white against his tanned skin.
Her grip clung to him.
“I’m here, baby girl,” he murmured.
How many times had she imagined those words? They’d covered other sounds, the grunts, the pants, the laughs, and the voices, voices she never wanted to hear again.
She closed her eyes, but when she opened them again, he was still there.
“Say it again?” she begged.
“I’m here.” His fingers squeezed hers. “I’m here, and I’m not leaving.”
Her hand loosened as her body relaxed. She enjoyed the way his hold tightened, as if he would never let her go.
This, just this, having him there and having it be real, was all she needed.
Summer paused in the bedroom doorway. The lights were on, making the space bright, spotlighting a flowered comforter she’d never seen before. It didn’t look like the same room she’d been taken from.
She still didn’t want to go inside.
Summer had already changed into her sunflower pajama set, her favorite ones. The medicated wipes they’d given her from the hospital had soothed some of the pain of what had been done to her. The doctors had also prescribed bed rest until she checked in with her obstetrician. She was tired, and she wanted to sleep.
But she really didn’t want to lie in that bed.
Ramiro exited from the bathroom, wearing a pair of his sleep pants. He hadn’t worn them to bed ever since they’d started sleeping naked in each other’s arms. Her eyes dropped to the carpet, which had no stain at all, even the area where he’d been shot.
His feet filled her vision, and then his hands lifted slowly before running soothingly down her arms.
“I’m not tired yet. Up for watching some reruns?”
She nodded, turning toward the hallway.
She found herself staring at the blue bowl more than the show, remembering the day he’d bought it for her, and her heartbeat slowed. The moonlight made the bowl on its stand near the sliding glass door glow. She curled her body toward Ramiro’s on the couch. Her head found his shoulder, the one without the bandage, and she shut her eyes.
Ramiro’s scent, vanilla and spice with a bit of citrus, wrapped around her. His lips grazed the top of her head. The voices on the TV melded into a thrum, and then she didn’t hear them at all as exhaustion pulled her under.
Summer’s scream cut off as she jerked awake in bed, her body shaking. Ramiro reached for her, his touch soothing, familiar, as he stroked her trembling hand. Summer couldn’t breathe. She always felt like she couldn’t breathe in the nightmares.
“I’m here. I’ve got you,” Ramiro whispered, waiting for her eyes to lift to his before he pulled her in against him.
Her face pressed into the warmth of his neck, and she finally pulled in air, his scent wrapping around her. His good hand brushed over her hair in a slow, repetitive caress.
Her trembling slowly eased as she lay in his arms, staring at the puckered scar on his shoulder.
That first week after, she hadn’t been able to sleep in the bed, but she could sleep here again, as long as Ramiro was with her.
He never came to bed naked, and his touches always set out to soothe her, to comfort. Weeks had passed, but besides light brushes of his lips against her hair and her forehead, he didn’t kiss her, not really. He was sweet and patient and careful.