Page 95 of Between Dusk and Dawn

"You bloodied while staring awkwardly as the cum freezes on my lips?" I retorted, and he burst into laughter, then winced from his broken ribs.

"Yes, Muse. Just that." He interlaced his fingers in mine—a perfect fit.

We headed toward the house, and he winced with each step. "I’ll tell Enzo to call the doctor to come to the house after we get you washed up."

"Stop," he complained. "I don't need that."

I narrowed my eyes at him as he walked a step forward and his brow furrowed. "Okay, okay. You win."

"Good." I huffed. Because little did he know he had actually won. We weren't at war anymore, but even if we were, I would have waved my white flag repeatedly if I knew this was the prize.I would have willingly lost every battle, knowing I would win in the end.

The afternoon sunlightstreamed through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the living room, and I dampened a soft cloth with warm water. Walsh sat on the couch shirtless, revealing the aftermath of being tied up—bruised and battered, with blood staining his skin. The scent of antiseptic hung in the air.

Taking a gentle approach, I dabbed at the dried blood on his face. Every swipe of the cloth revealed more of his features, and with each motion, I felt an intimate connection forming. The bruises on his lip and the cuts on his face mirrored the battles he faced, both visible and invisible. Walsh remained quiet as I cared for him, watching my every move.

The doctor just left, after confirming broken ribs, emphasizing the need for rest and caution. Walsh nodded in acknowledgment, a stoic expression masking the discomfort he surely felt.

We found ourselves back on the couch, drawn to the flickering flames in the fireplace. The warmth enveloped us, casting a tranquil spell over the room. I nestled beside Walsh, feeling the comforting heat of the fire and the reassuring rhythm of his breath.

In the quietude, our fingers gently intertwined, and without words, an unspoken understanding passed between us. The day unfolded lazily, marked by the crackling fire and shared glances that conveyed more than any spoken language could. We remained entwined in the cocoon of the living room, finding solace in the simple act of being together.

"I am sorry," Walsh finally said, breaking the silence between us. We were snuggled under one of his oversized plush blankets, my legs intertwined with his. I pulled away only so I could see him, searching his face for understanding.

"For what?" I asked scanning his face for clues.

"Everything," his voice cracked. "I am sorry I ever treated you like you were secondary to anything. You were never second to anyone or anything in my life. I was just consumed?—"

I cut him off by pressing my lips to his thick lips. "Shh."

"I am sorry for lying. I should’ve told you what happened that night, but it was a secret I wanted to bury."

"And the guy who did it?" I asked.

He shrugged. "He was a good guy. I didn’t want anyone else to die, so my dad thinks the Den killed her."

"You had to keep that for so long," I whispered. "I am sorry."

"Why?" His voice cracked, the weight of his guilt palpable. "Why forgive me so easily?"

The answer, though simple, carried a depth that seemed to elude him. "I couldn't even give you a proper Christmas," he confessed, tears welling in his eyes. It struck me that this might be the first time he had allowed himself such vulnerability. "I ruined it because of my last name, who I am, and how I messed up all the plans I laid out and Georgie came for you. I ruined it because I didn't come up with a backup?—"

"Stop." I sat up straighter. "You ruined nothing." My gaze swept around the room, encompassing the holiday decorations and the roaring fire before returning to him. "All I've ever wanted is a family for Christmas. I just wanted to spend time with you."

I shifted on the couch, feeling a mix of vulnerability and relief as I opened up to Walsh. "I've never had a family that cared enough. My parents, they broke me down piece by piece until Ifelt like nothing. They never cared about taking care of me. They attempted to burn me alive for God's sake."

"Do you ever miss them?" Walsh asked.

I swallowed. I wasn’t sure if I had the answer to the question. I often thought I missed the concept of what family was supposed to be in my fairy tales, but never my parents themselves. "My father is still alive. He has a whole family out in California, but I’ve never thought of him as my dad after that night."

"Have you ever thought about making amends with him?"

"No," I admitted. "Sometimes life is messy and sometimes the pieces don’t always fit into a neat puzzle, but I don't ever want to see him again."

"He never went to jail?"

"No. Neither of them did."

"Madison…"

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