Page 93 of Stay for Me

Diana is walking through the depths of her own damn hell as we speak.

Diana is walking through the depths of her own damn hell as we speak.

Diana is walking through the depths of her own damn hell as we speak.

Diana is walking through the depths of her own damn hell as we speak.

Diana is walking through the depths of her own damn hell as we speak.

“Sis,” Kings tried, but she ignored him too, looking at me.

“She’s asking for you, Mags.”

I was back in the house, kicking the door shut before she finished. Valerie was in the kitchen with Abbie, their soft whispers coming to a halt as they both turned to look at me.

“Hi, Mags,” Valerie greeted softly, studying me intently.

Jaw painfully tight, I tipped my hat to both of them. “Where is she?”

“Spare bedroom,” Abbie answered.

I said nothing else, prowling down the hallway, my footsteps echoing through my home. I braced myself, unsure of what I should expect.. I just hoped all the blood and dirt was off her. If I had to spend another second of my life seeing her like that, like she’d been in the same war zones I’d been in, I would kill someone. I stopped in the doorway, finding her dressed in lilac PJ shorts and a cream shirt—Valerie’s, I presumed. That blonde hair, only a small contribution to my addiction, was damp and braided over her shoulder. She leaned against the headboard, pillows behind her back, three underneath her foot. Her hands were folded in her lap, fingers laced together, but her thumb was moving back and forth, as if she was trying to self-sooth. She wasn’t looking at me, but at the painting on the wall across from the bed, hanging over the dresser.

“Pretty,” she whispered, sensing my presence.

Yes, yes she fuckin’ was.

This was the most natural I’d seen her, and I was struggling not to fall to my damn knees, to give in to every single want—need—I had for her. Prettiest damn thing I’d ever seen. I’d been all over this damn planet, and nothing—no one—could compare.

“May I come in?” I asked, my voice gruff, thick with a mix of agony and need.

She looked confused when those hazel eyes finally landed on me. “This is your cabin,” she said.

“And for the time being, this is your room,” I gently clarified. “Do you want me in or not?”

Pain flashed across her beauty as she nodded. Slowly, I stepped inside and pulled off my hat, holding it to my chest and ignoring the organ pounding inside of it. Her skin was clean now and I could breathe slightly easier, but the bruising on her thigh and the cuts up and down her arms made the knife in my gut sink that much deeper.

“You look tired.”

I blinked, my eyes snapping up from her legs to meet hers. Her face was soft, her brows slightly bunched in concern. “What?” I asked.

She cleared her throat. “You look exhausted, Mags,” she noted, her voice stronger.

My body was running on fumes of fear and adrenaline, but I knew it was only a matter of time before I passed out. The last time I’d gone this long without any kind of rest was overseas, in the middle of a desert. My squadron and I were under attack for six days straight, deep in enemy territory. While our lives were on the line, some bastards in suits over in D.C. spent five of those days weighing the consequences of sending in backup, not to mention air cover.

“I’m alright,” I told her, the phantom pain on my left side making itself known for the first time in weeks.

My firefly stared at me for some time, and I let her, needing anything from her, even if it was just her gaze. “Mags,” she began tentatively, “I can have Thomas or Chase take me home.”

I stiffened.

No. Hell the fuck no.

She continued talking, as if she hadn’t just scared the shit out of me for the second time today. “It might be for the best anyways. You need your rest, and the last thing I want to be is a bother to you.”

I wanted her to be my only bother, for the rest of my damn life.

“I suggest,” I started on a low growl, getting her attention, “that you snap that pretty little mouth shut.”

---