Page 132 of Wicked Games

“It’s damn real for me.” I take another step. Now we’re only a few feet apart. “Are you saying it isn’t real for you?”

He shakes his head. His tears have stopped, but his eyes are still watery and red.

“Tell me if it’s real or not.”

“It’s real,” he whispers.

“Do you believe that I love you?”

He nods, and I don’t miss the way his jaw works as another tear slides down his cheek.

“Then do you believe me when I say you’ll never have to fight alone again? That I’ll be there to fight with you when you need someone, and for you when it’s too much?”

He stares at me for so long I’m afraid I fucked everything up and he’s about to do something impulsive when he nods.

I hold out my hand.

There’s another long pause, but he eventually places the shard on my palm.

I hold out my other hand and almost let out a whoop of relief when he takes it.

He lets me pull him away from the mirror, and I toss the shard into the sink to get it out of the way.

His hand is bleeding, but I need to get him away from the bathroom and the reminder of what he almost did. Then we can worry about his injuries.

I get him into my room and close the door so he won’t have to see the mess. Then I pull him into my arms and hold him tight as all the fear and panic of almost losing him again hits alongside the overwhelming feelings of love I have for him.

He clings to me, and the sobs that tear out of him are loud and violent as he cries out everything he’s been holding on to.

“I’m sorry,” he sobs into my shoulder.

“Don’t be sorry.” I kiss his temple and hair. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

He tries to argue with me, but he’s crying too hard to get the words out.

“Shhhhh, babe,” I say, trying to soothe him. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

His sobs finally slow, and after another moment, they stop. He’s heavy in my arms now, and I bring him over to my bed.

“Lay down with me, like we always do,” I whisper.

He lets go of me, and I help him onto the bed. When he’s settled, I pull my hoodie off and toss it aside. He watches as I tug off my shirt and lie down with him.

He immediately rolls into me and snuggles up to my side.

“Can I see your hand?”

He uncurls his fist, and I’m able to see the extent of the damage.

Several long cuts snake across his palm, and his knuckles are swollen and bloody from punching the mirror, but it’s not as bad as I thought. He might need some stitches in his palm, but the cuts all look superficial and don’t seem to be deep enough that we have to worry about severed tendons or any damage to his muscles or nerves.

Carefully, I wrap my shirt around his hand. He needs to get it cleaned out and seen by a doctor, but right now, he needs to be held more.

“I love you,” he whispers. “You’re the only person I’ve ever loved.”

I press a kiss against his hair. “You’re the only person I’ve ever loved too.”

“I’m so scared that this is a dream and I’m going to wake up alone and everything will be like it was.”

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