Flanked by Dante and Matt on one side, Rhiannon and Niall on the other, his gaze jumps straight to me.
Just for a moment, I devour him with my eyes.
I inspect his face and body, searching for injuries.
I try to read his expression, looking for any sign that he might be upset. Or that he’s struggling with his PTSD, triggered by having to go back into the game that nearly killed him.
But he looks just as he did when he left. Strong. Confident. Unharmed.Safe.
The only emotions on his face are of relief and concern.
Oh.
He’s back.
Before I can stop myself, I leap off the couch and race towards him. He opens his arms moments before I crash into him, wrapping them around me and hugging me close. “Tate,” he murmurs against my hair. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I mumble into his shirt. “I’m just so?—”
But, of course, I ruin it by bursting into tears.
Not just crying, but full on sobbing, as all my pent-up emotions come pouring out.
One hand comes to my back, rubbing it in slow strokes. “Don’t cry,” Erik pleads. He presses his lips to the top of my head. “Don’t cry, Tate. It’s okay. It’s all over now.”
As much as I’d like to oblige him, I can’t seem to stop crying.
I know I’m making a fool of myself, sobbing in Erik’s arms in front of everyone. Especially after they tried so hard to reassure me. After Xaviertoldme Erik was fine.
Erik shifts me in his arms so I’m tucked into his side. “Come on,” he says softly. “Let’s get out of here.”
In an attempt to salvage some of my pride—what little is left—I press my face into his chest and let Erik lead me from the room.
As he guides me down the hallway that leads to the wing that houses all the apartments, I work to stifle my tears. I try to slow my hiccuping breaths and pry my face from his shirt. I try desperately to shift back to the strong woman ErikthoughtI was.
Rather than going to my apartment, like we usually do, this time Erik brings me to his. He hugs me with one arm while he unlocks the door with the other, then gently brings me inside. Once we’re in the privacy of his living room, he scoops me off my feet and carries me over to the couch, then sits down and sets me onto his lap.
Eyes dark with concern, he inspects my face as he tenderly brushes away my tears. “Can you tell me what’s wrong? Were you scared? Did you have nightmares? I’m so sorry I wasn’t here for you.”
Sniffling loudly—so lovely, I know—I swallow several times before replying in a quivering voice, “I was scared for you. I know… you said you’d be fine. Xavier said you were okay. But I couldn’t stop worrying. I kept thinking, what if Xavier was wrong? What if youwerehurt and no one told me? What if that man sent someone after you?”
“Oh, Tate.” Erik’s features pinch with pain. “I’m so sorry. I knew it wouldn’t be easy for you, but I didn’t think… Shit. This is all my fault. Leaving you like this. I’m so fucking sorry.”
“No, it’s not your fault. Don’t say that.” After another unattractive sniffle, I add, “It’s your job. I know you have to do it. It’s?—”
“But it’s too much,” he interrupts. His face falls. His voice flattens. “I should have expected. After everything you’ve been through, I can’t expect… Shit. Of course this kind of thing wouldbe too much. It’s not fair of me to ask you to do this every time I leave for a job.”
Fear explodes in my chest. “Wait. What?”
Regret darkens his eyes. “I promised I wouldn’t hurt you. And this… You’re crying. You were scared. Because of me.” A beat, and then miserably, “I’m the one who dragged you into this to start. That asshole targeted B and A. Not you. It’s my fucking fault you’re suffering. How can I expect you to go through this?—”
“Wait.” I grab his arm. “It’s not your fault. What are you talking about?”
“Like I said. I was targeted because of my association with B and A. You were only taken because you were with me. And if that’s not bad enough, which it sure as fuck should be, I made you cry. Made you worry.”
As his words sink in, my tears dry up. The overwhelming relief is replaced by another burst of fear. “What are you saying?”
“That I’ve caused you so much pain already, Tate. The island, and the shooting range, and now this…”