Page 100 of Innocent Intentions

I need a second. A second to force air into my lungs. To swallow back the rage, the guilt, the unbearable weight of knowing I almost lost her.

I need a clear head to drive her home. I won’t ever put her in danger.

The drive back is silent. Both of us trying to cope with what happened. But the whole way, my hand is on her thigh. Benny lays his head in her lap. She rests a hand on his head.

She’ll get through this. She’s Margot. She’s strong.

It won’t be easy. But I’ll be there. Every second. Every step.

Because I’m never leaving her side again.

Chapter 38

Margot

I don’t process anything from the drive home.

I don’t process anything at all.

Matty opens the passenger door, unbuckles my seatbelt, and picks me up. I don’t protest. I don’t tell him I can walk.

Because I can’t.

Benny whines at the loss of contact, and the moment I’m out the car, he’s right there, pressed into Matty’s legs, glued to my side like he’s afraid I’ll disappear.

Petting him in the car kept me grounded. That, and Matty’s hand on my thigh. Though I think he needed the connection just as much as I did.

He carries me upstairs, through our bedroom, and into the bathroom.

He sets me on the floor beside the tub and turns on the water, adjusting the temperature, testing it, and adjusting again until he deems it acceptable.

He hesitates before leaving, stepping into the bedroom. I hear him telling Benny he needs to stay before the door clicks shut.

He’s only gone for seconds.

But when he returns, the look on his face... it’s like he’s been away for hours. Like he couldn’t breathe without me in sight.

I know how he feels. I can’t be alone right now. I need him too.

He looks at me for permission, and I nod.

He gently undresses me.

I sigh, relieved to be rid of the clothes. They feel wrong. Dirty. Contaminated. I never want to see them again.

He lifts me into the water. It’s hot, but not enough to burn. The tub is so deep, the water rises to my collarbones. I’m engulfed in warmth, but I can’t relax. My eyes stay locked on the pile of discarded fabric.

“Can we throw them away?” My voice is barely there, raw and quiet. “Those clothes. I don’t want them. They feel dirty.”

Matty exhales in relief. “Of course, sweetheart. You never have to see them again. We can do whatever you want.” His voice is patient. Gentle.

I look at him for the first time since he found me.

His eyes are haunted, like he’s seen his own demons and barely survived. Lines of worry mar his face, aging him decades. He’s pale and tinted green.

And he’s shaking. It’s a small tremor. Almost unnoticeable. I don’t think he even realizes.

I reach out, my fingers closing around his hands. I hold them still, steadying the tremor.

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