Page 146 of Saving Sparrow
It physically hurt to feel him retreat, to open my eyes and watch his shadow disappear from the wall in front of me. I waited a whole hour to be sure he wasn’t coming back, then I hid the key again before getting into the shower. I stood under the hot spray until it went cold, letting the water wash away my tears.
My eyes burned. Partly because of the crying, but also because I’d made a bad habit of sleeping with my contacts in. I kept them in now, because of what I was about to do. I wanted to be sure I could see him clearly.
With one last look at the picture hidden under my pillow, I went in search of Sparrow.
The workout room was dark, so I waited quietly at the archway for my eyes to adjust. The moment I stepped a foot inside, the lump on the padded area shifted. I took another step, and Sparrow sprang up from beneath his mountain of blankets.
Now that my eyes had adjusted, the room didn’t seem so dark after all. The dim light from the hall shone in a bit, and the moonlight hovering over his sleeping area helped too. I could clearly make out his leeriness as I drew closer.
I sank to my knees a few feet away from him. He looked so tired, but at least now he smelled warm and minty, and he’d traded the stiff bun for his damp braid.
“I woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep,” I said when he just stared at me.
“What woke you?” Suspicion outweighed the curiosity in his tone.
“Bad dream.”
His eyes narrowed, reminding me of how much he and that woman resembled each other. They were both cautious and fiercely protective.
“You left the chair by the bed,” I said, and his doubt gave way to a blush so beautiful it made me want to throw my arms around him and never let go. He looked so young and innocent… So broken, yet strong.
“I was reading to you,” he whispered, admitting what we already knew to be true, and without being defensive this time.
“Maybe that’s why I had the bad dream. Because you stopped.”
“I don’t think you know I’m even there. Not with all the snoring,” he said, too tired to smile more than just a little. A little was all I needed to make my heart melt, though.
“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that—again.”
We spent a few minutes watching each other.
“Why are you really here?”
I couldn’t give him the full truth, couldn’t say I was here with the hopes he’d let me hold him, that I was here because he needed me, or because I needed him just as much. He might not have known all that went on during a switch, but they shared the same body. What they experienced physically took a toll on him, too. Was he terrified when he returned holding a baby? Confused? Sad? What did he think about the gun lying on the floor? The gun he’d obviously made available to her.
I ended up giving him a different truth, one that wasn’t as revealing. “I decided if you weren’t going to sleep upstairs with me, then I’d sleep down here with you.”
Sparrow sighed, the sound complementing the exhaustion in his gaze. “It’s cold down here,” he said.
“It’s cold everywhere,” I countered.
“You know what I mean, Miguel.”
I shouldn’t love the sound of my name on his lips as much as I did, but each time felt like a gift because he never said it enough.
“I know,” I said, knowing he meant it was too cold down here for me, knowing his concern wouldn’t be for himself. I looked around asif a fireplace would suddenly appear out of thin air before saying, “Our shared body heat will keep us warm.”
Sparrow averted his gaze, then looked at me as if he’d thought of something that would scare me away. “We’d have to be close,” he said, “in order for our body heat to make a difference in here.” Right on cue, the window rattled, a stiff draft wafting through the bars.
I shivered, then shrugged. “I’m okay with that.”
Sparrow watched me like a hawk, both fear and heat in his gaze, warming my bones faster than any fire could.
He glanced down at his pallet, and when his eyes met mine again, his fear had eclipsed the heat. “I…” He seemed at a loss for words.
I crawled over and settled down across from him. He sat straighter in his cross-legged position, the lump at his throat bobbing with his swallow. I needed to touch him. I needed to help him. I needed to nurture the lost boy and the tired, lonely man inside of him. And I needed all those things for myself, too.
Working off pure instinct, I set my own doubts and fears aside and cupped his cheek. Sparrow’s hand flew to my forearm, holding tightly but not pushing me away.
