Page 197 of Saving Sparrow
“And you believe the idiot doctor who said that?” I scoffed through my tears. “The Quentin I knew would’ve told them to fuck off.”
He shook his head. “I’m not him anymore.” Quentin was weak right now, but that’s what he had us for.
“I’ve seen what the power of love and faith can do, Quentin. We’ll build each other back up, better and stronger than ever,” I said with conviction. “Of course they think you’ll never recover. They’re only looking at your spine. Your heart needs to be repaired first, and only we can do that. We’ll fill you with love, and our love will make the impossible happen. I’ve got everything you need ready and waiting.” I’d found a new home and gotten everything set up for Quentin’s rehabilitation in preparation for this day, even before finding Amelia and then flying off to Alaska.
“Listen to your husbands,” I pleaded. “Come. Home.”
“You… still want me?”
I smiled through the pain his whimpered words caused, leaning in to kiss his tear-stained lips. “I’ll never stop wanting you, Q.”
Elliott and I wrapped ourselves around Quentin, forming a force field of love and devotion. We were all tired, scared, and heartsick, but we held on, promising to never let each other go.
We were sniffling messes when we finally came up for air. I brushed Quentin’s hair back while holding Elliott’s hand. “So, what do you say?” I asked Quentin.
He looked between the both of us, fear and shame still persistent in his gaze. But there was some fight there too, the beginnings of a spark. “I’m ready to prove those fucking idiots wrong,” he said with defiance. “Take me home.”
Miguel
Three Years Later
Waking up to find Elliott gone didn’t unnerve us the way it used to. Partly because the codependency aspect of our relationship had subsided, and also because he no longer dissociated.
We’d started individual and joint therapy after Quentin left the long-term care facility. Joshua made an appearance during our third joint session with Dr. Mercer—here one second, gone the next. She’d warned sporadic switches could happen as Elliott worked toward integration and ultimately fusing with his alters. I thought I saw Sparrow once, but the switch came and went too fast for me to be sure it was him. Switches never occurred outside of therapy, though, as that was where Elliott deep-dived into his trauma.
It’s been nearly a year since Elliott gained ownership of the system’s memories and traumatic experiences, and since Joshua’s last sighting. He’d hung on the longest because the child in Elliott took the most time to heal.
Quentin slept peacefully beside me, and I tried not to wake him as I slipped out of bed. He’d had an intense physical therapy session last night, followed by giving Elliott what he needed, both of which had left him drained.
Slipping into my robe, I crossed to the bedroom window, smiling softly at the rain coming down in sheets. I knew exactly where I’d find Elliott.
With one last glance at Quentin, I headed for Elliott’s workshop: thegarage.
I watched him unnoticed from the mudroom. He stood near the open garage door, just out of reach of the pouring rain. His back was to me, but I could tell he had his palm out. He loved the feel of the downpour, of any form of precipitation, really. A trait he’d absorbed from Joshua.
We didn’t get any snow in this part of California, but we surprised him with a trip to Lake Tahoe last Christmas. Facing the snow and the cold had been hard for me, especially at night. But I pushed through it for him, and it ended up being therapeutic for me.
Figurines littered his worktable, and he had a whole shelf on one side dedicated to them. He loved whittling, a hobby he’d inherited from Sparrow. The wood carving ofTales of the Pavilion Seawas his favorite and sat front and center, along with the rook. I’d given them to him once we’d settled home after reuniting.
“He would have wanted you to have them.”
I observed his rigid posture, how still he stood as he faced the rain. Elliott had always been introspective, but never dark or brooding. He could be both of those things now. But just like I’d once told Sparrow, Quentin and I loved all the facets of Elliott.
Unable to stay away from him any longer, I made my presence known, coming to stand beside him. He slowly turned his head my way, staring at me with a foreboding intensity before his lips curved into a bashful smile.
“Want to play in the rain?” He still held his hand out, water splashing onto his forearms.
“No.” I chuckled. “But I’d do it for you.”
“And you’d be miserable doing it.”
“Well, I can think of other ways to get wet that would make us both happy.” I wiggled my brows. Elliott’s laugh exuded childish exhilaration, while his gaze conveyed dark desire.
He dried his hand on his nightgown, then threaded his arms around my neck, kissing me. Elliott alternated between surrendering and taking control; the more dominant side of him new. He stiffened when I squeezed his ass.
“Sorry. Still sore?”
“Yes, but I want more—and it’s not because ofhim.”
