Page 33 of Saving Sparrow
“Nothim,” he stressed. He’d been referring to Quentin. I flashed back to something Sparrow had said before.
“You were there when I woke up.”
Quentin had been there too.
“Some days, I don’t know who I miss more.” Tremors racked my body as the tidal wave pushed at the dam holding back my tears. I welcomed the pain of my injuries now. It gave me something else to concentrate on. “Most days, I miss them the same.”
Sparrow watched me like he didn’t know what to do with my reaction. Like Quentin, maybe he didn’t know how to handle his in-between emotions either. It felt like wishful thinking to believe he could feel anything but rage in the first place.
“Please don’t leave,” I said when he stood. I didn’t want to be alone. I didn’t want to lose that slight bit of confusion in his stare, the barely there softening of his lips. I didn’t want to be left wondering if I’d imagined it all.
Plus, as different as they were, it felt like I had a piece of my husband with me when Sparrow was around.
He rounded the couch for the door, and I searched my brain for something to say or do. The door creaked open, but it didn’t close.
“Can I ask you something?” I whispered, my vision blurring with tears. He didn’t reply, but I could feel him there. If I had the strength tolook over my shoulder, would I find his stare on me? Would I find him overcome with emotion too?
I had zero faith he’d answer my question, but I was in enough despair to ask anyway. “How’d you get that scar on your back?” My words were nearly silent, my eyelids now heavy from the tears weighing them down.
“My father gave it to us for Elliott’s twelfth birthday.”
They’re brothers.And as the protector, Sparrow had taken the pain of that scar for the man I loved more than I loved myself. Sadness and gratitude filled me in equal measure, and I allowed the tears to fall.
“Thank you.”Thank you for all you did, even the things I never knew.
I still didn’t hear the door close, but I knew he was gone. I couldn’t feel him anymore.
My silent tears gave way to sobs as I let my grief consume me.
I created my own sense of time. My mornings began when the black sky gave way to a faint, twilight-like glow. Without my glasses, I couldn’t notice the difference. Since I couldn’t trust the time on the clock now, I reset it myself, waiting for that subtle shift in the sky before setting it to ten a.m. I remembered Elliott telling me how late the sun rose during the winter here.
By my account, it had been five days since Sparrow had last said a word to me. Not since telling me how he’d gotten the gruesome scar on his back. He arrived with food and water at the same times every day. This gave me insight into his need for regimen on top of his need for control.
Breakfast, eight a.m. Lunch, noon. And dinner at five. Not a minute before or after. One day, I’d watched his shadow beneath the doorway as I counted down the few remaining seconds until dinnertime. He unlocked the door and entered the instant the clock struck five.
Sparrow ignored my pleas for him to talk to me, for him to just sit with me while I talked to myself. I was lonely, grieving, cold, and afraid. He wouldn’t even meet my eyes as he dropped the tray on the nightstand, added more kindling to the fire, then left.
I’d been tempted to touch him, tempted to use the flames—the only weapon I had at my disposal—to set the place on fire.Anythingto get a reaction from him. My still-healing wounds and the thought of losing Elliott to the blaze stopped me every time.
I was coming out of the bathroom when he arrived on the sixth day. “What did I do wrong?” I asked as he set the tray down and turned for the door. “Why won’t you talk to me? Why won’t you listen?” I had so much more of our story to tell. What did I do to make him go from wanting to know to not wanting to even look at me?
“I made you feel something,” I whispered. Why didn’t I realize that before? It was the cold, the darkness, the isolation, and the beating affecting my cognitive skills. I was lagging in all areas. “Is that why you’re upset with me?”
Sparrow faced me, meeting my gaze for the first time since our night in the sitting area. My chest tightened with the beauty of his stare, even if it held zero warmth. He looked at me as if he wanted to prove nothing could penetrate the walls he’d built. But something had made its way through, and he didn’t like it.
“Okay, fine,” I responded to his silent statement. “You felt nothing.” I’d play along with that lie if I had to. “Then why haven’t you demanded more of the story?” I drew closer to him.
Sparrow didn’t back away or strike me, even though his body tensed as if he wanted to do both. “Don’t you want to know what else you missed?” I thought about the scar on his back. “Don’t you want to know what his life was like without the pain you endured for him?”
Sparrow’s hand twitched. The one hanging on the same side as his keys. He wanted to touch them, to be centered, but I stood in the way of that. I’d caused that need.
I didn’t dare drop my gaze to his hand or the keys. It would only make things worse if I acknowledged how closely I paid attention to him.
“Don’t you want to know what happened after that day?” The perfectly good day Amelia ruined.
Aside from the dark circles beneath his eyes, Sparrow’s physical beauty was flawless. He was similar to Elliott in that way, but so different in other aspects.
Elliott traveled through a barrage of expressions. Scared, embarrassed, shy…aroused.Sparrow was almost militant, his tells harder to spot.
