Page 67 of Bedding Rose
“Fuck off.” I yank open the front door and glare at him as he saunters outside onto the second-floor landing. As if I’m going to tell Rose anything that might upset her in this volatile state. Of course, Quique doesn’t know how fragile his sister really is.
Only I know—because she’s mine.
I’m going to take care of her and coddle her and make sure that tonight—the first night she stays with me—is so good that she never wants to leave.
* * *
Fuck me.
When Rose knocks on my door fifteen minutes later, I shove a lighter into my pocket and glance around the room.
I dug out some camping candles and just lit them, setting them on the coffee table. My bed’s made, there’s bleach sloshed in the toilet, and I have instant chocolate chip cookies baking because I keep an entire tub of that stuff in the fridge at all times for late-night snacks—but that’s about as good as it gets. I can’t do anything about the speedbag or the dartboard holes that declare this a bachelor pad. It grinds me up that I’m not ushering her into something nicer, a place I’m proud of.
We’ll have to build that place together.
I head over to the door, my chest suddenly swarming with bees like I’m a preteen. Ridiculous. Exhaling slowly, I twist the knob and pull it towards me.
Rose rushes in, not even glancing around, just smashing into my chest and wrapping her arms around me, squeezing as if she’s trying to leach out my strength. I push the door closed behind her and enfold my girl in a hug slowly, tension easing out of me. No matter what this place is like, she’s where she belongs—in my arms.
We spend the next two hours on the sofa, her ranting, me listening and encouraging her—eating cookies and then Chinese food that I get delivered. I let her repeat herself at least ten times, a number Tatiana declares is essential for a ranting woman to “get it all out.”
Finally, Rose seems to run out of words. She grows silent and stares at me with those huge Bambi-like eyes of hers, blinking and yawning. I think she’s exhausted herself—and tomorrow, she has class and I have work.
“Let’s get ready for bed,” I say, standing and holding out a hand, leaving the takeout containers scattered across the coffee table.
She leans over and blows out the candles, gathering up the containers and ignoring my order to “Just leave it.”
“I prefer not to have cockroaches, thanks,” she sasses, tempting me to smack her cute ass when she bends over the table and stacks the cardboard.
I resist, only because I don’t think she’s ready to get frisky tonight—she’s too overwhelmed. After she’s gotten everything stuffed into a stack that she balances precariously in one hand, she links her other fingers with mine and we detour to the kitchen trash can so she can get rid of it all.
Then I lead her to my room.
The second we step inside and she sees the bed, she inhales sharply. Her fingers squash mine as she stares at my comforter.
Shit.
I turn and immediately lead her back out to the living room, unsure what just triggered her, other than the bed itself, but certain she needs to be out of that space. “Hey. Hey, we can sleep out here,” I try to calm her, pull her back to the present and out of the nightmare that’s clearly playing out inside her head.
She’s put her free hand on her chest and is counting her breaths, trying to fight the tremble that sinks down her spine despite her best efforts. Finally, she’s able to get words out. “It’s the blue bedspread.”
Fuck.
Anger blotches my thoughts and the corners of my vision but I tamp it down with concern because Rose is sinking onto the couch and rocking herself slowly back and forth.
“I’ll throw it out, I’ll burn it—” I tell her, unlocking our fingers and moving towards the offending room.
Her words make me stop short.
“I just want to be normal.” Tears fill her eyes and she glances away from me, staring at the floor. I can practically feel the shame leaking from her—hot and horrid.
Her pain is mine. Her grief sinks sharp teeth into my chest and bites down. My poor, sweet Rose. Those bastards are dead men.
Carefully, so that I don’t startle her, I move back to the couch. I sit down next to her and wrap my arm around her shoulders before slowly dragging her soft form into my lap. I kiss her hair, the crown of her head, her forehead. “Hey. Hey. Hey. We’ll get there. We don’t have to rush. We have plenty of time. We’ll get there.”
We have forever.
And I’ll be damned certain she gets whatever she needs.
