Page 23 of The Fates We Tame
“Fuck,” Theo barks, shoving his way through the crowd before leaning forward to pick me up. He takes a step, then another. I feel his arms shaking as sweat pops on his brow.
I worry about the stress of pressure on his brain.
“I can walk,” I whisper.
“Shut up, Soph.” He grunts with exertion.
I’m heavy. He’s weakened by his accident. But somehow, he manages to get me to the sofa, where he lays me down gently. He shakes his head, winces, and then rubs his brow.
“Are you hurt?” he asks. “Do you need me to get one of the doctors?”
I shake my head. “If you could find my pride, that might help. I think it rolled under the bookshelves over there somewhere.” I try to smile, to fake that I’m fine while my body shakes.
“Don’t,” he says.
His eyes are focused on me. It’s a cliché to say it’s as if there is no one else in the room. But for a hot moment, I understand why a person might think that.
It’s like there’s a protective bubble around us. I suppose that’s what this place is for us. A safe space to find out who we’re going to be without outside interference.
“Don’t what?” I ask.
“Pretend. Make light of this. I’m going to ask you once more and I want an honest answer. Are you hurt, Sophia?”
“Man, I’m so sorry.” A tall man, whose patch says he is called Saint, leans over the back of the sofa. “I didn’t mean to knock you down.”
Theo’s head snaps towards him. “I’m gonna kick your ass in ten minutes. Give her some fucking space.”
Saint raises his hands as he moves away.
Fast anger should probably be a red flag or something. But to know a man would fight for me and over me is…exciting.
And just like that, I’m aroused.
Which is wild.
It’s not the first time it’s happened. And it won’t be the first time I’ve gone back to my room and slid my fingers between my legs. But all thoughts of sex have been put second to actual recovery and life.
There’s also something in Theo’s demeanor that changed in that moment. Like he was drawing on muscle memory. I can’t really explain it. But I saw a flicker of the man he could have been before his accident. A man who would fit in with this group of people. He was utterly competent. Unafraid. Commanding.
Even the timbre of his voice changed, the notes of it dropping lower in register.
“It hurt,” I whisper. “And I’m a little embarrassed, maybe. That I couldn’t rebalance myself. That your friends, a room full of strangers, saw me fall. That you might…think less of me.”
“You forget that I clung to you like a life raft in the hallway when I…collapsed. The only people in this room that understand what we’re going through is you and me.”
Theo brushes my hair back off my face and attempts to remove hair that’s stuck in the elastic of my eye patch. He lifts it slightly, and I place my hand over it to stop him.
“It doesn’t bother me, Soph. Just let me.”
The urge to trust him battles with my need to be seen as who I was before. I wish he could see me without all the scars. The woman in the photographs my family has shown me.
I bet she was unafraid of what the mirror showed.
I watch his face for reactions. But not only do I see nothing but genuine care, he uses his hands to shield my face as he does so.
“Done,” he says, lowering my eye patch so gently that I barely feel it.
“I was on my way to the pool. Do you know where my towel ended up?” I try to sit, but Theo places his hand gently on my neck, his thumb stroking me in a way that makes me shiver.
