Page 18 of Mine to Love
“Oh, I see,” she responds, and something in her voice draws my attention. As I lift my eyes from the board to Darcy, I notice her grip on her teacup becomes shaky. She quickly places the cup on the table and lowers her eyes to the board.
“Is something wrong?” I ask, my brows furrowing.
“Hmm?” She looks up at me then and I’m not sure if she heard me or if she’s just eager to avoid the question.
“Your hands were shaking, same as this morning. Did something I say upset you?” Perhaps I shouldn’t push her, but I want to know. It then occurs to me that her very presence suggests she’s having just as hard of a time falling asleep as I am.Is her bed uncomfortable? Is she having second thoughts about staying here? Is it something else entirely, something from her past? As my mind races with a new worry, different from the thoughts that brought me to the board, I refocus on the chess pieces in front of me and move the pawn nearest Darcy.
When I have a lot on my mind, I play myself in chess. Depending on how I’m feeling, I either use the game time to think through my stressors and strategize, or I use the mental focus required to distract myself completely from my worry. By the end of the game, I either have a solution or I’ve disassociated enough that I can sleep and revisit my thoughts in the morning. Tonight, I was hoping for the second option—a distraction. With Darcy sitting in front of me, I’ve certainly got one. Though, now I’m worried about her.
“No, well, maybe,” Darcy admits. She lets out a long sigh and once again, my attention is on her. “I just don’t want to bother you if you’re stressed. I don’t want to add to it or make you mad.”
Ah, now it makes sense.I sit up straight to look at her head-on. I want to command all her attention as these next words cross my lips. Feeling I have it, I say, “Darcy, I’m not him. I’ve said it before, and I will continue to say it and prove it to you as many times as you need. I’m not your ex, assuming he is the one that sent you fleeing from Montana.”
Lowering my voice so that she can feel the gentleness and sincerity of my words, I say, “You don’t have to walk on eggshells around me or be afraid of upsetting me. I’m a grown man. I know how to control my emotions and my body. I won’t misplace my anger or my fists, not that I’m even angry. I don’t really get angry, I just…” I become focused and deadly, but that’s in a different context. “You’re safe here.” Feeling myself ramble, I end my bout of reassurance with that statement. And it’s the truth, and it’s also true that I will continue to reassure her as long as she needs me to. I won’t run out of patience. I won’t getangry. I’ve spent years developing my signature calm demeanor and I can’t think of a better reason to put it to use.
As my words settle on her, her shoulders droop and she lowers her eyes to her lap, where I find her fidgeting with her fingers once again. I can’t tell if she believes me or not. Though, something about her body does seem a bit more relaxed than before. Perhaps her lack of eye contact isn’t so much her avoiding me as it is her remembering things she’d rather forget. That’s a feeling I know all too well.
Giving her a moment, I move a chess piece on my side, hit the timer, and direct my attention to her side of the board. Though, just as I decide on the piece to move, Darcy surprises me by reaching for it. My eyes flit between her and the board as I watch her make a spectacular move, the same move I was going to make.
After finishing her move, she hits the timer and looks at me. I hold her gaze as she works up the courage to say, “It’s just hard to…to retrain my mind, my body, to get used to something new.” She shakes her head as she shifts her attention to the window to her right. “It’s going to take a while.” As Darcy opens up, showing just a sliver of her heart, I feel my own heart squeeze in my chest. My insides become warm and I fight the urge to smile. What we’re talking about is serious and hard, but her vulnerability makes me happy.
As my time to make a move approaches its limit, I quickly adjust one of my pieces on the board. It wasn’t the best move, but I don’t care. I look at Darcy then. “I know, and it’s okay. You can take all the time you need.” She meets my gaze, this time with less timidity, and her lips draw up into a small smile. She slowly nods and then shifts her focus to the board once more. “Have you played chess much?” I ask.
“It’s one of mine and Delilah’s favorites.” She makes her next move. “We played a lot of board games and card games backhome. Where we lived, we didn’t have any internet and there’s only so much on television, especially for kids. So, we’d play games and do different things outside. We both enjoyed story time too. I’d read to her and then, when she was asleep and I had the free time, I’d read by myself.”
“Hmm, sounds like you both enjoy the simple things. What kinds of books do you like?” I ask as we continue our game.
“Mostly romance.” I lift my eyes to see a shy smile spread across her lips and her cheeks blush. Her blushing has me smiling. And the thought of her enjoying romance novels so much has me thinking of other things. As pressure builds in my groin, I force myself to look away from her and take another sip of my tea. “But occasionally, I’ll read a mystery,” she continues. “Really just whatever we had. My husband,ex, inherited a trunk of books from one of his relatives. I probably read each one two or three times.”
At the mention of her ex, who she’s been careful not to name, all the pressure in my loins releases. I feel my smile drift away and my shoulders become tense. “He didn’t buy you your own books?” My question steals Darcy’s glow, and I suddenly regret asking it.
“No. He wasn’t the gift-giving-type unless you count black eyes and broken ribs.” Her words suck the air out of the room, leaving us both still and silent as the timer for our game rings. I can’t even remember whose turn it is or was. But now it doesn’t matter.
I watch her closely as her eyes glaze over, doing my best to contain my emotions. Perhaps I was incorrect to say I don’t get angry. Hearing of her past abuse makes me angry,deadly. It has my fists balling beneath the table. It has my jaw tightening and my legs restless. Oh, the things I would do to that sorry excuse of a man if I had him in my sights.
As vicious thoughts leave a lust for blood creeping through my veins, Darcy comes to and says, “The only decent thing that man ever game me was Delilah and I suppose that makes it all worth it. I can’t imagine my life without her.” I sigh and rub my hand over my forehead to calm myself. If Darcy can speak without breaking, I can listen without losing it. Thankfully, she’s too in her own head to notice the fury building inside me. “What’s difficult is, I also can’t imagine my life without him and the scars he’s left me with—body and soul. It feels like I’ll never be free of him, even with all this distance between us.”
She looks at me then and I’m left speechless with my heart racing in my chest. No wonder she was struggling to sleep. I don’t know how I’ll get any rest after hearing this. What’s worse is I suspect this is only a glimmer of her torment, a single piece of the perilous puzzle.
“What’s his name?” I ask. My voice is low and stern. It’s a tone I wouldn’t normally use with her and a question I shouldn’t ask. One, because I don’t want her to have to speak of him for a moment longer. And two, because I know the second I discover his name, destroying him will be the only thing on my mind. Fuck Serena and the cartel. Fuck Damon being right. I don’t care. I will hunt this bastard down and strip him of every ounce of dignity he thinks he holds.
Darcy holds my gaze but hesitates to answer. It’s as if she can see the visions of torture I have planned for him in my narrowed, amber eyes and she’s considering if she can allow such a fate to rest on her conscious. Don’t worry, my angel, I’ll take full responsibility for his death before man and God alike. Finally, she says, “I won’t say his name inside this house. I won’t taint these walls by summoning his wicked spirit.” She looks away from me despite my eyes not leaving her for a single moment. She then slides out of the booth and reaches for her teacup.
“It’s getting late. I should get some rest. We both shou—” As she reaches for my teacup with her free hand, I stop her by placing mine overtop hers. Her eyes flick to mine and as our gaze locks, I maneuver our hands so that I may hold hers. I know I shouldn’t. I know close proximity and physical touch is a trigger for her, but…I can’t help myself.
“Darcy,” I whisper, moving my eyes from hers to our intertwined fingers.
“Gio.” I hear the hesitation in her voice, the confusion. Though, her other hand, still holding her teacup, doesn’t shake, and she doesn’t pull away. Perhaps she’s too stunned to. But, regardless, I give her hand a gentle squeeze to express my sympathy in a way that I just can’t with words. I don’t trust my words at this point, nor my tone. But I am so so sorry for all the pain she’s endured, for every scar she’s incurred. I should’ve expected as much with the way she handled nearly being raped and killed just last night. She was scared and in shock, but she bounced back quicker than almost anyone could have. And she did because it was just one traumatic event on an already long list.
With me still unable to speakandstill holding her hand, Darcy does her best to ease the tension in the room by changing the subject. “What time would you like your breakfast in the morning? We never really discussed all the details of my assignment and your expectations.” I take her question as a cue to compose myself and release her. So, I do. Darcy immediately grabs the teacup and begins making her way to the kitchen.
“Uh, um…” I rub my forehead again and try to find my way back to normalcy. I have a pretty set routine, despite things being thrown off the past couple of days. It takes me a moment to remember it. But by the time Darcy finishes handwashing the teacups and putting them back on the shelf, I’ve collected myself and have her an answer. “I usually eat breakfast at eight,” I say,standing from my place in the living room and moving toward the kitchen. “But I’ll be up at five. I, uh, drink a protein shake at 5:30 and then I head out for a workout.”
Darcy nods as she dries her hands. “Alright, then I’ll be up at five as well and have your protein shake ready for you at 5:30.”
“Darcy, it’s already midnight. You don’t have to?—”
“It’s best we find our new normal,” she says, cutting me off. “For my sake and Delilah’s. We’ve had so much change recently. A routine would be good for us.” She speaks calmly, assuredly, as she takes a few steps toward me. Perhaps she’s right. We should both find our way to a sense of normalcy before things get too blurry. I’ve got Serena and the cartel to focus on and she needs a sense of calm, a sense of routine, in order to heal from all the wicked torment she’s endured.
