Page 145 of Endgame
Another person touched what’s mine.
Her chin dips. Hands wringing. “I’m sorry.”
Not here. Not fucking here, in the entryway when she’s this exposed. This broken.
I scoop her in my arms, slam the door shut, and storm up to our bedroom.
“I said I was sorry.”
Another glance at her, and I know there’ll be hell to pay. She won’t be the one punished for this. Whoever did this to her, they’ll be sorry. So fucking sorry.
“Don’t punish me,” she whispers.
“Stop apologizing.”
We’re alone in my room, isolated from the outside world. My chest constricts, still raw from before.
Worrying over someone you love is the worst kind of pain.
“I’m sorry.” Tears roll down her cheeks.
She looks tiny. Fragile. Precious.
“I said I don’t want your apologies.” I sit both of us down on the edge of the bed.
She’s on my lap, silently crying. Her weight is warm and grounding, her body still except for the subtle hitch of each breath.
I wrap my arms tighter around her, as if that alone could stop her from breaking apart.
I can’t stand it. I’m choked by it. By her swollen fucking cheek.
Before I burn the world down, I have to take care of her. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear is a start. I’m doing everything, and I meaneverything, to control my temper.
Big, round eyes gaze up at me. “What do you want?”
“A name.” My throat tightens, remembering what a failure I am. I cup her swollen cheek, absorbing her pain. Trying to take it from her. “Who did this to you?”
Her chin wobbles. “Since when do you care?”
I slide my hand down to the side of her neck, groaning at the thrumming of her blood, her life source, beneath my palm.
She’s wounded.
She’s here.
Alive.
And at last, I don’t resent her for it.
My family didn’t have to die so that Aurora would live.
I was wrong to think the two things were mutually exclusive.
They aren’t.
Aurora is a true innocent.
She’s my present. My future. My everything.
