152

[REBECCA]
Leaning against him, my head found its place upon his shoulder, and I surrendered to his encompassing hold. His face nuzzled into the curve of my neck, and his lips tenderly met my skin, evoking a shiver from deep within me.
“I’ve missed you,” I confessed in a hushed whisper, to which Artemy offered no verbal reply.
Raising my gaze to meet his, my palms cupped his cheeks. It was then that I noticed the dampness of his hair, a detail that had escaped my attention earlier. He was dressed simply in a black dress shirt and slacks, devoid of any stains or traces of blood.
In fact, he exuded the scent of cleanliness.
Had he taken a shower before our rendezvous? The caress of my thumb over his cheek revealed the roughness of his stubble. Of course, he had, not for his own sake but for mine.
After a fleeting interlude, Artemy rose, still holding me cradled within his arms.
“Will you rest?” The inquiry slipped from my lips without conscious thought, despite my awareness of the answer. There was hope nestled within the question.
His footsteps momentarily halted before continuing their path toward our sanctuary. Carefully, he nestled me beneath the comforter before joining me, his body molding against mine. He conveyed a simple directive.
“Sleep, Angel.”
I obeyed, surrendering to the embrace of slumber in Artemy’s tender clasp. Eventually, our unborn child also yielded to tranquility.
A subtle shift from him registered as I drifted on the cusp of sleep. Dimly, I perceived Artemy slipping out of bed. The impulse to call out and urge him to remain tugged at my consciousness, yet slumber’s grasp was unyielding. My eyelids remained sealed, and my thoughts dissolved.
In the periphery of my fading awareness, one last notion emerged-that Artemy had never verbalized his response to my question. Nonetheless, as sleep enveloped me, I possessed my answer.
I gently patted my hair dry with the towel, ensuring that the water wouldn’t seep into my dress. As I stirred awake, I found Lynda by my side. Artemy’s presence had vanished, his departure occurring sometime after I had drifted off to sleep, and he remained absent.
Morning arrived, yet I failed to catch a glimpse of him during breakfast. With a weighty heart, I retreated upstairs and immersed myself in the bathtub, allowing my thoughts to seek solace in happier realms.
A soft knock on the door interrupted my contemplations, causing me to straighten my back and my heart rate to quicken. Though rationality told me I was safe, an underlying fear persisted, deeply ingrained within me. How long would this state of apprehension persist? Would I forever be shackled by dread, my nightmares an inescapable constant?
The specters of my past continued to haunt me, each memory replaying relentlessly in my mind. I sensed that escaping this turmoil would prove an arduous endeavor.
“Rebecca?” Brayden’s voice called from outside.
Exhaling a sigh of relief, my tense shoulders relaxed, and I swiftly replied, “Coming!”
With haste, I ran a comb through my hair, allowing it to cascade down my back. With a resigned breath, I turned the doorknob and was met by Brayden’s concerned gaze.
“You took quite some time,” he remarked, his eyes scanning me protectively, as though in search of any harm that might have befallen me.
I shook my head and shut the door behind me. “I was indulging in a bath. It’s a soothing respite, especially for my aching back and feet.”
Brayden nodded, taking a step back as he recognized his intrusion. He nervously ran his hand through his hair before clearing his throat.
“What are your plans for today?” he inquired, giving me space to move. It was baffling how they could converse so casually, given my knowledge of his recent activities in the basement barely an hour ago.
Their transitions were abrupt-morphing from ruthless executioners to seemingly ordinary men, exuding gentleness.
“Not much, really. I think I’ll spend time with Lynda.”
And await Artemy’s return.
My strides faltered upon spotting Damian ascending the staircase, his pallor distressingly pale. Surprise widened my eyes, and without delay, I rushed forward.
Brayden mirrored my concern, gripping Damian’s arms and assisting him up the final steps. I looped my arm around his waist, lending support on the other side.
“What on earth are you doing? You should be resting,” I admonished him.
Damian attempted to shrug us off, asserting, “I’m fine. It’s just a gunshot wound… I’m not incapacitated.”
My brows knitted together, concern etching lines onto my face. “This is concerning, Damian. Howard insisted on you resting. Continuing to move around like this might cause your stitches to tear.”
He emitted a dry chuckle, his lips curving with a touch of irony as his gaze met mine, intense and unyielding.
A lump formed in my throat, and I felt a flutter of anxiety in the pit of my stomach beneath his unwavering stare. In that moment, I momentarily lost sight of his true identity.
“No, I didn’t mean-” I began hesitantly, stumbling over my words.
His voice, a low whisper, barely intended for our ears, reached us. “Only my wife ever scolded me.” Brayden’s eyes locked onto mine, a shared understanding passing between us, stifling the burgeoning smiles. It was evident that his frustration wasn’t directed at me.
Brayden and I assisted Damian, guiding him to his room. As he settled into the bed, I carefully pulled the sheet over him, noticing the strain in his breathing, a sign of his discomfort.
Softly, I inquired, “Would a painkiller help alleviate your discomfort?”
Damian’s head shook slightly, a stubborn resolve evident. Stubborn, much like Artemy. Their resemblance was striking.
“Thank you,” he exhaled, his words catching me off guard. I blinked, then blinked again. Slowly, a smile spread across my face as I patted his hand. “No need for gratitude, just focus on getting better.”
Stepping back, I observed him wince, his attempts to find a more comfortable position highlighting his pain.
Seeing him in agony brought forth a pressing question. My gaze shifted to Damian, and I couldn’t suppress the inquiry any longer.
“Can you tell us how you knew Raffaele was present?” I leaned in a bit, directing my gaze to Brayden before turning it back to Damian. The room was now charged with anticipation.
“I was… watching you and Artemy. My window overlooks the path leading to the creek,” Damian confessed, his voice strained by the pain he was enduring. I followed his gaze to his window, realization dawning.
“After you disappeared into the woods, I noticed another silhouette. No clear view of the face. I couldn’t identify them. Yet, I reacted instinctively. I knew I had to reach both of you.” His words hung momentarily, giving us time to absorb his account. “Howard and the others saw me rush out of the house. They followed, spurred by the urgency, even though they weren’t aware of the reason for my haste.”
Damian paused, his gaze drifting toward the window. “I didn’t discern it was Raffaele until it was too late. There wasn’t time to draw my weapon.”
Brayden, sensing the unspoken thoughts, carried on when Damian fell silent. “We’re relieved we arrived in time. If something had happened to any of you-the three of you…”
He left his sentence unfinished, the weight of his concerns palpable. But I understood his meaning.
“Thank you. I can’t express enough gratitude for this. You’ve safeguarded our lives. If anything had befallen Artemy or our child, I’m not sure I could have endured it.”
Their reactions were telling, both averting their gazes. Brayden clenched his eyes shut, his hands forming tight fists.
I offered a gentle smile, my fingers finding their place on his arm as I spoke. “Shall we go? Damian could use some rest.”
With a quiet exit, Brayden and I left Damian to his slumber, the door shutting softly behind us. Leaning against the closed door, I released a sigh, the weight of what could have been lost pressing on my heart.
“Artemy is fortunate to have you,” Brayden’s voice broke the silence.
His words prompted me to open my eyes, turning to meet Brayden’s gaze. “What makes you say that?”
Brayden regarded me, his eyes carrying a warmth that softened his features. “Your heart is a kind one. You find the light in people, even when shadows loom. You look beyond flaws and focus on the goodness.”
His words stirred something within me, a mixture of emotions warming my cheeks. “Perhaps it’s because no one ever really cared for me. I wouldn’t wish that loneliness on anyone. It’s a slow, consuming pain.”
Brayden stepped closer, his approach deliberate. I resisted the urge to flinch, unfamiliar with his touch.
His fingers brushed my cheek tenderly. “Despite all you’ve endured, you radiate strength. He tried to tarnish you, to break you, but you emerged even stronger.”
“Artemy is my pillar,” I confessed in a hushed tone, my thoughts drifting to him. “Without him, I might not have survived. He kept me going, Brayden. He was my anchor.”
Brayden paused, his expression shifting subtly. His reaction held a hint of anguish. Confusion swirled as I met his gaze. “How deep is your love for him?” he asked softly.
“Deeper than I love myself,” the truth flowed easily from my lips. “He means everything. But you’re mistaken. It’s me who’s fortunate to have Artemy.”
“Perhaps,” he chuckled, yet his eyes betrayed a somber undertone.
“Tell me about your feelings for him again,” he implored, stepping closer.
A shiver traced my spine, my lips moistening with nervousness. This wasn’t the Brayden I knew.
“I love him,” I affirmed, inching away from his touch. I knew he wouldn’t harm me, but the intimacy felt unsettling. Our proximity was too intimate, too tender.
“Brayden, what are you-” my words halted as he placed his forehead against mine. His eyes squeezed shut, breaths faltering as he wrestled with his composure.
“Repeat it,” he urged, his touch feather-light against my cheek.
“I… love him,” I echoed.
His eyes opened, drawn to my lips. Panic surged, heart pounding in my chest. Not like this. Please, no.
“Good,” he murmured.
I remained frozen, my back against the door, scarcely daring to breathe. Could this be real? Did Brayden truly…?
No. It couldn’t be.
“Good,” he repeated, a smile curling on his lips. “Keep loving him.”
I involuntarily flinched as his head moved upward. The anticipation of his next move made my heart race. When his lips touched my forehead, a mixture of emotions surged within me, and I swallowed hard, bracing myself for the flood of feelings.
His following words danced through the air and settled in my chest, causing my heart to flutter like a fragile bird. “Never cease to love him,” he advised, his words weaving a complex tapestry of emotions. “For no other man is deserving of the love you offer.”