Page 32 of Fear No Hell
Sam
Lila and I have fallen into a routine. I work the night shift in the ER, and she tears into Arthur while I’m gone, stopping early enough to make us dinner.
When I get home, I go straight to the basement to check the damage.
Although we’ve had a few close calls, she’s gotten better about avoiding spots that will kill him outright, instead targeting areas that cause pain rather than death.
While I put him back together enough to survive another night and make sure the shock alone won’t kill him, Lila heads upstairs to shower and change.
Once I’m done with Arthur, I go upstairs and join her at the table for whatever she has made for us to eat.
Every night since the kiss—a core memory that will stay with me until I die—she relaxes a little more, her smiles coming more readily, her chair getting closer to mine.
I drink in every touch, every time she leans into me and doesn’t cringe away.
I’ll never push her for more, but I’ll take whatever she’s willing to give me and silently thank her for it anyways.
“Sam, are you ready?” she calls down the stairs as I place the final stitch on a stab wound lancing across Arthur's thigh, an extremely painful spot for an injury like that, which, while shallow, still requires stitches.
“Yeah, I’ll be up in a sec.” I pull the thread tightly enough to stop the bleeding and snip the excess, a smile spreading across my face as I stand.
Having Lila puttering around upstairs while I take care of whatever she needs from me makes this place feel like home.
I glance at Arthur. All wounds closed up enough that he won’t die before she gets back down here tonight.
The rest of his injuries are severe bruises and contusions, which look nasty, but nothing I can or want to do about those.
After I make sure the fresh duct tape covering his mouth is stable, I leave the basement, taking the stairs two at a time and sauntering into the dining room right as Lila slides two bowls filled with what look like military rations onto the table.
“I’m sorry it doesn’t look very good.” She drops into her chair, gazing at the dishes with a furrowed brow before scraping her spoon around the inside of the bowl. “I followed the recipe exactly, but… I think I may have missed a step or overcooked it. Or something.”
I glance down, trying to keep my eyebrows from lifting in amusement.
There’s no may about it; she definitely missed at least one step in the recipe.
Either way, it’s still a vast improvement from her first attempt.
Plus her meals usually taste way better than they look.
“You always say that, and it always tastes better than you think it will. But if you're not feeling cooking, you really don’t have to make dinner. I told you: I like to cook.”
Her mouth purses into an irritated scowl that’s more cute than severe.
“And I’ve told you. I’m going to keep cooking as long as I don't give you food poisoning. You work all night then you come home and clean up my messes. Making sure you don't eat cereal for dinner every day is the least I can do.” The scowl falls away and, suddenly, she looks tired. Weary in a way that breaks my heart. “Maybe I should give all of this up. I’ve made your father suffer plenty. Maybe I should leave you in peace.”
I’m shaking my head before she reaches the end of her sentence. “Are you done making Arthur hurt for what he did to you?”
Her shoulders bob in a tentative shrug. A silent no.
“Do you want to leave?”
She ducks her head, her hair sliding over her shoulders and around her face in a dark curtain that hides her from me.
“Lila.” At my tone, her head pops back up, her eyes narrowed. “Do you want to leave?”
“Well, until you pulled your ‘doctor’ voice on me, no,” she snaps.
“Yeah, well, it got you to stop hiding your face from me.” I chuckle, the sound dying away quickly as fear settles in.
What if she says she wants to leave? I steel myself against the panic before straightening in my chair.
Then she leaves, and you won’t make her stay.
She’s not property, Eaton. “I’m gonna ask again, though. Do you really want to leave?”
She leans forward and, in a quick move that takes my breath away, wraps her fingers around mine. “No.”
“As long as it’s confession time.” I relish the warmth of her hand around mine before I lean into her, committed now to revealing how badly I need for her to stay.
“I don’t want you to leave either. Stay for as long as you want.
Fuck, I’ll put you on the deed if you want me to.
I want you here.” My thumb rubs along the delicate skin on the inside of her wrist. “This is your home, sweetness, for as long as you want it to be.”
She presses her forehead against mine, our breaths mixing in the minuscule space between us. “What if you get tired of me?”
Her hair drapes around her shoulders, long enough to whisp against the outside of my legs.
My free hand shaking, I reach out, twining one silken strand around my finger.
“That’s never gonna happen, I can promise you.
” More than anything, I want to taste those lush lips that fell open at my words, but I won’t kiss her again until she’s ready.
If she’s ever ready. Soothing her as she sobbed after our first kiss is another core memory, right alongside finding out Arthur isn’t my biological father.
With more willpower than I knew I had, I pull away from Lila—my stunning goddess—and slump back into my chair, her hair still wrapped around my finger.
As I wolf down the gruel she made us, which is surprisingly tasty, I keep my hand tangled in her hair.
I won’t ask her for more, but I’ll touch her for as long as she’ll let me.
After I’m done, I press a kiss to her forehead, and she shoos me upstairs where I take a long shower and crawl into bed. I fall asleep to the sounds of Lila puttering around the house.