Page 39 of Meet Me In The Dark (Skeptically In Love #3)
Julian
“Madison was supposed to pick me up,” Celeste grumbles, her gaze fixed stubbornly out the window. “You don’t need to do this.”
There’s that bullshit notion that I can’t handle this side of her. That I can’t handle Celeste without the armor. Without the sleek outfits or the immaculate makeup.
I glance sideways at her, taking in her tousled hair and bare face. She looks exhausted and more than a little pissed off, but Christ, she’s beautiful, even if the tension rolling off her could power the entire city.
Good .
At least she’s back to being my feisty pain in the ass. If she’s fighting me again, it means she’s feeling better. I’ll take every ounce of attitude she wants to dish out.
“Yeah, well.” I shrug. “Madison’s delegating tasks today.”
“Madison is going to get an earful from me, that’s what.”
I resist a smile and keep my eyes on the road because she’s more than able to dive across the console and land that right hook I’ve taught her.
“You’ve got good friends.”
“Yeah, I know,” she snaps.
“They love you.”
“I love them too, but why are you the one picking me up?”
“Because the nurse mentioned a hot bath helps, and you don’t have a tub.”
She whirls so fast to glare at me, I swear she winces from the movement. “I am not going to your house.”
“Oh, yes, you are. Then you’re going to take those nice painkillers, and I’ll have my sweet little drugged-up angel back.”
She practically growls at me from the passenger seat. “I don’t have anything with me.”
“All sorted.”
“Oh, you’ve got a hot water bottle?”
“As of an hour ago, I do.”
“Don’t you have work to go to?”
“Perks of being your own boss.”
“Do you have an answer for everything?”
“Keep asking and we’ll find out.”
She slumps deeper into the seat. “I can’t just go to your place, Julian. Unlike you, I don’t set my own schedule. I have a job. ”
“Lilian said to pass along that you’re officially on annual leave for the week.”
Her mouth drops. “She did not.”
“Her exact words were: ‘For the love of God, chain her to the bed or something so she’ll finally rest. And no working from home.’”
Celeste scoffs and sips her oat latte. “Does she even realize you’d enjoy that?”
“Oh, sweetheart, I’d weld the chains myself.”
She rolls her eyes and kicks off her shoes with an exaggerated sigh. “Mind if I put my feet up?”
“Whatever makes you comfortable.”
She shifts, curling toward the door with her knees pulled to her chest and arms wrapped around them. She looks small and fragile like this. The wave of protectiveness that floods me is nearly physical, and my grip tightens on the wheel.
I glance over just in time to see her eyes close, her face still pinched, before it softens into sleep.
Jesus.
She trusts me enough to sleep here when she’s this vulnerable, and fuck, I want to deserve that.
I want to be the one who shows up. The one she can lean on when the pain is too much. The one who knows how to fight this with her, not just fuck her into forgetting it.
I flick on her seat heater and drive slower than I have in my life. Every bump feels like an insult. I signal every turn. I drive like a chauffeur instead of a man who owns half this skyline, because she’s in my car. Sleeping. Hurting. Trusting me not to make it worse.
It’s terrifying.
I rest my hand lightly on her thigh as I drive.
“I’ve got you,” I murmur, even though she can’t hear me.