Page 16 of Saving Sparrow (Slow Burns & Tragic Beginnings #2)

Now

“We were too young to understand the dynamic we were creating,” I explained.

Sparrow watched me with unnerving focus.

“We just knew Elliott felt right. We wanted him in our lives.” I sighed, thinking about how innocent Quentin and I were, even though at the time we thought we had the world figured out.

A world we rarely ever took part in. We were still young.

All of us. But life made sure we were no longer innocent.

The pain pills I’d taken were wearing off. They weren’t strong enough to begin with, not like whatever Sparrow pumped through my veins.

I slumped on the couch a bit more, making it easier to breathe before continuing.

“Quentin and I thought we were building a friendship with Elliott, something we never had outside of ourselves.” I huffed, wincing from the stab of pain it caused in my ribcage.

“What did we know about the true meaning of friendship? Or at least one with actual boundaries. Our relationship was hardly healthy to begin with. We wanted someone to save, we wanted a purpose outside of ourselves, we wanted the feeling we got when Elliott was around, and even when he wasn’t.”

I tried to gauge if what I’d shared so far meant anything to Sparrow, if it changed his mind about me. I couldn’t spot anything soft in his gaze, though. Nothing that said he’d been moved.

He had to have cared for Elliott. He was the gatekeeper for a reason, and he only kept me alive because he wanted to know what Elliott’s life had been like.

Or maybe he wanted to give me the benefit of the doubt, wanted to see if Quentin and I weren’t trying to hurt Elliott that night.

I didn’t understand how he could possibly think we were, but I didn’t know what the scene looked like after I blacked out and Sparrow woke up.

Maybe from his point of view, his actions were justified.

Either way, he must care, otherwise, we wouldn’t be in this situation right now.

“Elliott came along and reflected the pain we were feeling inside. He gave us something else to focus on, something else to fight, something else to fight for.” I shook my head before finding the words needed to simplify it.

“We were just three broken, codependent kids looking for a type of love no one could ever take from us. We had no boundaries, and before long, going too far didn’t seem far enough.”

I gazed into the fire, remembering the good and bad times, and not regretting any of them. Except for maybe one…

“We suffocated each other, and the high we got from that felt incredible . If only we could’ve figured out how to create a world that only the three of us existed in. Trouble came when the outside found its way in.”

I stopped there, waiting for something from him. Sparrow kept his feelings heavily guarded behind a blank stare. After an eternity of silence, it became clear he wouldn’t be the one to break it.

“Say something. Please ,” I begged.

“Let’s say I believed you—”

“I think you do,” I unwisely cut in. “Or, at the very least, you want to.” I wasn’t sure of either of those claims, but I hoped it would spark his passion, hoped it would get me some sort of meaningful reaction. I almost wanted him to hurt me again just to see him feel something.

“Please . ” Please be honest. Please give me something more than your contempt. Please give me my husband back. I didn’t verbalize those thoughts, but I didn’t keep them off my face either.

This time it was Sparrow who severed eye contact, and I exhaled a quiet, relieved breath. Something in my stare affected him. Hopefully, there wouldn’t be consequences for that.

He felt for the keys at his waist, stopping when he saw me notice. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen him do that. Was the ring of keys an anchor for him? Did he feel secure with them close by his side? What else did they open?

Sparrow wore the same expression as the last time he’d had to admit he wanted something from me, when he’d ordered me to recount my history with Elliott. Anger and reluctance filled his gaze. I wondered whether the cool draft breaking through the heat of the flames came from the window or from him.

“Was he happy?” His tone indicated it cost him his pride to ask.

“Not always,” I admitted, a tidal wave of sadness building inside of me.

“But that doesn’t mean we didn’t make him happy.

” Elliott’s demons lingered on the fringes of our happiness, sometimes threatening it.

We were too blind, too caught up to see beyond our ownership of each other.

Too stupid to understand love couldn’t fix everything.

“Do you miss him?” He seemed marginally less angry now.

“Yes,” I breathed, the word filled with a lifetime’s worth of desperation. “I miss the way you… I mean, I miss the way he—”

“Not him, ” he stressed. He’d been referring to Quentin. I flashed back to something Sparrow had said before.

“You were there when I woke up.”

Quentin had been there too.

“Some days, I don’t know who I miss more.” Tremors racked my body as the tidal wave pushed at the dam holding back my tears. I welcomed the pain of my injuries now. It gave me something else to concentrate on. “Most days, I miss them the same.”

Sparrow watched me like he didn’t know what to do with my reaction. Like Quentin, maybe he didn’t know how to handle his in-between emotions either. It felt like wishful thinking to believe he could feel anything but rage in the first place.

“Please don’t leave,” I said when he stood. I didn’t want to be alone. I didn’t want to lose that slight bit of confusion in his stare, the barely there softening of his lips. I didn’t want to be left wondering if I’d imagined it all.

Plus, as different as they were, it felt like I had a piece of my husband with me when Sparrow was around.

He rounded the couch for the door, and I searched my brain for something to say or do. The door creaked open, but it didn’t close.

“Can I ask you something?” I whispered, my vision blurring with tears. He didn’t reply, but I could feel him there. If I had the strength to look over my shoulder, would I find his stare on me? Would I find him overcome with emotion too?

I had zero faith he’d answer my question, but I was in enough despair to ask anyway. “How’d you get that scar on your back?” My words were nearly silent, my eyelids now heavy from the tears weighing them down.

“My father gave it to us for Elliott’s twelfth birthday.”

They’re brothers. And as the protector, Sparrow had taken the pain of that scar for the man I loved more than I loved myself. Sadness and gratitude filled me in equal measure, and I allowed the tears to fall.

“Thank you.” Thank you for all you did, even the things I never knew.

I still didn’t hear the door close, but I knew he was gone. I couldn’t feel him anymore.

My silent tears gave way to sobs as I let my grief consume me.

I created my own sense of time. My mornings began when the black sky gave way to a faint, twilight-like glow.

Without my glasses, I couldn’t notice the difference.

Since I couldn’t trust the time on the clock now, I reset it myself, waiting for that subtle shift in the sky before setting it to ten a.m. I remembered Elliott telling me how late the sun rose during the winter here.

By my account, it had been five days since Sparrow had last said a word to me. Not since telling me how he’d gotten the gruesome scar on his back. He arrived with food and water at the same times every day. This gave me insight into his need for regimen on top of his need for control.

Breakfast, eight a.m. Lunch, noon. And dinner at five. Not a minute before or after. One day, I’d watched his shadow beneath the doorway as I counted down the few remaining seconds until dinnertime. He unlocked the door and entered the instant the clock struck five.

Sparrow ignored my pleas for him to talk to me, for him to just sit with me while I talked to myself. I was lonely, grieving, cold, and afraid. He wouldn’t even meet my eyes as he dropped the tray on the nightstand, added more kindling to the fire, then left.

I’d been tempted to touch him, tempted to use the flames—the only weapon I had at my disposal—to set the place on fire. Anything to get a reaction from him. My still-healing wounds and the thought of losing Elliott to the blaze stopped me every time.

I was coming out of the bathroom when he arrived on the sixth day.

“What did I do wrong?” I asked as he set the tray down and turned for the door.

“Why won’t you talk to me? Why won’t you listen?

” I had so much more of our story to tell.

What did I do to make him go from wanting to know to not wanting to even look at me?

“I made you feel something,” I whispered. Why didn’t I realize that before? It was the cold, the darkness, the isolation, and the beating affecting my cognitive skills. I was lagging in all areas. “Is that why you’re upset with me?”

Sparrow faced me, meeting my gaze for the first time since our night in the sitting area.

My chest tightened with the beauty of his stare, even if it held zero warmth.

He looked at me as if he wanted to prove nothing could penetrate the walls he’d built.

But something had made its way through, and he didn’t like it.

“Okay, fine,” I responded to his silent statement. “You felt nothing.” I’d play along with that lie if I had to. “Then why haven’t you demanded more of the story?” I drew closer to him.

Sparrow didn’t back away or strike me, even though his body tensed as if he wanted to do both. “Don’t you want to know what else you missed?” I thought about the scar on his back. “Don’t you want to know what his life was like without the pain you endured for him?”

Sparrow’s hand twitched. The one hanging on the same side as his keys. He wanted to touch them, to be centered, but I stood in the way of that. I’d caused that need.