Page 29 of Saving Sparrow (Slow Burns & Tragic Beginnings #2)

I’d never spoken the actual words before, never verbally admitted that she’d taken her own life.

I’d found the suicide letter she left me.

It was hidden inside the music box in Joshua’s room.

I knew the truth, but it’d been so much easier to let Quentin convince me it was his father’s doing.

Maybe he made her write it, I’d told myself.

But deep down I’d known he hadn’t. Dylan was by no means blameless, but he hadn’t pulled the metaphorical trigger.

“It was my fault, just like losing you was my fault. I’m so sorry, and I’m so scared,” I sobbed as Sparrow stood with his back to me. “I need you. Elliott… I-I need you.” Could he hear me? Was it enough to break through to the man I loved more than anything?

“ Please , don’t leave me. Don’t leave me again.” The ache in my heart trumped the pain everywhere else, and a tear fell from the tip of my nose as I waited for him to say something.

Sparrow left without a word, closing the door and leaving me alone with my anguish.

“No!” I jerked at my makeshift chains. “No! Please! ” I screamed until my voice grew hoarse, until my tears left me congested, until my heart threatened to stop beating.

I writhed, twisting my wrists and trying to kick free as a new and sudden urge took over my body. “No,” I breathed, trying harder. “Please, no…”

I froze, closing my eyes in shame. I looked down after a few minutes, feeling the last of my dignity slip away as I took in the wet spot in my lap.

It hurt to peel my eyes open when Sparrow returned, standing just inside the doorway. My head felt swollen, like my brain was pushing against my skull. I squinted over at him, my vision worse than usual.

The blurry impression of him moved, drawing closer to me. I flinched away when he slid my glasses over my face. One of the lenses was cracked and webbed.

He no longer wore Joshua’s fire truck pajamas, and he seemed less angry, too, if his kneeling to cut my legs free was anything to go by.

“What are you going to do to me?” I rasped, turning my head to the side to cough. He continued to untie me, and if the scent of my urine repulsed him, he didn’t show it.

I rubbed at my wrists, my whole body sore and throbbing as I waited for the next round of torture. The simple act of waiting to be punished fried my already scorched nerves.

He dropped a pill bottle in my lap. Antibiotics. They’d expired, but not by much.

“Get cleaned up and meet me downstairs.” He left again but hadn’t closed the door this time.

I was scared to move, scared this was a test, scared he’d come back the moment I stood to accuse me of trying to escape. Every time I attempted to stand, my legs gave out. My fear had a hold on me.

I watched the door, anticipating his return, his plan to catch me being hopeful. Sparrow didn’t come back, not even to check that I’d done what he said and gotten cleaned up. I pulled myself together and worked my way to the bathroom.

My heart scurried up my throat when I glanced at myself in the mirror. I hadn’t looked completely like myself in weeks, hell, in nearly a year. But now, I looked nothing like the man Elliott had fallen in love with.

“Your eyes are so big and so brown. I could stare at them all day.”

I removed my broken glasses, leaning into the mirror for a better look. I had a blood clot in the white of my right eye, and my irises were so dark they appeared black.

“I could do this all day,” he’d said while gently running his fingers through my thick strands of hair.

Stress had thinned it a bit, and Sparrow had taken care of the rest. At least the bald patch had stopped bleeding.

“I love your skin. It’s soft and warm, and you always look like you’ve been sitting in the sun. It’s perfect, just like you.”

My skin was mottled with yellow, purple, and blue now.

“You’re handsome on the outside, Miguel, but you’re even more attractive on the inside.”

I replayed all the kind things Elliott said to me over the years as I took two of the pills Sparrow gave me, then showered.

The hot water assaulted my fresh bruises, but I leaned into it instead of backing away, groaning through the discomfort.

Tiny pieces of me began to stitch together again as Elliott’s voice built me up.

It wasn’t much, but it was enough for me to remember why I was here, enough for me to face Sparrow.

My duffel bag waited on the bed when I entered the room, and the towel slipped from my grip, falling from my hips to the floor. He’d left the bedroom door ajar. Closed enough to give me some privacy, but open enough to let me know I wasn’t locked in.

The room smelled like pine and bleach, and I looked over at the armchair. He’d cleaned it while I was in the shower.

Staggering over to the bag, I unzipped it with shaking hands. My clothes were folded neatly, more neatly and organized than I’d ever been capable of.

I rummaged inside, items toppling out, falling onto the bed and floor. A voice in my head warned me that Sparrow would be upset if he walked in to see the new mess I’d made, but I cared more about knowing if he’d found what I hid at the bottom of the bag.

My cough slowed me down, my ribs and stomach muscles screaming.

I used all my fading strength to tear open the stitched seam in the corner.

Pulling the folded photo free, I slid my fingers back inside, skipping over my real license to feel around for the thick piece of string.

I tugged on it, yanking free the three wedding bands attached to it.

I brought the cold bands to my lips, holding them there as I whispered the vow I’d made to the men I loved more than anything. “This bond will never be broken.”

I whispered Elliott’s part next. “Nothing or no one will break us apart.”

Finally, I did my best impression of Quentin. “And if they try, I’ll fucking break them.”

“Quentin,” I breathed, sniffling. I shook my head, refusing to let my thoughts take me to him. I could only focus on one heartbreak at a time. I’d get back to grieving my loss of Quentin after saving Elliott.

I hid the bands in the duffel again, sliding the photograph under my pillow without looking at it. Over on the nightstand, I noticed a first-aid kit. I ambled over to it, wondering what it meant that he’d left it for me.

First the antibiotics, now this… Had I gotten through to him? Did he care now?

This was also the same man who’d nursed me back to health for weeks, only to almost kill me again.

With that in mind, I slipped into my own clothes—which hung loose on me now—then disappeared into the bathroom with the kit.

I disinfected the broken skin on my elbow and the heels of my palms before bandaging them, then applied ointment to the ravaged skin on my scalp before returning to my duffel bag for my contact lenses.

All that was left to do now was meet Sparrow, but my feet refused to take me any further than the window.

The darkness beyond appeared blue today, and the snowy landscape sparkled like the sky had rained diamonds over it.

How could something so beautiful lie just beyond so much ugliness?

I thought about Elliott again and realized it was possible.

To buy myself a few more minutes, I headed back to the bathroom for the painkillers in the medicine cabinet. I swallowed them down, took a deep breath, then went in search of Sparrow.