Page 51 of Saving Sparrow (Slow Burns & Tragic Beginnings #2)

Now

Sparrow looked between me and his cleaning supplies. “I’m going to put everything back, then shower.”

“I can hel—”

“No, I can do it myself.” At least he didn’t say he had to finish the other rooms on his list first. I accepted the win.

“Take your time. I’ll have dinner ready for you.”

I turned from the stove and almost choked on the spoonful of rice and chicken I’d sampled. Sparrow stood fully composed near the refrigerator, no sign of the tongue-tied man I’d left in the reading room. His hair was mostly dry and re-braided, not a wrinkle in sight on his uniform.

“God, you scared me.”

“God? I thought you didn’t believe in God.”

“Oh, I don’t. It’s just a figure of speech.” I promised myself right then never to say it again.

Sparrow moved over to the pot, peeking through its glass lid. “You put peppers in it.”

“Yeah, you like peppers?”

He straightened. “I’ll set the table.”

I made a note to add peppers to every meal moving forward. Sparrow didn’t have to answer with words because the interest in his gaze gave him away.

We ate, neither of us bringing up Elliott or their parents or the permanent residents and visitors living inside of him. The silence was heavy, but for once, surprisingly comfortable.

I hung back and let Sparrow clean up after our meal, not wanting to push him over the edge. I stood staring out the dining room window, fascinated by the bands of green and pink light shimmering in the night sky.

“The Northern Lights,” Sparrow said from behind me.

I whirled around, heart skipping a beat at seeing him leaning against the far wall. It was such a normal, nonverbal gesture, but seemed abnormal coming from him. He seemed relaxed, and I turned away, worried gaping at him might ruin it.

“They’re beautiful. I’ve only ever seen them in photos.

” I shuffled closer, scooting the partially open curtain out of the way.

I gnawed at my lower lip, building up the courage to ask.

“Can we…” I couldn’t do it. Sparrow already made a huge concession by eating with me. I couldn’t push him for more so soon.

“Can we what?”

Movement drew my gaze to his reflection in the window. He’d pushed off the wall, his posture returning to its rigid state. He didn’t sound angry, so I took it to mean he was curious. Screw it.

“Can we go outside for a better look?”

His eyes turned granite, like maybe he wondered if I’d manipulated him with my company and food again. Just as fast as he’d turned to stone, he softened to something in between. Not completely malleable, but not jagged and uncompromising either. My pulse quickened as I waited for his response.

“I haven’t finished my chores for the day.”

“Oh.” I forgot he’d only agreed to stop and eat, not stop altogether. “It’s alright.” I went back to gazing at the lights through the barred window.

“But… maybe going out for a little while won’t hurt.”

I kept a lid on my surprise and excitement. “Okay.”

We separated to layer up, then met in the foyer. With our heavy coats, gloves, and boots on, Sparrow unlocked the front door, gesturing for me to go ahead of him.

“Wow,” I breathed as I walked halfway down the plowed drive. I reached out, the lights so bright and vivid it seemed I could touch them.

Sparrow stepped up beside me, his long goose-down coat swallowing him, the hood cinched tight around his head.

“Do you come out here often to watch them?”

“Never,” he replied.

“Why not?”

His blue eyes shone like beacons, eclipsing the beauty of the lights above us. “Why would I?”

“Because it’s a natural phenomenon that can’t be experienced everywhere, yet it’s literally taking place right here, all around you. Because it’s beautiful, and life can be cruel sometimes. You have to grab beauty wherever you can find it.”

“I’m not like you, Miguel. We serve two different purposes. I don’t have time for things like this.” His purpose was to be vigilant and fierce, to stand guard and protect the realm, like Demian. But what if he could do both? What if he just needed someone to show him how?

“Do you have cardboard? Big enough for us to sit on? Or trash can lids? Humor me,” I drawled when he raised a skeptical brow.

Sparrow looked back at the front door as if deciding if he’d drag me inside.

“Give me ten minutes,” I pleaded. “Then you can lock us inside again.”

He exhaled, the cold air clouding in front of him. “There’s a shed behind the house. There may be something in there.” He strode off, and I followed, snow crunching under our boots.

The mounted storm lights came to life, beaming over the property and providing even more visibility to navigate in the dark.

The shed may have been at the back of the house, but the back of the house went on for what seemed like miles, the shed a tiny speck in the distance. My bones felt frozen by the time we got there, but I didn’t complain.

Sparrow pulled his ring of keys from his pocket, unlocking the shed door before shouldering it open and flicking on the light. Lawnmowers, a leaf blower, shovels, rakes, and other miscellaneous items were neatly arranged throughout. His tidiness even extended to a run-down shed.

I lifted the lids on bins, rummaged through stacks of rope and crates filled with saws and other tools. It was a handyman’s dream come true.

“Why are these here?” I asked, pulling two small deflated water rafts from a bin.

“There’s a pond on the property, although these have never been used.”

“Was all this stuff here already?” I looked around again. “When you got back?”

“Yes.”

It suddenly occurred to me that I didn’t know how he could afford to take care of himself and the others.

Elliott had given Amelia all his money, yet Sparrow kept the lights on and food in the house.

He had access to Elliott’s debit and credit cards, but there’d never been any activity on them.

I’d never canceled them, just in case. Any transactions that might have come through could’ve led me to him.

He’d probably used whatever cash had been in Elliott’s wallet to catch a train or bus here—because he hadn’t boarded a plane—but what then?

Maybe there’d been a hidden safe in the house stuffed with cash or items to pawn?

I’d have to think about that later. Sparrow looked seconds away from putting an end to our little field trip.

“Do you have something that can inflate them?” I re-focused on the rafts.

“Why would you need to inflate them? The pond’s frozen.”

I gave him a look that begged him not to make things hard for me. He returned it with a dark one of his own.

“Please,” I said. Sparrow grumbled but maneuvered to the rear of the large shed, pulling a battery-powered pump from a drawer there.

I inflated the first raft, then tossed it outside to make room to inflate the other. “Follow me,” I said once done, “and no complaining.”

“Stop telling me what to do.”

“That counts as complaining,” I called back.

The property resided on a slope, making my idea so much easier. I climbed to the highest end, setting both rafts down and looking over at Sparrow. “Get on,” I panted, out of breath. Carrying two rafts up a hill in my condition had been a challenge.

“No. Now let’s go back inside.”

“How about you give your fear the middle finger, and then get on the raft?”

“ Excuse me?”

My own fear spiked from his incredulous tone, but I decided to take my own advice. “You’re scared to get on the raft.”

“I’m not afraid,” he growled. “I’m just not interested in your childish idea of adventure.”

I calculated where the raft would need to be before possibly making the worst decision of my life.

I fixed it in place, then circled Sparrow, knowing he’d follow my path to keep me in his sights.

Now that his back was to the raft, I shoved his chest. He let out an oomph before falling into the raft.

I hurried behind him—using his shock to my advantage—and pushed.

I watched him spin down the hill, fingers clutching the handles, face etched with rage. I was in so much trouble.

I hopped into my raft and pushed off, figuring it would be worse if he made it to the bottom alone. The cold bit into my face as I barreled down.

Sparrow’s raft tilted on its side, dumping him into the snow. He climbed to his knees, sputtering snow from his mouth, cursing my name.

“It’s okay,” I promised, helping to clear the snow from his coat and face. He shoved me away, sending me sprawling on my back. Fuck , he was strong.

“You… You… idiot ,” he gritted out. Sparrow was so enraged, he didn’t know what to do with himself. Snarling in clear frustration, he gathered two handfuls of snow and lobbed them at me.

I coughed, rolling to my side and spitting out the mouthful I’d caught. Sparrow’s chest heaved, still on his knees, glaring at me.

In a moment of madness, I scrambled to my knees too, then tossed snow right back at him. It hit him in the chin and chest area, and he gaped at me.

“You—” he sneered, but the rest was cut off when I flung more snow at him—and then even more as if burying him in it would be better than waiting to see if he’d kill me.

Sparrow roared, volleying snow right back at me until we were both gasping, exhausted, and nearly frostbitten. We’d run out of steam, covered in white from head to toe.

“On a scale of one to ten, how pissed off are you?” I asked nervously.

His breathing slowed as he looked down at himself, arms spread wide. I thought I saw the beginnings of a smile, but it was gone before it fully materialized.

I grabbed my raft and jogged to the top of the hill. Sparrow grabbed his and followed. We jumped on, pushing ourselves as we plummeted back downhill.

“I win,” I said, getting up and racing to the top again. Sparrow beat me up there this time, starting a cycle of him winning every time.

I pulled the plug on his raft after about the tenth round, giving him an evil grin when the air hissed out.