Page 57 of Saving Sparrow (Slow Burns & Tragic Beginnings #2)

Now

Joshua and I had made a mess of the shed for the third night in a row. We’d given Mr. Snowy a family, which required lots of miscellaneous items for body parts. Sparrow refused to let us come back inside until we’d re-organized everything.

I left Sparrow at the front door to fuss with our wet boots and coats as I headed to make the hot chocolate with marshmallows I’d promised him.

He’d just finished starting the fire in the living room when I returned, handing him a mug.

We sat in the wingback chairs across from each other.

His mouth did a strange open and shut thing.

“I believe the words you’re searching for are thank you,” I teased, blowing over the lip of my mug. He’d said it once before, but that didn’t mean it was easy for him now.

He scowled at me, looking away when I smiled.

“Don’t worry, I’m still afraid of you.” Less afraid, but his ever-changing moods still unnerved me. I started to realize that his quirks and lack of social skills made him defensive and unpredictable. They also made him endearing.

I thought my statement would’ve made him happy. Fear was one of the ways he controlled me, after all. But he just sighed quietly, resting his head back against the chair.

“He was so happy,” I said. Sparrow gave me a questioning look.

“Joshua. You should see him out there. I told him Sparrow made it possible for us to play every night.” I shrugged when his brows lifted.

“He didn’t know who you were, but he said to tell you thanks.

Maybe next time I can record him for you,” I tentatively added, “with my phone.” I still hadn’t gotten my devices back.

“No,” Sparrow replied, holding his mug between both hands. “I don’t like seeing it.” Maybe he’d missed the hint about me getting my phone back, or maybe he just chose to bypass it.

“You used to record yourself?”

“I used to record them ,” he clarified. “I’d rather not see it.”

“Do they sometimes do things you don’t approve of?” What exactly did the others do when he wasn’t around?

“Yes.” I wondered if the redness along his cheeks was solely due to the lingering chill from outside or if embarrassment played a part.

An odd sensation stirred in my gut from looking at him.

His hair was the same—albeit a little wet from the melted snow.

The way he dressed hadn’t changed, and while his stern expression did shift and twist minutely now, overall, even that remained the same.

Yet, something about him was different. Something about me was different too.

“Well,” I started, clearing my throat. “Maybe we can all go back out there again tomorrow.” I tried to sound chipper and not confused, but I feared I might have failed. Sparrow watched me for an uncomfortable amount of time. The firelight danced within his irises, turning the blue iridescent.

“Maybe,” he eventually said, taking a sip from his mug. Hot chocolate coated his top lip when he pulled back. He looked so young right then. I wanted him to stay that way. To sip hot chocolate, eat marshmallows, and laugh and play in the snow.

“You’ve got a little, um…” I pointed to my own top lip. I hated having to mention it, but he would’ve been upset discovering it on his own, knowing he’d sat here the whole time like that.

I gazed around the room, searching for some sign that there had been at least a little bit of love in this house.

Maybe a finger painting dated and framed or markings along the wall from where his parents kept track of his growth spurts.

There was nothing. Just the crucifix imprint above the mantel—an example of what molding religion into a weapon of evil could do.

“Were your parents ever good to you?” It couldn’t have been all bad. Or at least I didn’t want to believe that.

Sparrow swallowed, his mouth parting slightly, giving way to silence before closing.

“You can say anything to me, Sparrow.” My words were meant to encourage him, but they’d had the opposite effect.

He grunted. “Do you think that will get you Elliott back? That I’ll spill my guts, be left so weak that he’ll slide in to take my place?” He’d leaned forward in his seat.

“No,” I answered honestly. “You’re in control of that, and you won’t lose that control ever again.” Not as long as he could help it. “But he’d want me to be kind to you. To listen to you.”

“And you’re here for him. To do what he would want you to do.” Both statements felt like questions, and he seemed desperate for me to answer them. Did Sparrow know what vulnerability meant? Did he understand all its intricacies? I’d never seen him more vulnerable than at that moment.

“I came here for him, that’s true. But right now, I’m here for you, Sparrow.” Because no one has ever been there for you before. “I’m not like them . I’m not your enemy.”

He jerked upright, as though only now noticing he’d moved to the edge of his seat, how close he’d gotten to me.

Sparrow set his mug down on the hearth’s ledge; the porcelain rattled against the stone surface until he let go of it.

I didn’t ask whether he was okay. I didn’t want to bring attention to the fact that he wasn’t.

I drank my hot chocolate, staring into the fire, waiting on edge for him to say something. That something came an agonizing while later.

“My mother loved teaching. She was good at it, patient. Sometimes she’d even let Elliott do his work in the reading room and then let him spend hours with a book of his choice afterward. He liked that.” His voice was distant, as if he’d gone inward to remember what Elliott’s happiness felt like.

“Her voice was gentle, like Elliott’s. Soothing.

She sang hymns and read the Bible to me while my back healed that first time,” he said softly.

I’d heard him growl, snap, bark out orders…

I’d even heard him whisper and breathe words into the air.

He’d never sounded fragile doing any of it, though. Not like he did now.

“She didn’t know it was me, but those scraps of comfort made me…” he trailed off, but his gentle gaze said in those moments he’d felt loved. He shook his head, as if he thought it made him foolish.

“The physical abuse wasn’t endless. There were lulls in between, but make no mistake, life was never good here.

They didn’t get it. You can’t make right what wasn’t wrong to begin with.

The moment Elliott showed signs he hadn’t been fixed or healed or exorcised…

she’d tell my father. It could’ve been anything.

Overhearing Joshua play pretend through Elliott’s locked bedroom door, if I didn’t do a good job at being Elliott…

If Elliott walked improperly, spoke improperly, sat improperly…

” Sparrow didn’t say it, but I knew by improperly, he meant unmanly.

“If any of those things happened, she’d call Elijah out of the field. ”

“Out of the field?”

“Doing God’s work, or so he claimed.” He flicked his wrist dismissively. “Any peace we experienced came when he was gone. That could’ve been weeks at a time or sometimes days.”

“How did that make you feel?” I asked. “When she seemed to care, but then called your father?” It likely made him feel betrayed, tricked… He’d accused me of trying to trick him once, and now I understood why he’d been so upset by it.

When Sparrow spoke again, it wasn’t in answer to any of those questions. Maybe he thought he’d bared his throat to me enough for one night.

“I think she would’ve loved us if she hadn’t been so weak. Or if my father had loved us first.”

“What’s not to love?” I asked with sincerity.

Sparrow’s eyes glowed, and as though he couldn’t bear for me to believe he was worthy of anything good, he asked, “Would you still think that if I told you I took my time with her?”

“Yes.” I’d answered quickly, knowing something inside of him depended on it. Sparrow blinked in obvious surprise, while I came to grips with his admission of murder.

I’d known there was a strong possibility he’d been the one responsible for their parents’ deaths, but I’d hoped he wasn’t.

I didn’t want that to be something else he’d had to live with.

I’d created alternative scenarios in my head, like Gideon’s parents tracking them down here, seeking their own form of justice for what Elijah caused.

Or maybe even a home invasion gone wrong. It wouldn’t have been the first time.

“I hope they both suffered for what they did to you.” I hoped they suffered for what they’d done to Elliott too, but right then Sparrow was the one in search of absolution. I could see it in his eyes.

“They… they did.”

“Good.”

I set my mug down next to his, sitting up slowly when my back muscles cramped up. Nights of rigorous play in the snow without any rehabilitation for my healing injuries were starting to take a toll on me. I’d need to start stretching, get some exercise in.

Sparrow watched me, gaze scrutinizing my face and body, the way I barely moved. “Am I like them?” he whispered, eyeing the scar he’d caused above my brow. The question made me think of Quentin. It seemed he and Sparrow shared the same fear.

“No,” I said, offering a response similar to the one I used to give Quentin. “You protect. They hurt and neglect.”

“It sometimes feels the same.” He met my stare, holding it as he seemed to be silently speaking the words he couldn’t say out loud.

“I forgave you before I even got here, Sparrow.” I showed up here not knowing what to expect, but knowing I would love whatever I found unconditionally. That couldn’t be done without built-in forgiveness.

We fell into comfortable silence. After a while, thoughts of Quentin and Elliott consumed me, and I pulled the string holding our three wedding bands together from my pocket.

“Who do those belong to?” Sparrow asked.

“They’re our wedding bands. Well, replacements. Ours,”—I flicked my gaze up to him before finishing—“went missing.”

“You’re not legally married.”

“No, not legally,” I admitted, but he already knew that. Knew I had no legal claim over Elliott, no spousal rights. Sparrow could’ve stayed here forever, locked away, refusing to seek treatment or return my husband to me. There was nothing I could do about it.

“We had a commitment ceremony, though. The promises we made were real to us. We didn’t need the government to tell us we were married.

They’re my husbands.” I shoved the rings back into my pocket.

I expected to see smugness on Sparrow’s face, but instead I saw something close to regret. Maybe another silent apology.

“Tell me more about him,” he said. “More about what I missed.” He didn’t even try to hide that this was no longer about me proving myself to him. I smiled inwardly, too scared to admit how good that made me feel.

I’d already told him about the night Elliott had suffered his worst nightmare while we’d tidied up the shed. I’d skimmed and downplayed the spanking and orgasm parts. Sparrow and Elliott were brothers. Certain details he could live without hearing.

“Sure, but… can I ask you one last thing first?”

He watched me with steady eyes, dragging out the suspense until I nearly squirmed in my seat. “Ask.”

“I understand why you did what you did, but why then, why not sooner?”

Elijah had cut into his back on three separate occasions, had been beating and isolating Elliott long before they moved here, long before Sparrow had shown up. I wished I could say I didn’t know how that felt, but I did. Now, I did.

How had either of them survived as long as they did before Sparrow decided to return his parents’ violence? Was he not physically strong enough before? Or mentally strong enough? Had he been rightfully scared? Did he not have the means prior to that day? The opportunity?

Sparrow’s response chilled me to the bone, leaving me with a million follow-up questions. “Because,” he said, tone cold and unyielding, “they’d finally gone too far.”