Page 59 of Saving Sparrow (Slow Burns & Tragic Beginnings #2)

Now

“We’re gonna fall,” Joshua whined, trying to wriggle free.

“We’re not gonna fall,” I promised, trying to keep the raft steady while holding him around the waist. “And if we do, we’ll just roll on the snow. It’ll be fine.” I planted one hand in the snow, hoping to keep us from sliding down the hill before we were ready.

It was now our eighth day of playing outside.

Every night started and ended the same. Sparrow hung back, pretending to be too cool while I gushed about the Northern Lights, then I’d sneak a snowball attack to get him to loosen up.

He’d get grumpy, strike back, and this would go on until it was Joshua’s turn.

“I don’t wanna,” Joshua said, shaking his head. His whole body shook with the movement, and since his body was Sparrow-sized, the raft shifted beneath us. Joshua squealed, digging his fingers into my forearm as we slid an inch closer to the tipping point.

“It’s okay, it’s okay. We don’t have to do it, but you have to take your time getting up, alright?”

He’d been eyeing the highest point of the hill all week, building up his courage to ride the raft down.

He’d used a tummy ache as his first excuse for changing his mind.

He said he’d eaten too much chocolate—even though I’d only given him one miniature Snickers that night.

The next time, we’d gotten all the way to the top, and then he “needed to pee really bad.” Sparrow returned right after, his bladder empty.

I gave Joshua the benefit of the doubt that time because maybe his bodily needs differed from Sparrow’s.

Last night, he’d taken one look at the hill and decided Mr. Snowy needed a family. Tonight, he’d arrived ready to face the challenge. To be honest, the slope was pretty tame, but to his four-year-old eyes it looked like Mount Everest.

“I’m going to let you go, okay?” I spoke close to his ear.

“Then, I want you to roll off the raft slowly and lie flat on your stomach or back until I can help you up.” I said it nice and slow, trying my best to keep him calm.

The last thing I needed was for Sparrow to show up, finding himself wedged against me.

Joshua had taken one look down the hill and insisted we ride down together—before we climbed in and he changed his mind again.

He shook his head again, and we slid another inch. “Miguel!”

“I’m here, I’m here. It’s alright. Just don’t shake your head anymore, okay?”

I dug my free hand deeper into the snow, trying to keep us from moving. Joshua’s long fingers were like little weapons, digging into my arm through my coat sleeve.

“I can’t roll. Not by myself!”

Shit, shit, shit.

“Umm,” I started, wondering if I could successfully roll both of us off the raft. Joshua went rigid before I could try, and the night air constricted around me the way it did when Sparrow was around.

“I-I’m sorry. Joshua wouldn’t go down by himself, but then he wouldn’t go down at all, and then I tried—” My nervous rant came to an end when Sparrow stopped me from releasing his waist. He held my forearm against him so tightly I could feel his stomach rise and fall with every quickened breath he took.

The night went still and quiet as I waited in limbo for what he’d do next.

“What are we doing?” I finally whispered.

“I have no idea,” he whispered back, carefully turning his head. “Let go.”

I tried to let go of him, but again he stopped me.

If he didn’t want me to physically let go, that only left two other options.

Guilt settled in my gut when I realized I’d hoped he’d meant it in a way that could never be.

So, I removed my hand from the snow, “letting go” in the only way I ever could with Sparrow.

He pushed us off the hilltop, launching us down the slope.

We didn’t laugh or smile as we went, not this time. I couldn’t see his face, but the type of tension I felt didn’t come with humor or excitement.

Sparrow jumped to his feet the second we reached the bottom, as if the ride had knocked some sense back into him. It took me longer to stand, and Sparrow noticed. I’d been pushing past the stiffness in my muscles all week, but it finally caught up with me.

“Let’s go.” He stormed away, seeming upset, but what else was new?

“Wait, don’t we need to clean up?” I looked around at the rafts and the miscellaneous items Joshua and I had left spread out near Mr. and Mrs. Snowy.

Sparrow spun around, eyes wide with obvious surprise as he took in everything scattered about.

In his anger, he’d forgotten about them.

What exactly was he angry about? I got my answer when he looked me up and down, pausing at the hand I held against my lower back.

I dropped it quickly, but not quickly enough.

“We’ll clean up tomorrow,” he bit out, stomping through the snow again. I followed him toward the front of the house at a snail’s pace, my calf muscles too tight for me to move any faster.

Sparrow had already hung his coat and removed his boots when I entered. He held his hand out for my coat. I sighed, slipping out of it before handing it over. He disappeared behind the closet door, and I hurried to kick out of my boots before he could spot me wincing as I did so.

“Take something for the pain, then take a hot shower and put something comfortable on,” he ordered. “Then meet me back here.” With that, he disappeared down the hall. I was glad he didn’t stick around to see me almost kill myself trying to make it up the stairs.

I felt a lot better after the hot shower and once the painkillers kicked in. Slipping into a T-shirt and sweats, I headed back to the stairs.

Sparrow paced the bottom landing in loose workout pants and a tank. I watched him from the mezzanine, admiring his defined arms before swallowing and making my way down.

Sparrow stopped pacing as soon as the first step creaked.

He slid his hands behind his back, watching my descent with an impassive look that made me self-conscious.

Self-conscious because I couldn’t hide the way I felt—or my thoughts—the same way he could.

Sparrow didn’t need to look hard to tell I was happy to see him again; the nervous smile I couldn’t help said it all.

“Are we working out?” I asked once I’d cleared the last step. Sparrow turned on his heels, heading down what I’d come to consider his hall, expecting me to follow.

We turned down two more hallways before entering a workout space. There were a few sets of dumbbells on a rack against the wall right next to a tower of resistance bands. A jump rope dangled from a hook beside them. Padded flooring overtook the other side of the room.

I stepped into his simple and unpretentious world, feeling oddly privileged to be here.

“It’s been weeks since I worked out.” More than a month, actually. Hard to believe I’d been his prisoner for that long, although prisoner hadn’t felt like the right word lately. “I’m not sure how much I can do.” There were still a few aches the painkillers hadn’t numbed.

“You need to stretch,” Sparrow said, heading for the padded area.

“I’ve been stretching a little this week, but it never feels like enough,” I admitted.

“You need assistance.” Sparrow knelt on the floor, pointing to the scuffed spot in front of him.

Was he… Did he plan on stretching me? That couldn’t be the plan. He’d have to touch me.

“I probably just need to do it a little longer.” I gave a nervous chuckle. “Stretching is the one thing I’ve never been patient with.”

“I can get deeper and help you into positions you can’t get into, or hold, on your own.” He pointed to the mat again. “On your stomach.”

With a sigh and a grimace, I lowered onto my stomach. I turned my head away from him, too anxious to look at him while he worked, too afraid of him seeing my reaction to him touching me with anything but violence.

Joshua had held my hand many times, and we’d sat on the raft together, but Joshua wasn’t Sparrow.

Sure, Sparrow had held my arm to him after returning to find himself wedged into the raft with me, but he’d been disoriented after the switch, shocked to find himself on top of the hill.

He’d grabbed onto my forearm out of reflex…

hadn’t he? He’d be deliberately touching me now.

Would it hurt? And not because stretching sometimes hurts, but because he’d be trying to cause me pain? I was scared to find out. I was even more afraid to find out his touch could be gentle, caring, healing. Because what would I do with that? What would my heart and my mind do with it?

Minutes ticked by, and he hadn’t made a move or given me any further instructions. Were similar questions running through his head?

“We don’t have to do this,” I said, my eyes on the archway. Sparrow laid his trembling fingertips on my arm.

“I’m going to angle your forearm so it rests across the middle of your back. Then I’m going to press your right shoulder into the mat. Tell me if it hurts.” He seemed equally nervous about causing me pain. I realized any pain I did feel wouldn’t be intentional, and I could live with that.

“It’s going to hurt,” I said, “because it’s supposed to, not because you’re hurting me.” My body relaxed as soon as the words were out, giving Sparrow permission to relax too. He gripped my arm properly, fingers steady.

I groaned as he maneuvered me into position, and he let go.

“No, it didn’t hurt. I mean, it did—I mean…

” I pushed onto my forearms, turning toward his wide eyes.

“It felt good.” I smiled, lowering onto my stomach and straightening my arms at my sides.

This time I kept my head his way, but I closed my eyes.