Page 89 of Saving Sparrow (Slow Burns & Tragic Beginnings #2)

Three Years Later

Waking up to find Elliott gone didn’t unnerve us the way it used to. Partly because the codependency aspect of our relationship had subsided, and also because he no longer dissociated.

We’d started individual and joint therapy after Quentin left the long-term care facility.

Joshua made an appearance during our third joint session with Dr. Mercer—here one second, gone the next.

She’d warned sporadic switches could happen as Elliott worked toward integration and ultimately fusing with his alters.

I thought I saw Sparrow once, but the switch came and went too fast for me to be sure it was him.

Switches never occurred outside of therapy, though, as that was where Elliott deep-dived into his trauma.

It’s been nearly a year since Elliott gained ownership of the system’s memories and traumatic experiences, and since Joshua’s last sighting. He’d hung on the longest because the child in Elliott took the most time to heal.

Quentin slept peacefully beside me, and I tried not to wake him as I slipped out of bed. He’d had an intense physical therapy session last night, followed by giving Elliott what he needed, both of which had left him drained.

Slipping into my robe, I crossed to the bedroom window, smiling softly at the rain coming down in sheets. I knew exactly where I’d find Elliott.

With one last glance at Quentin, I headed for Elliott’s workshop: the garage.

I watched him unnoticed from the mudroom. He stood near the open garage door, just out of reach of the pouring rain. His back was to me, but I could tell he had his palm out. He loved the feel of the downpour, of any form of precipitation, really. A trait he’d absorbed from Joshua.

We didn’t get any snow in this part of California, but we surprised him with a trip to Lake Tahoe last Christmas. Facing the snow and the cold had been hard for me, especially at night. But I pushed through it for him, and it ended up being therapeutic for me.

Figurines littered his worktable, and he had a whole shelf on one side dedicated to them.

He loved whittling, a hobby he’d inherited from Sparrow.

The wood carving of Tales of the Pavilion Sea was his favorite and sat front and center, along with the rook.

I’d given them to him once we’d settled home after reuniting.

“He would have wanted you to have them.”

I observed his rigid posture, how still he stood as he faced the rain. Elliott had always been introspective, but never dark or brooding. He could be both of those things now. But just like I’d once told Sparrow, Quentin and I loved all the facets of Elliott.

Unable to stay away from him any longer, I made my presence known, coming to stand beside him. He slowly turned his head my way, staring at me with a foreboding intensity before his lips curved into a bashful smile.

“Want to play in the rain?” He still held his hand out, water splashing onto his forearms.

“No.” I chuckled. “But I’d do it for you.”

“And you’d be miserable doing it.”

“Well, I can think of other ways to get wet that would make us both happy.” I wiggled my brows. Elliott’s laugh exuded childish exhilaration, while his gaze conveyed dark desire.

He dried his hand on his nightgown, then threaded his arms around my neck, kissing me. Elliott alternated between surrendering and taking control; the more dominant side of him new. He stiffened when I squeezed his ass.

“Sorry. Still sore?”

“Yes, but I want more—and it’s not because of him .”

We became concerned about spanking Elliott once we’d started therapy, wondering if the need came unknowingly from Abraham. He said it didn’t, and Dr. Mercer told us not to worry. So long as the self-flagellation aspect remained absent, and we were being safe, she didn’t see any harm in continuing.

The Good One hadn’t made any significant appearances. Once, while working through an amnesic barrier break, he’d taken on her southern accent. But it was still him sitting on Dr. Mercer’s couch, gazing wide-eyed at us as he gained the memory of his parents’ death.

He seemed to have taken on her nurturing side, though. I went over to his worktable, picking up the set of sleeping babies. “What inspired the new carvings?”

He sighed. “I don’t know. It just… felt right.”

“That’s all that matters.” I tugged on the end of his braid. “Come back to bed with us for a little while. I want to hold you.”

Elliott bit his lip, looking over his shoulder at the rain.

“Go on.” I laughed. “I’ll grab you a towel.”

He dashed out into the rain, spinning with his face to the gloomy sky. He was beautiful, playful, and free. All the things he never got to be before .

His white nightgown clung to his body, revealing the scars on his back.

I could still remember the blood-curdling scream that tore through him the night he woke up with the extraction ritual memories.

He hadn’t spoken for days afterward, and both Dr. Mercer and his psychiatrist were forced to make a house call.

We got through that like we’d gotten through everything else. Together.

The only other time I’d seen him that despondent was when I went into great detail about my time with Sparrow during one of our earlier sessions.

Elliott found it hard to forgive himself for what his gatekeeper did to me.

He also had a tough time shaking his insecure feelings about no longer being enough for me.

“Are you… Are you in love with Sparrow?”

“I’m in love with all of you, Ellie. But you, the man standing in front of me now, are who I want to spend the rest of my life with. You’re mine, and I’m yours.”

The guilt and insecurity ended once he fully merged with Sparrow.

“I’m sorry he hurt you, but he thought he was doing the right thing. And by the end, he loved you. I hold his love for you now, and I hold him. Thank you for not hating him. Thank you for loving all of me.”

I shook my head to clear it, hurrying through the mudroom and into our linen closet for a couple of towels. Elliot had already stripped himself naked and was wringing his hair dry in the garage when I returned. Thank goodness we were surrounded by woods.

“Quentin will kill me if you get sick,” I said, helping him dry off.

“He worries too much.”

“Yeah, well, that protective instinct never fully goes away.” It took Quentin a long time to forgive himself, and I still wasn’t convinced he’d done so completely.

Soon after we brought him home, he had a panic room put into our bedroom and cameras installed everywhere, inside and outside of the house. He’d purchased more firearms, too.

“Give it time,” Dr. Mercer had said.

We gave him all the time he needed. Now he mostly fussed over us getting sick or Elliott forgetting to charge his phone, and there was no longer a gun in every room.

For my part, I no longer slept with the bedroom door ajar or needed to wake Elliott up in the middle of the night to be sure he was still himself.

I removed my robe, holding it out for Elliott. I tied the sash as he offered a new proposal.

“How about I make us breakfast? That way, we’ll have enough fuel to fuck until at least lunchtime. Quentin should be waking up soon anyway.”

“Sure.” I grinned, dropping a chaste kiss on his lips. Elliott had gone from not being able to boil an egg to cooking twelve-course meals literally overnight.

We split up once we entered the house. Down the hall, Quentin’s rumbly morning voice drifted through the bedroom door.

“Alright, Mom, talk to you later.” He set his phone on the nightstand as I entered the bedroom.

“How’s my mother-in-law?” I leaned against the doorjamb, watching my sleep-rumpled husband. He was still reclined against his pillows, covered from the waist down.

“Good. She misses you both.”

“We miss her too.” Elliott and I didn’t have moms, so we clung to the love and attention we got from Quentin’s mother.

She’d come to stay with us for a while during the start of our recovery, mothering us back to life.

She’d even attended therapy sessions with Quentin, mending any unresolved issues they had.

Quentin’s phone rang again, but he silenced it after noting the caller.

“Who’s that?”

Quentin and I had addressed and come to terms with my mother’s suicide early on in therapy.

But we’d only recently faced Dylan together, our final wound.

It ended with forgiveness because doing so had been vital to our well-being, but we didn’t allow him back into our lives.

For whatever reason, I thought it might have been him calling, looking for a way back in.

“Kayden. I’ll call him back.”

We’d also made amends with him and Rachel.

“Well, are you just gonna stand there, or are you gonna come kiss your husband good morning?”

I smiled coyly at him. “You’ve gotta earn that kiss.”

“Must you and Elliott always make me work for what’s mine?” Mirth shone in his gaze.

“Haven’t you ever heard that nothing in life is free?”

“But I already own you, Guelly.”

“I’m not making you work to get me, Q. You’re working to keep me.”

“Is that so?”

I nodded. “How badly do you want that kiss?”

Quentin narrowed his eyes at me. “You’re going to have to give me more than a kiss.”

“I think you’re getting ahead of yourself. We don’t even know if you’ll earn the kiss.”

“Oh, I’ll earn it.” He tossed the covers back, and I straightened. Seeing Quentin walk never got old. These games used to be important. Elliott and I would use them to motivate him. Now we continued it mostly out of fun, but also because seeing him move filled us with gratitude.

Quentin regained his muscle mass, and even from across the room, it felt like he hovered over me. He rose to his full height, ignoring the cane by his bedside, to prowl over to me, naked, confident, and fully erect.