Page 27

The apocalypse is upon us.

At least, that’s my first thought when I open my eyes to the sound of loud pounding—a wrecking ball has slammed into my apartment.

“Shit,” I mutter, trying to sit up on my bed as a blistering headache unlike anything I’ve ever felt makes itself known.

The daylight streaming in from the windows is a bright beam straight into my eyes and I wince, the need to retch up the chicken noodle soup I had for dinner last night soon to follow. The world swirls around me, and sweat has soaked through my tank top and shorts.

I feel like I’m dying.

Pound. Pound. Pound.

The wretched sound is back. I clap my hands over my ears, but the motion hurts like a right hook to my face.

“Minx, open up! Open the damn door before I break it down!”

Huh?

I feel my forehead. It’s burning hot like the rest of my body. I must be delirious, hearing things. Because there’s no way—

“Taylor Peyton-Anderson! You’re in there. Open the fucking door. The doorman said he never saw you leave.”

Charles? What the fuck?

Groaning, I stagger off the bed and head toward the door, my legs threatening to collapse as the ground swirls with each step. I’m seasick in the middle of a hurricane and none of this is happening.

Peering through the peephole, I blink the dots away from my vision as a head of familiar blond hair comes into view. With my remaining strength, I unhook the safety chain and disengage the lock before sliding down to the floor.

I plaster my body on the cool marble tiles and close my eyes. The surface feels so good to my overheated body. Everything hurts and throbs.

The door slowly opens in a soft creak, but I barely have the energy to look at him.

“Fuck,” Charles mutters, and a wave of bergamot and cedarwood hits my nostrils and I greedily draw in a deep breath.

Anything that doesn’t smell like death is welcomed.

“What the hell, minx. I went to ABTC today, and Ainsley and your friend, Lisa, were worried sick about you, saying you blew off mandatory rehearsals for Paris.”

He pulls me up from the floor and into his arms. “You look like crap. Why haven’t you called anyone?”

“You woke me up. I didn’t get a chance to call,” I mumble.

God, he feels so good—the smell, the heat, the deep timbre of his voice. I snuggle into his hard chest, my hands seeming discombobulated from my body, but I still try to touch his pecs.

I’ve been dying to know what they feel like. I didn’t get to touch them during the kiss, the kiss I still dream about because I wish I could go back in time and experience it again. But without the fear or terror. I knead his muscles. They are so hard, so strong, just like the rest of him. Is this how normal women feel? Craving the body of a man without fear?

His pecs flex under my sporadic motions.

“That’s so fucking sexy,” I mumble, my mind woozy. I wouldn’t be surprised if drool is dripping from my mouth. I wish I wasn’t sick so I could enjoy this. He’s all man—every hard inch of him.

A deep chuckle reaches my ear. “You’re definitely sick.”

A barrage of random thoughts slam into my mind as a wave of nausea thrashes in my gut. Covering my mouth, I dry heave before finally looking at my golden archangel, cradling me like I’m precious.

Beautiful. Unmarred. Worthy of love.

An overhead light renders his face in half shadows, like he’s wearing a halo. It’s fucking ridiculous, but I swear I can hear the angels sing.

“Charles,” I murmur, my vision blurry, but I see his glorious golden blond hair, ruffled and unkempt, his scruff longer. Those piercing blue eyes darken like the stormy sea. “I’m dead, aren’t I? Is this hell and you’re here with me? That would be the hell I’ve imagined—trapped with you for eternity. But why would you be in hell? Aren’t you an archangel?”

He lets out something suspiciously like a growl and a snort.

“A grort. ” I stifle a delirious giggle. “You just grorted.”

“Oh fuck, what am I going to do with you?” he murmurs, affection in his voice. I have to be hearing things because why would he be treating me like I’m precious? He stands up and lifts me into his chest like I weigh nothing. My heart skips a beat and something flutters in my gut.

He starts moving; the motion jostles my head, and the stabbing headache worsens.

“You’re going to stay in bed. No complaints from you.”

“You’re a tyrant. You can’t boss me around. I’ll do what I want.”

“Watch me, brat.”

“What are you going to do? Punish me?” I mumble, completely exhausted. Snuggling deeper into his hold, I listen to the steady thumps of his heartbeat—powerful, reassuring, a safe harbor. I’m so tired but in this moment, I can finally rest.

“No, you’ll be awake and well when I punish you. And you’ll be asking for more.” Is it my imagination or his voice carries a rougher edge? A frisson of awareness slithers through me, but I’m too sick to think much of it. “You need rest. Lots of it.”

But something about his words earlier finally register in my mind. I open my eyes. “N-No, I’m not sleeping. There’s so much to do. The trainees’ showcase. It’s n-next week. They aren’t ready. They need this to get their scholarships for next year. And I need to practice for Paris.”

I can’t afford to mess up Paris, my first performance as Odette—the first test to see if I’m ready for a promotion.

Struggling in his arms, I push at him, but it’s like trying to move a boulder. He holds me tightly.

“Not happening. You’re no good to us in this state,” he mutters, and my eyes shut again. Everything is so bright—too bright, too noisy. So much pain.

“Shit, this place is a pigsty,” he complains under his breath. “How the hell do you find anything?” I hear him kick something out of the way—it better not be the new box of self-help books that came in the mail yesterday.

He drops me onto the bed, and I groan from the pain throbbing in my head. I hear him move about the room and a moment later, a draft flows in.

“Too cold, close the window,” I grumble.

“It smells bad in here. Go rest. I’ll call Ian and tell him you’re out sick.”

I drift in and out of consciousness as sleep threatens to pull me under at any second. I hear his deep voice on the phone, rumbly and reassuring.

My eyes drift open and I see the blurry visage of him striding over, lines of concern marring his face. He hovers over me and for a brief second, my pulse kicks up as I’m reminded of that dark night, but as soon as the thought drifts in, another thought quashes it.

I’m safe.

Charles does something to the bed, and the next thing I know, I’m beneath the covers, tucked in tightly.

“Go to sleep. I’ll take care of everything,” he whispers, and my eyes drift closed once more. His finger grazes my cheek and I shiver.

“Right,” I mumble, “or else I’m no good to you all.” A hollow ache appears in my chest. Dancing—he’s only concerned about the performance. But it’s okay, Taylor. You don’t want emotional entanglements, anyway.

Darkness overtakes me.

The next time I open my eyes, it is pitch dark and I wake up in a panic, my head burning hot. Charles. Where are you?

“Liam, I wish you’d pick up my call. I…I worry about you. Ethan told me you’re fine. You’re in Japan now?”

He’s still here. Relief hits me and my fevered pulse settles as I listen to his voice emanating from the living room, his words temporarily distracting me from how sick I’m feeling.

“I’m sorry. I know I’ve said sorry too many damn times and none of it matters. If I could turn back time and undo it all, I would. I wish I were the one in a coma. I…I miss you, brother. Fuck.” A choked sound escapes his mouth and my heart clenches.

I want to climb out of my bed and go to him, wrap my arms around his waist and take him away from what clearly are painful memories, just like how he’s rescued me from mine during the kiss…albeit temporarily.

But the aches in my body, the heaviness of my limbs, the exhaustion weighing on my eyelids are too strong, and soon I drift back to sleep.

The rest of the night passes by in snippets—a slideshow of chills, fever, and body aches. My sleep is turbulent. I’m drifting in the dark ocean again, but this time, the waves are as tall as me as a violent storm rages around me. There’s no moon, no stars, no sign of life.

I’m all alone.

“Help!” I cry out, my voice hoarse.

Another wave crashes over me, the icy water choking the air out of my lungs. I can’t breathe.

“Help—”

“Shhh…” the ocean rumbles and wraps its icy tendrils around my body.

“No…” I struggle, but the waves are too powerful.

“Shhh… You’re having a nightmare, Tay. Just a nightmare. You’re safe,” the dark waters whisper again. “Take your medicine. You’re going through the worst of it.”

Suddenly, I’m lifted upright and the grinding headache stabs me again.

“Shhhh…” The deep voice is back and I feel my face being tipped back when I open my eyes, seeing him, my nemesis. Is he still my nemesis?

“Charles?” I’m delirious—this can’t be him. Why would he still be here? How much time has passed?

“Yes, minx. Take this,” he murmurs, his voice gentle as he puts two pills in my mouth, then places a glass up to my lips. “Drink up. Dehydration makes everything worse.”

“W-Why are you helping me? Don’t you hate me?” I whisper after taking a few gulps of water. “I rejected you that day.”

He freezes, and a thick lock of blond hair falls over his forehead, hiding his arresting eyes from view. I want to brush it away so I can look at him, but I don’t have the energy.

“You make me feel so damn much, Tay, so fucking much. I should hate you,” he says, his gaze falling on mine. Under the dim glow of the hallway light, I see a muscle twitching on his forehead, his eyes glowing, drawing me in.

“But?” Exhaustion slams me and I shiver, the sudden chill sending my teeth clattering. I’m having a fever, but why am I so damn cold?

The dark ocean beckons me again, but I don’t want to go back.

But I’m so tired. Bone-deep weary.

“C-Cold, Charles. I’m fr-freezing.” I shake uncontrollably, my body desperate for the blankets to smother me once more. Curling myself into a ball, I tremble in bed, wishing I could be unconscious and put out of misery.

“Fuck.” I feel an icy hand on my forehead. “Burning. You’re fucking burning. If your fever doesn’t improve within the next hour, I’m taking you to the hospital.” I hear rustling noises, the clanking of a belt buckle, something resembling a zipper being yanked down, a few muffled huffs.

My body fights at the familiar sounds—the same sounds from that night—and just like that evening, I can’t move. A scream makes its way up my throat.

“Shhh…” he whispers and his familiar scent floods my nose, enough to stall the panic threatening to join the chaos.

Then suddenly, the mattress dips next to me and a pillar of heat appears at my back.

“It’s me, Taylor. You’re safe. I’m just keeping you warm, okay?” The words are gentle, reassuring.

He’s asking for permission . My fevered mind registers. The terror slowly subsides and I moan my acquiescence.

Strong arms appear around my waist and I shudder, but this time I’m not sure if it’s because I’m cold or if it’s something else.

Charles pulls me tightly against his front and surrounds me with his heat. He tucks my icy feet in between his and twines his large hands with mine before resting them on my stomach. Amid the headache, the shivers, my mind registers I’m plastered against him, his head resting on top of mine, his entire body enveloping me.

His naked, hard body.

Sparks of panic threaten to reignite as his intoxicating scent makes its way to my nose. My pulse kicks up, my breathing quickens. I need to get out, I need—

“You’re okay,” he murmurs, his voice raspy, and a soft shiver coasts down my sweaty body. “Safe with me. Always.”

He hums under his breath and I feel a pressure on my sticky hair, like he’s pressed a soft kiss there.

“Little firefly flying against the wind, buzz, buzz, buzz, I’ll never let it win…” he sings under his breath a familiar hymn—a song I could’ve sworn I’d heard before but that couldn’t be true, since it wasn’t a nursery rhyme Mom sang to us.

“My grandma used to sing this to us when we were sick,” he murmurs, curling his arms tighter around me.

“Tell me a story, something, a memory, anything,” I mumble, not wanting this moment to end. My mind is blissfully empty, even though my body is in pain.

I feel so treasured right now.

I hear a smile in his voice. “My sister loved to dance. I think you would’ve liked her. She was fiery, mischievous, full of life. She always told me she felt like each day was a present and we weren’t guaranteed the next day, so why live with constraints?”

Snuggling deeper into his hold, I feel my panic slowly receding. “You must miss her a lot.”

“Yeah. I do. Every fucking day. I used to tell myself I worked so hard for her and Liam, so they could do whatever they wanted with their lives without worrying about anything. So they could live without constraints. After all, someone had to do the boring stuff—running a large company. And I didn’t mind it. I liked the business.”

He rubs my arms, the gentle motions sending frissons of warmth inside me. “But I never listened to them. That’s not what they wanted from me. They wanted a brother who was present for them, but I was too deep in my mind to know…until it was too late.”

I fight the sleep threatening to overtake me. I want to know what happened, what made him hide behind this mask no one seems to see but me.

“The last time I didn’t listen to them, I lost them both. Firefly in the hospital, and Liam…he barely speaks to me anymore. I haven’t seen him in years. If it weren’t for Ethan, his best friend, I wouldn’t even know he was still alive. And that…that…” His voice catches.

“That kills you, doesn’t it? The people closest to you not seeing what you’re hiding in your heart,” I whisper, slowly turning toward him, even though the motion is making me seasick.

My body is clammy, and I’m sure I look disgusting, but the look in his eyes, the intensity, it threatens to unmoor me.

There’s pain, guilt, aching vulnerability.

And love. So much love for his family.

He rakes in a ragged breath, his hand sliding up to cup my face. I close my eyes, relishing the heat of his palm.

“How could they not see you?” I whisper. “You wear your heart in your eyes.”

You’re a good man, Charles Vaughn. If I’m not careful, I may lose my heart to you.

I hear a sharp inhale—it could be his or mine—and he cradles my head against his chest like I’m the most important thing in the world.

And in this weak moment, with my body battling a virus, my nerves and head on fire, I don’t want to fight the emotions swirling inside me.

I want to let him in, and I know that should scare me, but I’m too sick to care.

I want one selfish moment to remember forever.

Pressing a soft kiss on his strong chest, I feel his muscles tensing. I murmur, “I see you, Charles Vaughn. One day, they’ll see you too.”

My energy spent, my muscles slowly loosening, I let sleep overtake me.

This time, there are no nightmares, no dark ocean.

Only reassuring, peaceful sleep.

The next morning when I wake up, he’s gone. I’m about to question if everything is a figment of my imagination—my loneliness inventing someone to care for me.

But then, when I make my way out of the bedroom to a sparkling clean apartment, I find a beautiful bouquet of roses sitting next to my newly unpacked self-help books on the coffee table.

Healing from Darkness , the critically acclaimed memoir of a rape survivor, is on the very top of the stack, its shiny black cover beckoning me.

A wine-red rose, its thorns shorn, lies on top of it, along with a note.

My heart pinches at the smooth stem of the flower, wondering if anyone will ever love the rose with its prickly thorns before I pick up the small card and read the masculine scribble on it.

Taylor,

I hope you feel better today. Perhaps we’re two sides of the same coin—both wearing masks to face the world. But if you’re game, if you’re brave enough, step into the light. With me.

Without darkness, there’d be no light.

You’re not alone.

Charles

P.S. I’m sorry for scaring you that night in the lounge. I never meant for it to go that far and I apologize for misconstruing your consent. Please forgive me.

A sob tears from my throat and I clutch the note to my chest.