Page 33 of XOXO, Little Butterfly (The Storyteller’s Bodyguard #2)

Tristan

Brandon’s panicked voice crackles in my earpiece. “Something’s wrong—she’s in the water, sir, she’s not—she’s not moving—”

I don’t remember crossing the hallway. I don’t remember shoving guests aside. I only remember the bathroom door, splintering off its hinges. And the tub. The water is high, Birdie’s head tipped back like a fallen doll, hair floating around her face, eyes half open, glazed and vacant.

And Brandon’s shaking hands pressed against her bare, lifeless shoulders. “She’s not—she’s not responding—”

I slam into him, dragging him out of the way. I don’t see the marble. Don’t feel the water. I just see her.

I’m in the tub without thinking. My suit, my shoes, my gloves drenched. None of it matters. Only she matters.

“ Dios mío, no! No, no, no, Birdie, no me hagás esto, por favor! ” I pull her out, one arm braced under her back, the other gripping her legs like I’m holding her together.

I check for her breathing and pulse. They’re so faint.

She’s barely there. “ Respirá, mi amor! Respirá, por favor! No te me vayas. Te necesito! Te necesito, carajo! Te juro que no puedo sin vos… ” Her head lolls.

Her skin is pale and slippery. Her lips— “ Puta madre, no te mueras! ” I shake her and slap her cheeks lightly. “Breathe, baby, come on.”

Brandon hands me a towel from behind. “I’m calling an ambulance.”

“You haven’t yet?! What the fuck are you still doing here? Get out! Get the fucking hotel doctor. It’s faster.” I tilt her forward, one sharp movement, forcing the water from her lungs.

She coughs.

A soft, horrible sound. Then another. Her body convulses once, twice, and suddenly she’s gasping, wheezing, alive. ALIVE.

Every fiber in me quakes. I crush her to me. My fingers curl too tight into her skin. She shudders in my arms, lashes fluttering.

“Birdie, Birdie, look at me,” I whisper, cradling her against my soaked chest. “Don’t move. Just breathe. That’s it. In and out. Good girl.”

Another wheeze escapes, and I can’t help the tears rushing out. “My God, what did you do, Reagan? What did you do?”

“I didn’t—” she rasps, taking in the surroundings, and realization tightens the corners of her eyes. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t talk.” I wrap the towel around her body and cup the back of her head. “Just breathe, baby. Please.”

“No, Tristan. I wasn’t trying to hurt myself,” she murmurs.

“I just… I needed to shut the thoughts down. Anything to keep me from running into the bad thoughts . The memories… They would take over and send me into a spiral. I didn’t want to feel anything for a little while.

That’s all. I was just shutting them down.

” She looks me dead in the eye. “You believe me, don’t you? ”

God help me. My whole body is screaming, but all I manage is a nod.

“It must be the meds, the ones they gave me for my head. They make me drowsy,” she says as I pull her out of the tub. “I’d never hurt myself, Tristan.”

I walk out, carrying her, and lay her on the bed. Then I grab more towels and dry her hair, her body. “I’m gonna take care of you, okay? I’m gonna take good care of you. Estás bien, vas a estar bien. Estoy acá. Estoy acá. ”

“Say you believe me.”

I nod. Again. And again. An automatic reflex. Because if I speak, I’ll shatter. I tell myself that I do believe her. I need to because the alternative might tear something in me I won’t be able to stitch back together.

I almost lost her. I almost walked back into this room and found a corpse in the bath, her skin cold, lips blue and mouth open in drowned silence.

My Birdie. My Reagan. Gone.

The images won’t stop. Her body—limp, boneless in the water. Her eyes—dead. My arms—too late. I wasn’t there. I left her. I fucking left her.

Maybe she didn’t intend to leave this world without me, but accidents happen. What if I didn’t get here on time? What if he got in?

What if while I was playing spy at Raiford, pretending to control this game, he was here, watching her, touching her?

He doesn’t get to do that. He doesn’t get her. She’s mine. Not Blake’s. Not Shane’s. Not Jacob’s. Not Death’s. And sure as fuck not his.

Mine.

Mine to save. But even when I try, the world finds a way to pull her under. I’m losing her. To her past. To Blake. To Torrance. To him. To her memories. To her own fucking mind.

“Tristan? Why would you not say it? Why would you not say you believed me?”

That’s all it takes. Fuck me, the towel drops from my trembling fingers, and I break into tears. My head falls into her lap, and I cry until I can’t breathe.

“Hey.” Her fingers brush over my hair ever so gently. I don’t flinch, not anymore. I lean into her touch. It encourages her other hand to comfort me, too. I become the one she’s cradling, the one she’s taking care of. “I’m okay. You will be, too. We’re okay, Tristan.”

I lift my head to her, and she smiles, wiping away my tears. “I’ve never seen you cry. Not like this. It’s not like the first time you thought I was going to die.” She chuckles.

“Don’t ever joke about this.”

“Too soon? I’m sorry. I meant I bashed my head on a rock a few days ago. It was more dangerous than falling asleep in the tub for two minutes. Why—?”

“I wasn’t there. This time, I wasn’t there for you.”

She puts her hands on either side of my face, and I let them stay there.

I welcome her touch, seek it, fucking need it.

Warm. Anchoring. Bringing me back to life.

“But you came for me, and I’m alive. You saved me…

again. Don’t you see? We are survivors, Tristan.

It’s what we do. We survive. That’s why you have to believe I’d never hurt myself. ”

“I believe you.” I push the words out.

“I’m okay now,” she whispers. “You found me. You always do.”

“If anything happened to you, I’d burn down the world. I’d carve a hole in the sky just to follow you.”

“Oh, Tristan, that’s so sweet.” She stares at me, and it feels like she can see all the way into the back of my skull. “But you keep forgetting one thing.”

“What is it?”

“You, too, are a survivor.” Her stare is not invasive or uncomfortable but a brutal type of kindness, a shared understanding of the wounds that shaped us. “That’s why you’re here. That’s why you understand.”

Not without you. I won’t survive it. The world wouldn’t either.