Unfinished Hero 02 Creed(53)

“Sylvie,” his voice was firmer.

I didn’t reply.

The dream still had a hold on me.

I threw back the covers and knifed out of bed. My movements frantic, I dashed to the dresser, yanked out panties and tugged them on awkwardly. I left that drawer open even as I opened another one and tagged a babydoll tee. I pulled it over my head as I raced out of the room, down the hall, through the living room, the entry, the dining room to the kitchen sink.

I snatched a glass from the cupboard, turned on the water, filled it, put it to my lips and sucked it back. Water dribbled down the sides of my mouth, down my neck, wetting my tee.

When it was empty, I filled it again and repeat.

As I was drinking, I felt a warm body press against my back, hands on the edge of the sink in front of me. That body arched and I felt a face buried in my neck.

I emptied the glass, filled it again and repeat.

Creed didn’t move.

I emptied the glass and dropped it into the sink with a crash.

“They could have killed you,” I whispered.

“They didn’t,” he murmured against my neck.

“They could have killed you,” I repeated.

One hand left the edge of the sink and snaked across my belly but his face didn’t leave my neck. “Baby, they didn’t.”

“I read somewhere that it takes only three days to die of dehydration.”

Creed didn’t respond.

I told him something he knew better than me.

“They had you a month.”

His lips went to my ear. “They’re dead, Sylvie. We’re here. We’re together. We’re breathin’ and they are fuckin’ dead.” I listened to him pull in a breath before he finished, “We win.”

We win.

I dropped my head.

Creed’s other hand left the edge of the sink and wrapped around my chest.

He held me that way a long time. Then he moved from me but took my hand, guided me gently from the sink and out of the kitchen, through the dining room into the living room where he took me to the couch. Positioning me with his hand in mine, he let me go but put both his hands to my shoulders and pressed lightly.

I sat on the couch.

He leaned into me and framed my face with both hands, so close, his shadowed, scarred for me beauty was all I could see.

“Wait here. I’ll be back,” he whispered.

I nodded, moving his hands with my head.

His hands tipped my head forward, he kissed the hair at the top then he let me go. I watched his shadowed form leave the room.

He came back in less than a minute and I noted vaguely he was wearing jeans. He also was carrying a bag.

He came to the couch, upended it and a bunch of small, mismatched jewelry boxes fell out on the couch beside me.

“Knight gave me your name, I wasted no time findin’ you. Saw you then I flew home and got these,” he murmured.

He tossed the bag to my coffee table and pawed through the boxes in the dark. He found the one he wanted, flipped it open and with a tug, yanked out a necklace.

I stopped breathing.

The gold glinted in the moonlight. I saw the gemstone pendant hanging. I couldn’t see the color in the shadows but I knew.

I knew.

He held it toward me.

“That was the one I didn’t get to give to you by the lake on your eighteenth birthday.”

I started shivering. My hand lifting up like it had a mind of its own, Creed draped the necklace over it, gem to my palm before he went back to pawing through the boxes.

He found one, opened it, yanked out another necklace.

“This one I bought for your next birthday,” he muttered and draped it, gem to my palm, over my still raised hand.

The tears hit my eyes.

Creed went back to pawing, found a box and tugged out another necklace.

“This one was when you turned twenty,” he whispered.

Wet slid down my cheeks.

Back to the boxes again, again, until the necklaces draped over my hand numbered fifteen.

When he was done, his hand curled around mine, palm to palm, his fingers curved around the chains and he leaned deep, his lips at my ear.

“You were gone but I had more than the tat, Sylvie. I didn’t get it then but I get it now. They never fuckin’ took you away from me.”

My breath hitched and my voice trembled as I told him, “I have the others.”

“I know.”

“They took you away from me.”

His hand squeezed mine, the pendants and chains digging into my skin.

“I’m back, baby.”

At his words and all they meant to me, nearly sixteen years of wanting just that, despairing I’d never have it, I lurched out of the couch, my free arm hooking around his neck. I barely got it positioned before I fell right back, pulling him down on me and into the couch.

Boxes went flying. His fingers scraped through the chains, gathering them. He lifted up and tossed them across our bodies toward the coffee table and he came back to me.