“Goodnight, Rose.”
Theo’s soft voice comes from the doorway, and a second later, the light vanishes as the door shuts with a soft click. Ignoring the fact that I just put it back on, I shrug my dress off again and then crawl into bed beside Marcus.
He’s fast asleep, dead to the world, but when I lift the covers and slide in beside him, he makes a soft noise and rolls onto his side, snaking his arms around me and pulling me into his body. His face nuzzles my hair, and he takes one long inhale before his breathing pattern returns to normal.
I nestle deeper into his embrace, sleep already dragging me under. The last thought I have before I give in to the heavy pull is: he’s home.
And I am too.
* * *
I dream of something good, for once.
Of course, of all the dreams I’ve had, this is the one I can’t quite remember when I slowly blink awake in the morning. But I know it was a good dream, because instead of a pounding heart and wildly racing thoughts, I feel peaceful. Calm. Happy.
The dream was about my brother, I think.
That realization makes me dig deeper into the scrap heap of my memory banks, searching for any hint of what passed through my mind while I was asleep. I come up empty, but I have the strangest feeling that I found him in my dream. That I came face-to-face with him, and he was alive.
Healthy.
Real.
“What’s that smile for, angel?”
Marcus’s voice is rough with sleep, and when I turn my head toward him, I find his blue and brown eyes focused on me. He’s lying on his side, one arm slung possessively over my stomach as I lie on my back. I didn’t realize he was awake. It’s still a bit early, and he should really be getting as much sleep as possible. But he looks better this morning. His face has more color, and he looks as peaceful as I feel.
“Oh, you know.” I turn toward him. “I had a pretty good night last night.”
He lets out a low laugh, his eyes sparking with amusement. “Fuck, I missed you.”
There’s nothing but honest truth in his words, and I nod, a lump suddenly forming in my throat. “I missed you too.”
He tugs me closer, pulling me into his embrace. He must’ve stripped down to just his boxers before he got in bed, and as my arm wraps around him, my fingertips brush the damaged skin of a fresh scar. My heart skips a beat in my chest, and I pull back a little.
“Can I see?”
Marcus lifts an eyebrow, shooting me a questioning glance. “You really want to?”
“Yes.”
I don’t know if want to is the right way to put it. I need to see the scars on his back left behind by the bullet wounds. I need to know how bad it is.
He hesitates for a beat, then nods. Releasing his hold on me, he rolls over onto his stomach, crossing his arms on his pillow and resting his cheek against them as he watches me carefully.
Tugging the blankets down a little, I scan his back. My pulse picks up, memories of my own trauma and slow, painful healing process rising to the surface as I stare at the three bright pink wounds on Marcus’s back. They’re concentrated in a tight cluster on the right side between his spine and his shoulder blade.
“Victoria’s a fucking bitch, but the doc she has on call knows his shit,” Marcus murmurs as I rise up onto the elbow of my ruined arm and lean over him a little, examining his wounds. “My lung had collapsed, but he was able to fix it. And the bullets made pretty straight paths inside my body, so there wasn’t as much internal damage as there could’ve been. The thing that almost killed me was blood loss.”
My stomach churns at the memory of waking up in a drying puddle of blood. Of being caked in it, my clothes and skin and hair matted with it.
I nod, unable to find words to respond.
How much blood has been lost between the two of us? How much more blood will be spilled before this thing is over?
“So does this make us even?” I trace my fingers in wide circles around each of his fresh, pink scars. I want to kiss them like he’s done to mine, but they’re too new for that, the wounds still healing. “I saved your life, then you saved mine.”
“Not a fucking chance, angel.” Marcus rolls onto his side again, stealing away the sight of his injured back. “The doc kept telling me how fucking lucky I was. That if I’d gotten shot on the other side, there’s a good chance the bullets would’ve hit my heart. The fact that I spun around at the last second? The fact that I had my arms around you? That saved me. I owe you twice as much now.”