That Emerald Vow (The Crimson Creed #2)

21. Chapter Twenty-One

W hat is that noise? It’s my breathing; it’s coming out in wheezes as I try to process. I immediately call Charlie over the console, desperately needing to hear her voice.

“Hello?”

“Um . . . hey . . . I . . .” I try to form a sentence, but nothing makes sense. My hands are trembling on the steering wheel.

“Damon, what’s wrong?” she asks, her voice the only thing breaking through the fog in my mind.

“I . . . uh . . . I need to stop for a second . . . I . . .”

Without knowing what’s wrong, she goes into planning mode. Her voice firmly tells me, “Pull over onto the next exit. There’s a motel there. Follow me.”

“Okay.”

I follow her to a sleazy looking motel, but ironically, we’re probably scarier than anyone else staying here. My knuckles are blanched with how hard I’m gripping the steering wheel even though I’m parked. I don’t even notice how much time has passed since we got here, but Charlie is at my door, dangling a key.

“Come on. There was only one room left with a single bed, but it’ll give us some privacy for however long we need.” There’s a sex joke in there somewhere about one bed, but I can’t bring myself to make it .

I nod as she helps me out of my car and leads me to the room. I sit on the bed and run my hands through my hair. “She’s . . . she’s gone.”

Charlie sits next to me and wraps an arm around me. “Who? Who’s gone?”

“My mother. They found her dead in her cell. The cancer took her,” I say, a sob breaking out. Charlie pulls me to her and rubs my back as I allow myself to feel all the emotions.

“Why the fuck am I crying?” I quake into her chest as my tears continue to pour out. “I fucking hate her. She was a terrible mother!” When I first heard about the cancer, I felt relieved. But that relief is now interlaced with pain.

“She was your mother, Day. It may have been mostly bad, but there was some good. You having some warmth towards her is just as valid as all the hatred you feel. Both can be true at the same time.”

“But I don’t want it. I don’t want this feeling. It’s too fucking confusing.”

She continues to rub my back as I quake with sobs. “I know, baby, I know. Trust me, I know.”

We lie there wrapped up in each other as she shifts between rubbing my back and running her hands through my hair.

A bright light shines on my face, making me wake up—car headlights, I realize. We both fell asleep in an awkward position at the edge of the bed. I feel so bad because our bodies are contorted in a way that is definitely not comfortable. But she didn’t move a muscle as I cried, screamed, and did everything I had to. She did exactly what she promised: she took care of me. And something about that thawed out that last piece of my soul.

She looks absolutely breathtaking asleep, even with the little drool stain on the mattress. “Char, baby, wake up,” I whisper as I rub her cheek.

“Mmm. What time is it? Are you okay?” she asks as she stretches in place.

“I think maybe 3 AM. Come on, let’s get some more sleep but maybe under the covers this time.”

“Okay.” She looks up at me doe-eyed.

I get up and take off my now-wrinkled shirt and slacks. I keep on my undershirt and boxer briefs. “Don’t worry, just taking these off to be more comfortable.”

“No funny business when we both have had emotional nights, got it.” She salutes as she follows suit and takes her dress and bra off but leaves her slip on. Her perfect nipples make an imprint through the silk, just begging to be played with. But she isn’t wrong; our first time won’t be like this—weighed down by a tough night.

We both take turns in the bathroom and then get under the covers. “Can I hold you?” I ask her.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had anyone ask,” she says, making my heart break for the hurt little girl who should have been protected at all costs. “I would like that.”

I pull her body to mine so her whole back is flush against my chest—not a single part of our bodies is not touching. I bury my face into her hair, enjoying the sweet scent. “Thank you,” I whisper.

“Thank you ,” she whispers back.

I refuse to open my eyes, not sure what time it is. Instead, I nuzzle in closer to where the most heavenly smell of peaches comes from. I’m met with the warmth of another body spooned to the front of my body, bringing me comfort and a smile to my lips.

Charlie.

I quickly open my eyes, with everything from last night crashing back into me: meeting Charlie’s family, her and me finally coming to a place where we could move forward, and . . . and my mother dying. My heart sinks to the pit of my stomach. Like she can feel my tension, my little gem carefully turns to come face to face with me on the small, twin-sized bed.

“Morning, Day,” she whispers groggily.

“Morning,” I rasp back.

She carefully pushes my hair out of my face and starts to comb it gently with her fingers. I feel a shudder through my spine from how good it feels. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m not sure . . .” I sigh heavily as I pull her closer to me. “I’m obviously not okay. But it’s like missing what could have been versus the mother I had. So it feels confusing.”

“Well as my therapist-of-a-best-friend would say, ‘acknowledging it is the first step’ or something like that,” she jokes.

“Well, I can’t really escape it. It’s definitely there.” I can feel the hollowness in my chest like it’s swallowing everything up, but the only thing keeping me together is the wonderful human tucked in my arms. “You’re helping though.”

Her eyes meet mine as a soft smile grazes her lips. “Well, it’s only fair. You help me too.”

I bring my hand to caress her cheek, and in a breath of a whisper, I say, “Charlie, can I . . . ?”

She nods as her eyes gleam. “Yes,” she softly growls out .

Our eyes stay locked until I bring our faces closer together, closing as soon as my lips graze hers. They feel pillowy soft, like they were made just for me. My comfort, my saving grace. This kiss is gentler than our first fake kiss, which was nice, but filled with wonder, newness, and shock. We are exploring the range of safeness we feel—comfort. Slightly opening my mouth, we continue to kiss, and I allow myself to get lost in this moment and let her fill some of those hollow spaces. Pulling apart, I place my forehead on her. “You’re so special, little gem.”

She pecks me on the lips. “So are you. Like you were . . . like you were made just for me,” she admits.

I smile. “I think I was,” I say, kissing her forehead. “And I will spend every day showing you how amazing you are. I want to earn your trust and l—” I let the words trail off, as it may be too soon for more.

“Can we stay like this for a bit longer?”

“Of course.” We lie there for minutes or hours, I’m unsure, but it’s exactly what we both needed. Two broken children whose adult versions heal each other. Allowing them to teach us to hope again . . . to trust again . . . to love again.