NINE
The young prince began to force his way through the thick wood. The stiff branches gave way for him, then closed again, allowing no one else into the castle.
Jessica
I wake up disoriented.
It’s pitch black, without even the red glow of her alarm clock or the blue stars from Ky’s turtle light. My back aches, my neck is sore. My eyes feel puffy like I’ve been crying. My lids are heavy, threatening to drag me back into slumber.
But something woke me, and I need to know what.
Is Ky awake? I don’t hear him crying.
Shifting slightly, my hands fumble along a rough sheet to a sharp metal edge. It comes back to me, then. Coming home from work at the diner, picking up Ky from his sitter. Then hearing the banging on the door.
Stefano had been drunk and angry. Which is business as usual for him.
I held Ky’s body against my chest, huddled in the closet, praying he would go away. And then he did, but it was too late. I knew that we wouldn’t be safe there. Whether he wanted me in his bed again or whether he was interested in raising Ky to be like him, we had to go.
As soon as Stefano left I packed what I could into the trunk and left.
The carseat sits beside the bed, Ky kicking in his sleep, his little brow wrinkled. I touch my hand to his forehead, and it smooths out beneath my fingers.
Forcing myself out of the cot, I kneel in front of Ky and check his diaper. Not too wet, but I change him often so he doesn’t get a rash. So I lay out the plastic mat onto the cot and pull the sleeping baby from his seat.
He wakes only briefly as I change him, his eyes cloudy with sleep. His small hand captures a lock of my hair, tugging until I gently pry his fingers apart.
“No pulling,” I whisper with a small smile.
He gives me a mystified look, as if he’s trying to understand.
“I love you,” I tell him.
He gives me a toothless grin.
My heart gives a kick. I bend down and press my lips to his soft forehead. When I pull back his eyes flutter closed. Before I even have the new diaper fastened he’s sound asleep.
I could bring him onto the cot with me, but the padded carseat is probably more comfortable. And definitely more secure, once I buckle him in.
A muffled sound comes through the wall.
That must have been what woke me. It came again, along with a skip in my heartbeat, that universal recognition of distress, of danger, the intrinsic pull to soothe I didn’t even know I had before I became a mother.
I glance back at Ky, uncertain. Should I leave him?
He sleeps peacefully, with that completely lost expression, as if he’s far away in some baby dreamworld with unlimited milk and rainbows. I pick up the heavy seat by its handle.
The barred door to my cell lay open, just slightly, like a parent might do for a child, in case she called out in her sleep or got scared. But it isn’t me or Ky crying out out for help.
I slip into the hallway, a little unsteady on my feet, following the restless sounds to the cell next door. The barred door is also ajar and I take that as permission to enter. I only want to check on him—whoever it was, though I knew it was Finn.
Sheriff Finnegan Locke, sprawled on a cot, muttering in his sleep.
Most people look peaceful while sleeping, more relaxed than when they’re awake. He’s just the opposite. Earlier he wore a perpetual half-smile, as if the whole world amused him, when he could be bothered to care.
Now his forehead is furrowed, a low sound of distress coming from deep in his throat. The contrast startles me, distracting enough that I’m already at his bedside, setting the carseat on the floor, shushing Finn back to calm before I realize what I’m doing.
His skin feels clammy under my fingertips, his hair damp with sweat. His voice sounds raw, and I wonder how long he’s crying out, how often he does this at night. He quiets beneath my soothing touch, his movements slowing, his face smoothing out.
I don’t want to let the nightmares come back, so I keep running my fingers along his forehead, his temple, even the bristle of his jaw. I swallow hard, realizing that I enjoy this—touching him, comforting him. I don’t consider myself an overly nurturing person. I love Ky, but that’s the extent of my maternal side. Then again, the way I feel about Finn isn’t maternal. It’s something else, something just as deep and infinitely more scary.
My eyelids droop in sleepiness, and I force myself away from him.
I would have picked up the carseat, would have left the room, but my gaze lands on a grey felt blanket. I pull it over him, and the wind from the fabric ruffles a lock of dark hair across his forehead.
He stirs, blinking up at me with those soulful brown eyes. “Jessica?”
It’s the first time he’s spoken my name, and in that hoarse and sleep-thickened drawl, it may be the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard. Feeling as though I’ve been caught, I whisper, “Hey.”
His eyes sharpen, coming to alertness. “Are you okay? Is Ky—”
“Shh, no. We’re both fine. I just heard something.”
He glances at the sleeping baby, his expression relaxing a fraction. “I woke you up?”
“It’s okay. No big deal.”
“Shit.” Propped on one elbow, he runs a hand over his face. “Sorry.”
“I just heard you moving around in here and wanted to see if you were okay.”
“Yeah. Of course,” he says absently, like he knows it’s more than moving around. He’s the one who had to live his nightmare. “What about you? You need something? A drink of water?”
I shake my head no even though I do need something. How quickly he turned from his need to mine. It seems so ingrained in him, a habit now. Maybe it comes from serving people in his job, maybe from something else. Maybe from the accident, whatever that means.
I have needs aplenty, the need to talk to someone about Stefano, the need to get away from him once and for all, the need to make sure Ky would be safe a powerful ache. And springing from somewhere deep—a need to connect with another adult, more than just serving someone coffee at the diner or sharing a cute story about Ky with one of the other waitresses. A need to be with another person, a man, a need to be a woman.
Not something I’ve ever needed before but so very real right now.
I need to touch and be touched, to know that my worth isn’t down the drain alongside the rest of my sad little life in Tanglewood. But I can’t bother him with that. He’s my jailer and my caretaker, not my lover. He doesn’t need to be bothered with this, with me.
He catches my wrist as I move to leave, so quick I can only gasp.
“Stay,” he murmurs.