The Save
Cross POV
Despite the thick fog of dreams keeping Cross firmly stuck in sleep, he still somehow heard the ringing of his cell phone. Faint and barely there at all, the ringing drove him from the dream, and had him peeling his eyes open to find the darkness of his bedroom staring back at him. For a split second, he wasn’t even sure why he had woken up, but the phone rang again.
A familiar tune.
One meant for her.
So then, he knew …
“Shit,” Cross mumbled.
Rolling over, Cross waved his hand blindly to find the phone on his nightstand. Finally, he had it in his grasp. Putting it to his ear, he buried himself back beneath the blankets as he answered the call.
“Catherine,” he murmured, his voice thick with sleep.
“Cross?”
Damn.
He knew what she was going to ask before the words even left her mouth. Maybe it was the high, light way her words came out, but the whine that lingered in her tone. Catherine only sounded like that when she was drunk, or high.
He hated it when she sounded like that.
It always meant bad things.
“Are you at home?” she asked.
Cross tossed the blanket off, and scrubbed a hand down his jaw. “Yeah, in bed.”
“Oh.”
Soft, and unsure.
Like she was scared.
Cross hated that, too.
He could hear the thumping music in the background, and the muffled laughter of people. A door slammed, and the noise lessened in the background for a moment.
She was not at home—that much was clear.
A party, likely.
Something she had been doing far too often, lately.
“Well, okay,” Catherine said, “I’ll let you—”
“Where are you?”
“In the city.”
Cross stared up at the ceiling of his bedroom. “Mmm, yeah, but doing what?”
“Working.”
Lies.
She rarely worked when she went out, now. Catherine thought he didn’t know, but he did. She was dealing more and more at school. It was concerning because it was dangerous. He didn’t really get a say, though, because they weren’t something anymore.
Not officially, anyway.
She called.
He went.
She cried.
He saved.
Like a circle that never ended.
Apparently, tonight would not be the night it ended, either.
“Give me the address,” he said. “I’ll be there in an hour or less.”
“You don’t have to.”
Yeah, he did.
“I’m already out of bed, Catherine.”
That was a lie, but it was only for her benefit.
Catherine whispered the address.
Cross finally got out of bed.
“I’ll be there soon,” he promised.
“Okay.”
Cross’s house was still dark and quiet when he finally got back. Only, he wasn’t alone like he had been when he left.
Catherine, not as drunk or stupid as he thought she might be, stayed close to his side as they navigated the halls of the Donati home. Her fingers wove with his as they slipped into his bedroom.
He took extra care to make sure they were quiet. Sure, his parents’ bedroom was one floor higher, but sometimes, all it took was a floorboard creaking to wake up Calisto.
Cross was in no way interested in explaining why Catherine was with him, how much she had been drinking, or anything else. His parents would not approve. They would tell him to send her home.
He couldn’t do that.
Not when she asked to stay.
Cross barely got the bedroom door closed before Catherine was shedding her clothes. In only a bralette and panties, she crawled into his bed, and disappeared under the blankets. She did all of that without even saying a word.
He expected nothing different.
Sometimes, she was all too predictable. She just wanted him close, but not too close. She wanted to feel him near, but not too much of him.
She was up.
She was down.
Like whiplash coming for him at every fucking turn, he no longer knew how to handle it, or what to do.
Sure, he wanted to help.
He just didn’t know how.
Instead, Cross did this. He went when she called, he made sure she was safe, and he kept her that way for as long as he could.
Catherine would disappear into his blankets and bed until she was ready to face the world again. Cross made sure she always had the time to do exactly that.
No matter what.
“Cross?”
Her quiet, muffled question had him crossing the bedroom.
“Yeah, babe?”
From beneath the blankets, he heard her ask, “Will you get in bed? I’m cold.”
Sure, she was.
He knew what she wanted.
He kicked off his shoes, and stripped down to his boxer-briefs. Climbing into the bed, and hiding beneath the blankets like she had done, Cross found Catherine staring at him.
Maybe he understood why she did this all too often with him.
Maybe it made more sense.
The world looked nicer under here.
With only her …
It was safer.
Silently, he reached out and pulled her in tight to his body. His arms cradled around her like a cage keeping her safe, and warm.
Catherine buried her face into his chest, and let out a soft sigh. “Thanks, Cross.”
Her unspoken words were far louder.
She had a problem with talking lately.
“No problem.”
Questions rattled around in his mind—things he needed to ask, but could never seem to say. It wasn’t like him to be so reserved with anybody, but that was the thing.
Catherine wasn’t just anyone.
She was her.
She was his.
He wanted to know if this was the last time he would have to go pull her from some house party, but he didn’t think it would be. He wanted to ask if they were ever going to get back to being them again, but was a little scared of the answer.
Her parents were probably wondering where she was. No doubt, Cross would be the one to take her home again in the morning, while at the same time, trying to avoid the burning glares Dante Marcello tossed his way.
Did she know how he felt her father’s hate grow with every new morning he showed up with a hungover Catherine in his car? Did she even care at all?
It was hard to say, and he wasn’t willing to ask. Sometimes, talking did no good lately when it came to Catherine.
She raged, sure.
She cried.
But actually talking?
No.
Not really.
Instead of saying anything, he simply held her.
She was here.
That was good enough.
“Do you still love me?”
Cross looked down to see familiar green eyes watching him. “Always.”
After all, he didn’t know anything different.
Only her.