Coming Home(164)

“Don’t be sorry,” he said gently, running his fingers through her hair. “Try to sleep.”

“You’re not sleeping,” she pointed out, moving closer to him.

He said nothing as he continued to stroke her hair gently. Leah fought with all her might to remain awake after that, but as soon as he realized what she was doing, he began to sing softly. His low, throaty voice filled the room, his chest vibrating gently against her cheek, and she teetered on the edge of consciousness, hearing bits and pieces of the song.

The last thing she remembered was the feel of his fingers slowly working their way through her hair as he sang, “You’ll look at me, with eyes that see, and we’ll melt into each other’s arms…”



Morning.

She knew it before she even opened her eyes, and Leah felt her heart drop into her stomach.

She could feel Danny pressed up against her back, his arm draped over her waist and his breath fluttering her hair. She opened her eyes slowly, and it took a second for them to focus on the clock.

It was five after seven. The alarm was set for eight, but she knew there was no way she’d be able to go back to sleep now.

Leah rolled slowly under his arm, careful not to jostle him as she turned to face him. He always looked so beautiful when he slept—so peaceful—and she found herself fighting the urge to touch his face, his lips, his jaw.

And then suddenly, an image of Danny sleeping on a tiny cot in a cell flashed in her mind, and she squeezed her eyes shut, trying desperately to rid the image from her head.

But the floodgates had opened.

Image after image of Danny in prison flashed before her eyes: Danny wearing some type of prison jumpsuit, walking through a corridor in handcuffs. Danny at a table in some sort of cafeteria, eating what looked like a pathetic school lunch off a plastic tray. Danny sitting in a bare room with a bed, a toilet, and zero privacy.

She opened her eyes quickly, not wanting to see any more, and she was greeted with his beautiful face, innocent and untroubled in sleep.

She felt her composure slipping rapidly, and Leah struggled to get out of bed as quickly as possible without disturbing him. She pressed her lips together as her vision blurred, and just as she slunk out from beneath his arm, she felt the first round of tears spill over.

Leah padded over to the bathroom quickly, shutting the door softly behind her before she ran to turn the water on in the shower. As soon as the sound of rushing water filled the room, she slumped to the floor, burying her mouth against the crook of her elbow as she burst into tears.

Violent sobs racked her body, and she curled in on herself, gasping for air as she tried with all her might to keep the sounds muffled against her arm. She couldn’t let him hear this. She had told him she was strong enough to take care of herself, that he didn’t need to worry about her.

She wanted so badly for that to be true.

When Leah gained some semblance of control—when the ferocious sobbing subsided into pathetic little hiccups and sighs, she stood up and climbed into the shower, standing under the stream with her eyes closed as she replayed every beautiful moment from the night before in an effort to calm herself down. Every word, every touch, every smile. And then she remembered waking frantically several times throughout the night, reaching out for him in a panic, and her heart sank.

It killed him, seeing her suffer because of him. She knew it did. She’d heard it in his voice. And she couldn’t allow him to see that level of weakness again. She would not let him carry that burden.

And just like that, Leah felt her resolve click into place.

She opened her eyes, allowing the last of her tears to run down her face with the water, and then she tilted her head back, letting the warm stream wash the remnants of salt from her cheeks.