Page 20 of Awakening the Beast
He raises a brow, glancing at the limited space. “There’s no way I’m fitting in that bed; have you seen my fucking size?”
I giggle with a groan, patting the bed again. “Try.”
I watch with a smile as he carefully climbs onto the bed, shifting to find the best position without hurting me. Finally, he’s lying beside me, and we’re face to face, his forehead resting against mine.
We lie there in silence, just taking each other in, the weight of everything that's happened hanging between us. I trace the lines of his face with my eyes, trying to ground myself in this moment.
“This still feels like some strange dream,” I murmur, the exhaustion from the past few days heavy in my voice.
He studies me for a moment, then quirks an eyebrow.
“Better than a fucking nightmare, though, right?”
I close my eyes, the memory of all the nightmares that have haunted me for months washing over me like a dark wave. The fear, the loss—it's all still so fresh. But when I feel his hand in mine, I open my eyes to see him pressing our scarred palms together, our fingers lacing tightly.
“I know what you're going through. I had the same nightmares after Bridge died.”
I just listen, sensing this is something he doesn't often share, something deep.
“I kept replaying that morning in my head, the way I found her, the way she stared back at me, lifeless, the sound of Cree screaming. It was like it was on a fucking loop every time I closed my eyes.”
A lump forms in my throat, tears welling up as I realize he understands my pain more than I ever thought. Of course he does. He gently strokes his thumb over his initial carved into my palm, his touch comforting me.
“But it does get easier,” he continues. “I’m here for you, just like you were there for me.”
A tear escapes, and he wipes it away with a tenderness that makes my heart ache. “I wouldn’t have made it through without you,” he admits quietly.
My sleepy eyes close, feeling safe for the first time in a long time, and he leans in to press a soft kiss to my forehead. “Get some rest, beautiful. Tomorrow, we’ll hopefully get you home.”
I'm reclining in the maternity chair, my newborn daughter nestled in the crook of my arm. She's such a good baby—so quiet, only fussing when she's hungry, and then she gets all demanding and shit, like a tiny little tyrant. I glance over at Wren, sleeping peacefully in the hospital bed, and I can’t help but stare at her for a while.
Last night, she wanted me to sleep beside her in that cramped bed, but it was probably the most uncomfortable fucking experience of my life. I ended up staying awake the entire night, not that sleeping is something I do much of anyway.
The quiet is shattered by a soft chime—Wren’s phone lighting up with a new message. I carefully reach over and pick it up, glancing at the screen to see a text from her mom. She wants to visit Wren and Lumi.
My jaw clenches as I set the phone back down. The thought of facing her father is eating away at me, especially knowing what he’s done. Wren told me last night that she wants revenge, but I know the kind of revenge I crave is focused on her father. When I finally come face to face with him, I’ll know immediately if he had a hand in all of this.
At this point, I’m starting to doubt whether this is just about Savannah. Sure, she’s likely involved somehow, especially since she vanished after my supposed death, but I’ve got a feeling this goes way fucking deeper. If Ghost is in the mix, this isn’t just about Wren and me anymore—it’s something bigger.
The real question gnawing at me is whether he’ll try to kill me. Will he push his daughter to the brink of madness again? Any decent parent wouldn’t, but Phillip had the chance to end her pain and instead chose to let me ‘die.’ If that’s the case, he’s more of a fucking monster than I initially thought.
I may be a lot of things, but I’d never let my kids suffer because of me or my business if I can help it. Their happiness will always come first, no matter what. What Phillip’s done... it’s the kind of thing my own piece of shit father would’ve pulled, and that says more about Phillip than I ever thought. It takes a special kind of twisted piece of shit to put your own child through hell just to serve your own fucked-up agenda.
Suddenly, Lumi squirms in my arm, stretching her tiny limbs out and I raise an eyebrow with a smirk. Not a second later, Wren mirrors her, stretching her arms above her head with a groan as her brown eyes flutter open. Like mother, like daughter.
I stand and stroll over to Wren, stopping beside her. She looks up at me with a beaming smile, and I lean down to kiss her plump, rosy lips. Her palm cups my cheek as she kisses me a few more times, soft and lingering, before searching my eyes.
“You didn’t sleep?” she asks, her speech still soft with sleep.
I give a small shake of my head. “No.”
Her brows lift in mild surprise before her gaze shifts to Lumi, now wide awake in my arm. Wren’s eyes light up as she reaches out to gently stroke Lumi’s dark hair.
“I suppose you’ll need feeding,” she murmurs.
Wren sits up with a small whimper, adjusting herself and when she’s ready, I gently hand Lumi over to her. For a moment, I just watch as Lumi begins to feed.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been jealous of a fucking baby before,” I mutter, half to myself.
