Page 120 of Bound By Blood and Lies

Felix has been pacing holes into his floor. He is barely sleeping and eating as his worry bleeds into everything. He is sitting in so much regret that I can barely get through to him and it’s leaking into my own. In the end, we pulled in Atlas to track Roman to save our sanity and for the last three days we’ve been watching him as a little dot. It feels wrong, watching him from a distance without him knowing, but it feels a thousand times worse doing nothing and not knowing he’s safe. For three days straight he hasn’t left the estate. Not once. Not to get more food, not to go to work and definitely not to take any calls. I hate howfamiliar that feels, how easy it is to recognise the kind of silence that swallows you whole. It doesn’t feel that long ago that was me over Robyn.

During the days I have done what I can to help, thinking today is the day he comes home, but he hasn’t. I dealt with the founders, sat through conversations that made my skin crawl, organised the funerals down to the smallest detail so he wouldn’t have to think about any of it when he comes back. Flowers, food, logistics. Anything that could be handled, I handled. It doesn’t even begin to touch what’s actually broken, but it’s something. It has to be something… right?

Still, the guilt sits there. If I could go back in time to change it, I would. I think the saddest part of all of this is if Fiona could go back and change it she wouldn’t. She would die over and over again if it meant her son was free. But is this freedom? Locking himself away and shunning everyone? I’m not sure, but I am sure that I will always show up.

Roman and Fiona were relentless when it came to the baby and to me. They were always hovering, watching, making sure I rested, making sure I ate. The first day after Roman and Felix fought, I pushed all of that aside. I threw myself into fixing things for Roman until my body gave out and I hit the floor because I hadn’t eaten once. Now Riggs has stepped into that space and picked up the pieces they left behind. He watches me the same way, puts food in front of me and waits until I eat it, makes sure I sleep even when I fight it. It settles something in me and breaks something else at the same time. I’m grateful for him, I am, but we both feel it… that absence sitting between every action. He isn’t them. He never could be. And we both know this was never meant to be his role to take.

I drag in a breath and force myself out of the car. My gaze snags on some roses, or what’s left of them anyway. The petals have been torn apart, the stems are snapped and the roots arescattered across the ground as if something inside Roman was broken and it needed a visual representation.

I move toward the front door. Each step feels heavier than the last. I knock once, then again, but there’s nothing. I press my ear against the grain of the wood but I can’t hear anything so I knock harder.

“Roman?” I call out as I bang again.

My feet shift from one to the other as my hand falls to the door handle. For a final attempt, I twist it, not thinking it will open. I gasp when I feel it unlock under my palm and I push the door open slowly, peering into the darkened house.

“Roman?” My voice feels like it barely carries before it’s swallowed up by the house.

Every room is dark and empty. It feels haunted, so much like the church of an evening that my arms get covered in goose pimples. I catch a faint strip of light spilling from upstairs and I lick my dry lips as I head for it. Each step creaks under my weight. The door at the end of the hallway is slightly open, and I follow it like a beacon of hope.

My heart drops as the air hits me first. The stench of alcohol is heavy enough to sting the back of my throat as it radiates out of the room. My eyes take a second to adjust. When they do it feels as though my soul caves in completely. The room is destroyed. Glass is shattered across the floor, empty bottles are tipped over, rubbish is scattered everywhere. It’s the complete opposite of how Roman usually is. He’s so meticulous and obsessive that sometimes I wonder if he has OCD.

My gaze snaps to the bed and I see Roman there. He is curled in on himself unmoving, except for the faint rise and fall of his breathing. He looks so… small. It’s like every part of him is trying to disappear inside himself. All the fear I carried up the stairs leaves me in one unsteady breath, replaced by an instinct thatis stronger and sharper. I move, stepping carefully through the glass and debris as I climb onto the mattress behind him.

His body jolts as the bed dips and I freeze. Every one of my muscles lock as I wait for him to pull away, to shut me out completely. Instead, he slowly uncurls, turning toward me with a frown. His face is rougher than I’ve ever seen it. His beard is overgrown and his brown eyes are hollowed out. Everything about him has been worn down to something I barely recognise. I give him a small smile anyway as I reach out with a trembling hand to brush over his beard.

“Hey,” I whisper. “I was worried about you.”

There’s a pregnant pause before he turns so he’s lying on his back and looking at the ceiling.

“I’m angry with you,” he finally mutters, turning his head to look at me. His voice is hoarse as he speaks and a sad smile pulls at my lips.

“I know, Ro, I am angry with me too.”

Roman sighs as he wipes his hand down his face. My skin crawls with unease, and I curse Riggs for trying to convince me I was who he needed. I don’t think I ever will be again. I’m about to get up and offer him a drink but those lost eyes turn back to me as he just stares… it’s like he’s a lost little boy. I lower myself properly onto the bed, opening my arms slowly in case it’s not what he wants.

“Can I have a hug please?” I question softly.

“Okay,” he croaks.

He crawls across the bed into my arms and rests his head against my chest. I wrap around him as my fingers move over him, tracing up and down his back, into his hair, along his arms. Anywhere I can touch him, I do. I never feel as safe as I do when I’m with him. My breath catches as his large hand spreads across my bump. It feels so normal and I smile softly as tears sting my eyes. God, we were so close to having everything we wanted.I swallow the lump in my throat as I feel his lips press gently against my stomach. A hard kick slams from the inside of me; it’s nothing like the soft flutters I felt before and I gasp out loud. It pushes out against my stomach again, strong enough that I see its clear movement under my skin right where his lips are pressed.

Roman stills.

“What the fuck was that?”

A weak laugh slips out of me, “I think that was the baby kicking.”

“Have they done it before?”

“No,” I shake my head. “Minus the flutters, maybe it’s their way of saying they missed you.”

My voice wobbles at the end and I hate it. I bite my lip to try and swallow the sob, but a tear escapes before I can stop it, sliding down my temple into my hair. He pulls his head back to look at me, and his frown deepens as he watches it track down my skin.

“Sorry,” I murmur quickly, shaking my head. “Ignore me. I’m just hormonal.”

“Have you missed me as well or just the baby?” he asks and it’s my turn to frown at him.

“Of course I’ve missed you.”