I looked up from my phone and saw Wilder wrapped in a blanket staring at the mountain of food and drink on the coffee table.
“I wasn’t sure what you wanted, so I just ordered you a bit of everything.”
He gave a small laugh, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Why?”
I wrapped my hands around Wilder’s waist and pulled him into my lap. “Believe it or not, I’m not very good at dealing with emotions.”
“Shocker,” he laughed.
“But I spoke to Bishop, and he said to be there for you and give you what you need and Roxie said to follow my instincts.”
Wilder pointed at the sweets and rum. “And this is what your instincts led to?”
“I wasn’t sure if you needed sugar or alcohol, but I wanted you to have options. If you don’t like any of this, tell me and I’ll order some other stuff. We can order actual food as well if your hungry for something other than empty calories.”
Wilder snagged the bottle of rum, opened it and took a long swig. “No, this is great. It’s perfect actually.” He took another swig and stared at me over the rim of the bottle. “Not going to tell me that getting drunk isn’t going to solve all my problems?”
“Nope. If that’s how you want to cope, I’ll be here for you.”
“Thanks,” he said, his voice trembling a little.
He curled his head under my chin and hugged the rum bottle to his chest.
“I lived on the streets when I was sixteen. My mother died a year before and my father wasn’t an easy man to be around. He used to keep threatening to separate Bishop and me, but we don’t do well apart.”
“So I’ve heard,” he mumbled sleepily. “How did you end up on the streets?”
I wasn’t going to tell him the whole story. Not yet anyway. “I attacked our father when he came between us. I beat him to a pulp after he hit Bishop and then Bishop called me a monster and told me to leave. I know I should have felt scared, or sad or regret, but all I felt was rage.”
“Did your father… did he…?”
“Die? No, not straight away. He fell into a coma and died a few months later.”
“Oh.”
“It all happened a long time ago and I should probably feel something over what I did, but the worst thing about it was leaving Bishop. Not that I ever really let him get very far. I always know where he is. What I’m trying to say, in a roundabout way, is that I don’t feel anything about what I did to my father. I’m not built that way. But you are. I just want to be here for you in whatever way you need while you process whatever is going through your mind.”
“I’m sorry about all this,” he whispered.
I curled my hand through his soft brown hair. “About what?”
“Bringing you all my problems.”
I shrugged. “I don’t mind problems, baby. I can solve problems. Usually by killing them, but problems I can handle.”
“I’m glad you’re here.” He laughed and then cried, seemingly unable to do one without the other. “Do you still have my magic?”
“Yes,” I replied, feeling it jump in my chest at his voice. I could feel Wilder’s mark heating my skin as well. “Would you like it back?”
He smiled up at me. “Please. It might help me to feel less… adrift.”
I pressed a soft kiss against his lips. “You don’t have to explain it to me. It’s your magic, Wilder. I will only ever hold it for safekeeping.”
Wilder closed the distance between us and pressed his lips to mine. He kissed me slow and deep and with each sweep of his tongue I felt his magic leave my body.
A contented little hum escaped his mouth when he pulled back.
“If they ever tell me there’s an easier way to return your magic to you, I don’t want to know.” I squeezed him tighter to me, not wanting to let him go.