I didn’t remember falling asleep.
But I did dream of green eyes. Eyes I knew would never leave my brain until I painted them.
And maybe not even then.
Seven
I jerked straight up in bed.
Not my bed. Not my flat. Not even the shitty pay-by-the-hour motel I’d hidden away in to avoid Sabrina and Jerry and to avoid staying on the streets like Donovan had suspected I would.
My heart hammered in my throat as I squinted into the darkness and tried to orient myself. A hip bumped into mine, and I nearly swung out until it all came back to me in a rush.
Taking the bus to Carson. Wandering the streets on a tour of former homes of America’s desperate and destitute. Not destitute now, but back then?
They’d been where I was now. Minus the woman letting out soft sighs in her sleep.
I glanced at Zoe. She was curled on her side, all tucked into herself. Her long, still-drying blond and purple hair covering half her face, leaving just a hint of her bow lips and her stupidly cute nose.
The beach. Those two assholes who’d been bothering her.
What would have happened if I hadn’t been there? She’d posted on Instagram and I’d gone trotting after her like a besotted puppy, hoping to catch a glimpse of her expressive eyes and pursed lips. That calculating look in her gaze as she evaluated me like artwork that was far too mouthy to be a worthy subject.
When I’d seen her in that guy’s hands, blinding rage had filled me. The kind that could kill. I wouldn’t have stopped if not for the sirens. My big career would’ve started with an arrest and murder charges.
And if Zoe was safe, it would’ve been worth it. More than.
She made another low noise. Not so calm and sweet now. She thrashed in her sleep, her arms and legs spasming as she swung out against an imaginary threat.
“Shh, shh, you’re okay, you’re safe. Zoe.” I gathered her in my arms, ignoring the blows she rained against my torso, my arms, anything she could touch. Her final punch landed just above my ear.
I shook off the ringing in my head and banded my arms around her, murmuring her name over and over. My body hurt all over from the fight on the beach, not to mention my stinging sunburn, but nothing compared to the pain of knowing she was struggling with what had happened.
That it could’ve all turned out so much differently if I’d been a few minutes later. If I hadn’t come at all. Who knew if anyone else would’ve stepped in?
You couldn’t count on anything in this world. Least of all other people to help you in your time of need.
“Zoe, that’s a girl. It’s me. Just me. I’ve got you now, love. You’re mine.”
The last made me go still, my hold on her going slack.
She wasn’t mine. She couldn’t be.
No one was mine. Even my own family denied me.
I didn’t even have a true address anymore.
“Ian?” She stared at me in the darkness, drawing the back of her hand over her mouth. “You’re still here?”
I smiled faintly. Proved my point, didn’t it? I belonged to no one, and no one belonged to me.
A man with no country, no honor except my own—and that was dubious at best.
“I fell asleep too.” Until I’d awakened so rudely, I’d slept better than I had in months. Possibly years.
Definitely not because of her bed. It was not a high-end model. I had a feeling she dropped onto the board-stiff mattress after a night working on her photographs and artwork without even really noticing it. She likely fell into an exhausted rest before the discomfort had a chance to take hold.
I’d done the same. Just fallen into a black hole of sleep with her soft body curved into my side and her sweet scent of coconut and acrylic paint surrounding me.