Apologies

Paige

I blinked, trying to stay focused on reality. I was in the bathtub in my old room in the guest wing with Tom behind me, scrubbing a washcloth softly over my back. Dimly, I remembered him barking orders to get the bastard out of his house and all the men disappearing one by one. I remembered whispering to Tom what I’d seen in the window, and a full search of the house while I still sat in the corner of the bathroom, shaking. And I remembered watching Tom start to run the bath in our room, then noticing a spot of blood—mine? The bastard’s?—on the floor. I’d thrown up from the sheer cocktail of emotions coursing through my body.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured again as he dropped a line of kisses along my shoulder.

How long had we been here? Had I responded to that before? Everything but those few moments blurred.

“It’s okay,” I said with a thick tongue and a dry mouth. I didn’t mean it, but I needed to say something. I needed to know I could.

“No, it’s not, and we both know that.” He