My Maddie (Hades Hangmen #8) - Tillie Cole Page 0,81

his fallen tears. I inched closer, just a fraction. Just enough so that I could feel the warmth of his skin, smell the scent that was uniquely him. I did not dare speak. I desperately needed Flame to come to me. However, I did not want him to feel pressured. I did not want to confuse him.

His tears were relentless. As silent minutes rolled by, the relief I had so fleetingly treasured turned into foreboding. My stomach sank farther and farther into a swirl of panic. Flame’s expression was blank. He did not make any attempt to move. I listened to his rough breathing. For a moment, I worried something was physically wrong with him. I was seconds from leaving the bed to call Rider, when Flame whispered, “I can’t do it anymore…”

Those words and their broken tone of delivery hurt me more than any physical weapon could do. I gasped quietly at the depth of defeat in his voice, a voice that normally sounded like a symphony to my ears. I had missed not hearing my husband’s voice, often praying I would hear it once again. But I had not prayed for these words. I had not prayed for the sadness laced in each softly spoken broken syllable.

“Flame,” I hushed out, and then edged closer. His eyes followed me, pleading for relief, pleading for the pain behind his eyes to cease… for good.

“I’m tired,” he said. I knew he was. I also knew he was not referring to a lack of sleep. “I… I’m tired, Maddie. I can’t do it anymore. I can’t breathe anymore. I can’t keep feeling the flames anymore…”

I did not want him to see me break. I knew I should have been strong, but it was impossible. My face crumpled, my heart caved, and I felt my protective walls begin to crumble—one by one, bricks tumbled to the ground. I could do nothing to stop them. Seeing Flame so disheartened, so defeated, was the very worst thing I had experienced in life. I thought back to Brother Moses. To all the times he hurt me, raped me, abused me, beat me, starved me—the list went on… yet this, seeing the person I loved most so broken, so devoid of hope, made the horrors of my past seem easy. Hearing Flame tell me in so few words that he no longer wanted to be here in this life, no longer wanted to fight his very own unyielding internal war, was my very, very worst nightmare made real.

Not knowing how it would be received, I reached out my hand and softly wrapped my fingers around his. When Flame made no move to brush my hand away or to tell me he would hurt me simply by his touch, and how he was no good for me, I felt a part of me die too. Flame had always fought to keep me safe from his perceived flames and dangerous touch. Yet here he lay, his swollen and wet gaze locking on to our hands, making no sound or move to break free.

I pulled myself close until I was merely an inch from his face. He kept his eyes on our hands. I gently squeezed. I needed him to know I was here for him. Through my panic, I struggled with what to say. I did not know how to make him believe that he harbored no flames in his blood. That he was not devil-tainted. That snakes bit him because that was what snakes did. They were not agents of the devil seeking out the damned. Flame had spent a lifetime fixated on the lies his father had cemented in his fragile mind.

Finally, Flame looked up and met my eyes. He was lost, so very lost. I held back the sob that was fighting to break free. I felt the tears on my cheeks too. I had no idea if Flame would acknowledge that I was upset on his behalf, that my soul cried out for him to find peace.

“Why do you stay with me?” My lungs seized as he asked this simple question. I had no words left my mouth. I squeezed my hands tighter around his, and then brought them to my forehead. I closed my eyes at the sweet feel of my husband’s precious touch. I longed for the days when his lips would kiss mine, when he would hold me to his chest… and when we would make love, reassuring each other that we