through me as uncontrollable sobs and terror rip me into a thousand pieces.
Chapter 37
Dean
“Dean.”
Her voice is sunlight through the blackness. A soft, gentle hand comes to rest on my cheek.
“Dean, love of my life. Open your eyes.”
I drag my eyes open. She’s right in front of me, her face filling my vision, her eyes brimming over with love and sorrow. The sight of her loosens the knot in my chest, but my blood is still trembling.
“Stand up,” Liv whispers, curling her fingers around my arms.
I struggle to shake off the fog. I’m still on the floor, slumped against the wall. My shirt is damp with sweat, my eyes burning and hands aching. Around me, the tower is wrecked—books and papers strewn everywhere, broken glass scattered on the floor, tables and chairs overturned.
I push to my feet, fighting a wave of dizziness. I move to collapse onto the sofa. Crush the horror of ever losing my wife.
Then Liv is there. Her arms surround me. The fragrant scent of her fills my head. My muscles constrict in automatic defense against the tangible reminder of what I could lose, but her power is too great. I sink against her. Bury my face in the warm arch of her neck.
Don’t leave. In the name of everything that’s holy, don’t you ever leave me.
Our breathing falls into the same rhythm. She takes the scarf off her head and presses it to the bloody cuts on my knuckles.
I shift to my back, pulling her over me like a blanket. She spreads out on top of me, the curves of her body yielding. I drink in her softness, her warmth, the feel of her.
How many times have we slept like this? Or just lain together in this exact position, my arms locking her against my chest, my hand on the back of her neck, her head resting on my shoulder?
Countless times. Countless.
Liv turns, tucking her head beneath my chin. I close my eyes and breathe her in.
“Once upon a time,” she says, her breath warm on my neck, “there was a girl who lived in a lovely little village next to a river. She rented a room above the bakery where she worked. Her specialty was making elaborate houses. She made gingerbread houses decorated with multicolored candies and icing. She made log cabins out of chocolate-covered pretzel sticks, birdhouses covered with nuts and seeds, and she made a castle out of marshmallows and rock candy.
“The girl loved making houses, even though she didn’t have one of her own. Her confectionary houses were greatly admired among the villagers, and though the girl was lonely, she was happy.
“When she wasn’t baking, she spent her days in the garden behind the bakery or going for walks. The village was bordered by a forest, but because the villagers told tales of monsters, of people going in and never coming out, no one ever ventured into the woods.
“One day, the girl was picking mushrooms and flowers along the edge of the forest when an eastern storm descended on the village with sudden, violent fury. Lightning fell from the sky like swords, destroying farms and cottages, and the rain came so fast that floodwaters billowed over the shores of the river. The wind was the worst—ripping off rooftops, breaking windows, uprooting trees.
“The girl ran into the forest for safety, and the thick canopy of tree branches protected her from the storm. She stayed there for hours, but when she emerged, she found that the village had been destroyed. Everyone was gone, having either escaped or been taken by the storm.
“Remembering that she’d been safe in the forest, the girl hurried back, hoping maybe someone else had sought shelter there too. She walked deeper and deeper into the woods, looking for a friend, a fellow villager, anyone. But she was alone.
“And when she came to a stop, she realized she had lost her way. She kept walking forward, hoping she could find the other side of the forest, hoping she could find a companion.
“For months, she walked and walked, eating berries, drinking from streams, longing for shelter, a place where she could be happy again even if she was by herself.
“One morning at dawn she came to a clearing where, inexplicably, there stood a full-sized house made entirely out of snowy white paper. The girl was delighted. The paper walls had cut-out designs of intricate snowflakes and flowers, allowing the light and air to shine through.
“I could be happy here, the girl thought.
“She curled