Daryl's Angel: Saviour (Book Two)

Chapter 22: Together

Daryl and I bid goodnight to Aaron and Eric and head back home. From the sounds of it, Deanna's party is still going, the muted pulse of music and the hum of conversation bleeding onto the street. The night is still young.

"Did you say yes?" I ask. Daryl purses his lips, then nods, and I smile a little. "Good. It'll be good for you."

"You ain't mad?"

"Of course not. You've just got to promise to be careful out there, like always."

"I will."

"Does...that mean you're okay with staying here?" I ask.

He nods. "I'll give it a try."

The crickets serenade our moonlit walk back to the house that we're starting to call home. The delicious spaghetti meal, as welcome as it was, settles like a rock in my gut the closer we get. Inside that house, I'm going to tell him everything I've kept from him, and from there, everything is going to change. It makes me hold his hand a little tighter than usual.

But he's agreed to take on a new job. It's a good sign.

Inside the house, I go upstairs to the bedroom where I left my other clothes, Daryl following me. I reach for the zipper at my neck as I wander into the room.

"Wait," he says.

I turn back to him, wide-eyed with confusion. He leans on the doorjamb, arms loosely crossed over his chest as he gazes at me.

"You..." He clears his throat and looks away, almost bashful. "The haircut and...the dress. You...wearing your ring. It..." Again, he pauses. He makes an awkward gesture towards me with one hand. "You look beautiful."

I blush a little. He noticed. "Really?" I look back at the mirror, at my too lean, too bony survivor's body. "You think so?"

"I always think so," he says. "Just ain't that good at saying it."

His words make my heart squeeze, and I resist the urge to hide my face in my hands. I hear the floor creak behind me, then his arms snake around my middle and he tugs me closer, my back hitting his chest. I feel his mouth touch my shoulder, breath warming my skin as he exhales, arms tightening around me.

It makes tears spring to my eyes, and I close them tight, trying to breathe steadily. He hasn't been this affectionate in...god, ages? A simple hug shouldn't make me feel like falling apart. I shouldn't be so grateful just to feel him against me.

I think of the barn, of my desperate tears, of the thunder and the pain in his eyes, tears trailing down sweat-soaked skin, pleasure cloaked in sorrow.

I tilt my head back, leaning against him. "Daryl..."

"M sorry," he mumbles, voice slightly muffled. "I haven't...dealt with shit well. You don't deserve that."

"You're grieving. It's okay."

"It's not," he insists. Again, our embrace tightens a little as he exhales shakily. "I...can be sad. Don't mean I've gotta treat you bad. I've been a piece of shit."

The tears get more insistent, and one gets out, slipping down my cheek. I sniffle, trying not to cry, but it's like everything's coming out at once. My feelings are sick of being held back and they're done knocking. They're breaking down the door.

"Hope?" Daryl asks.

I pull away from his touch only to turn and face him. "You...you're not—" I clasp one hand over my mouth for a moment, desperately trying to get my breathing under control. "I haven't b-been good to you either. I...I've been hiding. I've been...been pathetic and needy and, a-and—"