“Yara. Why would I be mad about that?”
“I got rescued sooner,” she whispers. “Only three months?—”
I have to interrupt. “Three months in captivity is a long time, Yara.”
“But it’s not three years,” she retorts. “I should have… I don’t know. Maybe I should have—” Her voice breaks. “They told me if I talked, they’d take it easier on you. Maybe even let you go. But I didn’t talk. So it’s my fault, Mal. And I’m so sorry.”
“Tink,” I murmur. Looping my arm around her, I tug her close to my side. “It’s not your fault. We talked about this.”
“It’s not your fault,” Malik agrees. “Of course you couldn’t talk. You made the right decision. And I would never, ever beangry that you were rescued before me. What kind of man would that make me?”
Yara shakes her head. “I don’t know.”
“Where is this coming from?” he asks, directing the question more to me than to her.
“Davis Kellogg,” I explain.
Malik’s forehead creases as he thinks. “Kellogg? He was held with me for a year before they moved him. But what does he have to do with this?”
“He was rescued about six months ago,” I explain. “And he came after Yara. He blamed her. For not being rescued sooner. For how she was treated.”
“He came after her?” Malik leans forward. His voice dips to a growl. “What do you mean,came after her?”
Yara protests, “We don’t need to talk about this?—”
“He held her hostage in her house,” I reply. “Tortured her.”
“What?”Malik exclaims.
“I’m fine.” Yara glares at me. “I’m. Fine.”
“Stop saying you’re fine,” Malik and I retort in unison.
Yara blinks again, disconcerted.
As Malik looks at her, understanding fills his gaze. In a gentler tone, he says, “Tink. Come here.”
Hesitantly, she moves forward. I stick close to her side.
“I’m not like Kellogg,” Malik says, once we’re both next to his bed. “I remember that guy. He was a real asshole. And hearing what he did… Fuck.”
“He’s in jail,” I supply. “We’ll make sure he stays there.”
“Good,” he snaps. Then he gentles again. “Tink. I promise. I’m not mad at you.” Reaching out his wounded hand, he waits for her to take it. “I’m so fucking glad you got out when you did. I didn’t know. They never told me. I was so worried—” His mouth twists. “Shit. I’m just so fucking glad you’re home.”
Tears fill Yara’s eyes. “I’m so glad you’re home, too.”
“Then stop acting like a weirdo and give me a hug,” he replies.
She flashes me a quick look of hopeful relief before darting forward to hug him.
The hug is careful at first. Uncertain, even. But after a few seconds, Yara leans into it. “I’m so glad you’re home,” she repeats quietly. “I missed you so much.”
My eyes burn to watch them.
And I’m so fucking glad she got her friend back again.
When Yara finally steps away, she looks lighter. Happier. The worry in her eyes is gone.