Audition (North Security 4)

“Do you think you’re telling me something I don’t know?”

“Christ.”

“You’ve been living in this space a long time,” I say, understanding Mamere’s words more than before. “Haven’t you? Very much alone.” He stands like the tower against a starless sky. The tower means danger. It means upheaval.

It means destruction.

He drops to his knees, all six feet plus of him.

The tower, falling. Or maybe a better word would be dismantled. He’s choosing to bring it down. For me? Or for himself? They might be the same thing. I feel the impact through the soles of my feet. My non-bloody hand slips easily through his hair. I tilt his face up so I can see his eyes.

“I came here to tell you that I’m a bastard. That I’m sorry for everything I said. For everything I didn’t say. Most of all I’m sorry that I didn’t have a front row seat at the finale, because you were a goddamn goddess.”

It feels like my heart’s expanding. Overflowing. “You were there?”

“I wouldn’t have missed it. I’m too selfish to miss it.”

A watery laugh. “You’re trying to convince me to forgive you?”

“No. God, no. In the history of time. In the history of humanity. There has never been a bigger bastard than me.” He turns my bloodied hand over and brushes his lips against my knuckles. “Don’t ever forgive me.”

He’s kneeling in front of me like I’m a queen. Like he’s a knight. That’s what we are, in a way. I can point in a direction; he’s the one who fights. “What if I want to forgive you?” I don’t mention that it was already done. Forgiveness isn’t really a decision. It’s threaded with love and trust. It’s his whether he wants it or not.

“You really shouldn’t.”

“What should I do instead then?”

He holds my hips with two large hands, almost enveloping me. He rests his forehead against my sternum. “Start with a tetanus shot.”

I press a kiss to the top of his head. “I forgive you.”

“Don’t.”

“And I love you. That’s never been a question.”

“I’m not sure I can take it.” His voice is unsteady, and I know that he’s telling the truth. Blood and guns and treason. That’s the language he speaks. Forgiveness is a foreign word. It’s beyond anything. It’s everything.

“Do you love me, Joshua North?” Blood races through my veins. I know the truth, and maybe that’s enough. It’s not. It’s not enough unless he can admit it. He needs a woman strong enough to forgive him. I need a man strong enough to ask for it. “That’s the only way this works. Do you?”

His hands tighten on my hips, as if he can feel me slipping away. “I love your loyal heart. Even if you forgive more than you should. I love your beautiful body. Even though the world doesn’t fucking deserve your talent.”

I tug on his arm, and he stands. “What do you love?”

“I love you.” His green eyes burn with unspoken pain.

“You love me, even though…”

“Even though it kills me. It kills me to need you.”

“Same,” I whisper, putting my hand on his chest. His heart thuds against my palm. We were both in towers, both so bent on destruction in order to be safe. I feel that seismic shift as I look into his eyes—the foundation beneath my feet cracking, the endless fall. This is what it feels like to fall in love. It isn’t a moment. It’s forever.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Loie Fuller was a burlesque skirt dancer in the late 19th century who experimented with the effect that gas lighting had on her silk costumes. She developed a form of natural movement and improvisation techniques that were used in conjunction with her revolutionary lighting equipment and translucent silk costumes.

Josh

In my dream there’s a tower crumbled to pieces.