No Saint (Wild Men 6)

Yeah, that’s what comes out of my mouth. Guess I still haven’t managed to find those words I need to say.

He’s quiet, a tall shadow beside me. I can’t see his face.

It’s probably getting late. Dad will have kittens, and so will Mike, the diner owner if I’m late for work, but I don’t care. I’m not sure if I hurt him, or if the things he said are what he truly believes. That I can’t forgive him, can’t love him.

I never realized I could hurt him, that I have that power. And if I can hurt him, it means... it means that those walls of his are still down. His heart exposed to any barb I throw his way, and if I wanted revenge, now would be a good time, the perfect time to give it a go. Hit him while he’s down, while he’s weak.

But I don’t want revenge, I discover. I don’t want to hurt him. I want to help him, kiss him, hold him—and I give in and do just that, slipping my arms around him from behind, resting my cheek on his broad, cotton-clad back.

Can’t help wondering if he’s let his walls down for me, that his weakness has to do with me. But that’s not possible. He’s just going through a rough time, and I’m here as a distraction, most probably, a new toy, a new game to keep himself occupied.

Doesn’t matter. Not now. His heart is pounding madly under my ear, his muscles are tense, his back like a rock. He’s not okay, you can’t really fake that. And he still hasn’t said a word.

“I do forgive you, Ross,” I whisper in the silence, and a shudder goes through him, but when I try to say more, to say I love him even if I shouldn’t, my throat closes off.

We stay like that until dawn breaks.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Ross

Carrying bags of cement across the construction site in this damp heat is damn exhausting, but worse still, it’s a stupid exercise, leaving my mind free to gnaw on the same old thoughts, questions and doubts that have been hounding me for years.

More so now, since Luna came back, since she walked back into my life and changed everything.

“I do like you. I do forgive you.”

My goddamn heart gives a hard thump.

Well, it’s something, I tell myself and have to stifle a snort at myself. It’s a lot. More than I deserve.

So much more.

And anyway, what did you expect? We’ve had this talk before.

I chuckle to myself. Here I am, having arguments with the voice in my head. Some days I fear I’m fit for a straitjacket. If Luna finds out, about my nightmares, about my scars, she’ll run for the hills before Summer is over.

The thought really shouldn’t fucking bother me as much as it does. I haven’t seen her in two days and I... fuck, I miss her.

This is damn scary.

She won’t leave like that, I tell myself. She cares for me.

Does she? The voice in my head snickers.

Yes. She may not love me, but she cares just a little, and it’s enough. Should be enough. That’s also more than you deserve, Ross buddy, I tell myself, so shut up and take it, now, before she changes her mind. Before she runs away again.

All that’s happened has changed nothing. She owes you nothing. You’re not allowed good things. You break them. Get them killed. Or send them running.

Like Mom.

Like Luna.

Letting the bag drop on top of the pile of others, I wipe the sweat off my brow with the back of my filthy hand and tug my helmet back in place.

Way too much fucking time to think on my hands, and it’s leading nowhere good. My head’s a damn mess of tangled bodies and choppy dialogue, confusing questions and replies, pain and pleasure and...

“I do forgive you.”