The Heathen (Preacher Brothers 2)

No time like the present, right?

“I come from an abusive family, my father using me as a punching bag in his drunken fits of rage.” My throat tightened as I said those words, never telling anyone but a therapist, never fully trusting anyone until this moment. “And I used that pain, hurt, and anger my father instilled in me, and I turned it around. I used it to heal people, to care for the less fortunate. I wanted to make people feel better, to let them know it wasn’t the end, that they had a fighting chance.” I swallowed roughly, licked my lips, and I continued to stare into Cullen’s eyes. “I became a nurse, worked my ass off through school, and here I am now. And as much as I hate my father, as happy as I am he’s dead and gone, rotting in the earth, if it wasn’t for him and all the bullshit he gave me, I wouldn’t be the person I am if not for it all. So, I guess I have him to thank for that, that small sliver of appreciation.”

I saw the way Cullen’s throat worked as he swallowed, how his expression was tight. Before I knew what was happening, he pulled me on top of him, my thighs on either side of his hips. I looked down at him, seeing all this emotion he had.

For me.

“We’re one and the same but so different.” He had his hands on my hips, holding me gently. Although I was naked on top of him, he wasn’t aroused. That’s not what this moment was about. I knew that. I appreciated it. “We had the same childhood, Kimber.”

I watched him swallow again, wondered if he’d ever told anyone about this, uttered those words out loud.

“When you turned your tragedy into something positive, I went in the opposite direction. I grew angry and hateful, used it to fuel my life. Nothing else mattered except keeping my brothers safe, taking that pain and hatred my father gave so they wouldn’t have to.”

I felt tears well up in my eyes as he spoke about his past. It made so much sense why he was so angry, not just at the world but in life in general. Cullen had brothers. Cullen had a family. He’d absorbed their abuse as well, took it himself so they were spared.

I placed my hand on his chest and leaned forward, kissing him softly. “You’re a good man, Cullen. Even if you don’t see it, even if you don’t feel it. You are a good man.”

He wrapped his arms around me and just held me. I rested my head on his chest, listening to his heart beating, that steady rhythm lulling me right to sleep.

Peace. That’s what I felt. And it was the first time I’d ever felt it.

Several days later

I knew he was out of bed as soon as I woke up. I moved my hand over to his side, running my fingers across the cold cotton sheets. He hadn’t been next to me for a while, not with as chilled as they were, not with the absence I felt in the room.

I sat up and pulled the blanket around me, over my shoulders, and covered my nakedness. The past several days that had passed since I brought him back to my cabin had been memorable, eventful, and unexpected. But I knew the storm was lifting. I knew we couldn’t stay in our little snow globe of isolation forever.

Reality set in, and I had to deal with that. I’d have to come to grips with the fact that no matter what Cullen said during the many times he’d made love to me, as he kissed me and said I was his and he would never leave, none of that might be true. It might have just been in the moment.

In fact, that could be how it was right now. He might already be gone, and here I was sitting in this bed, wishing I would have clung to him and begged him to stay, told him we were perfect for each other.

That we were meant for each other.

As soon as my feet hit the cold wooden floor, a chill raced up my spine and I shivered. I clenched the blanket more firmly around my nudity, never before feeling this bare despite being covered. I’d opened my body and heart to Cullen, a man I hardly knew, yet a man I felt like I’d known my entire life.

And as I stood and left out of the bedroom, my feet padding softly on the hardwood, I felt my nerves grow even higher. I saw him standing by the living room picture window, his arm braced on the glass frame, his shirtless back on clear display. I stood there a moment, not speaking, not making my presence known, although I was pretty sure he already knew I was there. I stared at his tattoos, how intricate they were as they moved over his body, the dark ink staining his golden flesh.