Chapter 41
It’s been days. I’ve lost count—maybe five? Let’s say five.
Five days without a word between us.
She hasn’t talked to me, and I haven’t spoken to her. Of course, I know what she’s been doing. I made sure of that. That’s why the cameras are there, tucked in the corners of her room.
She avoids coming out of her room whenever I’m around, and I avoid making the first move. Real mature, right?
So here we are, right back at the start. Same cold silence, same goddamn tension.
Only now, it’s different. Now, I’m pacing like a dumbass in the hallway, overthinking every fucking step.
Back then, I’d walk in, say what I wanted, and take what I wanted.
Fuck. I’ve gone soft.
I hover like some awkward idiot in my own damn house.
God, I’ve turned into a complete wuss. What the hell happened to me?
Why is it that now all I think about is the fear in her eyes when I yelled in her face, as if it were her fault.
Fuck. I’m a horrible fucking person.
All she wanted was to help me get my shit together, move on, maybe breathe again like a normal human.
And what did I do? I yelled at her. I pushed her away like she was the problem.
Now all I feel is this fucked-up mix of guilt and regret sitting in my chest like a cinder block. She didn’t deserve that. Not the way she drew back when I raised my voice.
Goddamn it, I hate myself for that.
I breathe deeply through my nostrils, brush my hair back, fix my shirt, and make up my mind.
I want to see her. I need to see her.
Decisively, I march toward her bedroom. Outside her door, I spot a vase of fresh roses sitting on the hallway table. I take one in my hand—the most beautiful of the bunch. Not fully bloomed, but not just a bud, either. I inhale, letting its velvety smell relax my mind.
And I knock on the door.
“Yes?”
I open it and see her sitting on the bed, bored. Of course she’s bored.
“Can I come in?” I ask. Why is my heart pounding?
“Of course,” she says and turns away, pretending to be indifferent. Is she?
I walk inside and close the door behind me. I stop right next to the bed and study her for a moment.
She’s tense. Awkward as hell. She won’t even meet my eyes.
Ah, babe … I miss the days when I didn’t second-guess shit. When I didn’t wait for a yes because I already knew it was there, written all over her face.
Back then, I’d corner her, pin her down, and fuck the hesitation right out of her.
Now I’m standing here with a half-bloomed rose and a guilty conscience like some moody asshole in a bad romance novel.
“This is for you,” I say softly, tracing the petals over her bare shoulder.
She raises her glacier eyes and looks at me but doesn’t take the rose. “Thank you.”
I suck in air through clenched teeth, trying to give a second thought to what I’m about to say. But I don’t.
“I will go to my mother’s grave.”
Her eyes widen, and a soft smile adorns her gorgeous face. She stands on the bed, looking down at me like she’s got the upper hand, and for once, she’s taller than me.
“Do you mean that?” she asks, stroking my hair back.
Involuntarily, my arms wrap around her tiny frame and hold her close. “Only if you come with me.”
Her eyes glisten under the warm, dim light of the room. “Of course I’ll come with you.”
She crushes her full lips against mine as if she’s the happiest person on earth.
God, how I love this woman.
If this isn’t love, then I don’t know what the hell it is. What else could mess with my head like this? It feels just like they say it does. It’s that kind that burns a little and makes you do things you wouldn’t normally do.
“Let’s go,” she says, interrupting my daydreaming.
“Now?”
“Now!”
What else can I do if not obey my beautiful girl? Lately, I’ve realized I love seeing her smile almost as much as I love watching her tremble, caught between terror and desire.
It’s a mild evening. I didn’t even notice how beautiful it was until now.
The sun spills its orange light across the gravestones, casting rays over everything, like it’s trying to cover up the mess we’re standing in.
This kind of peace feels fake. Like I’m a circus freak, waiting patiently for my turn in the show.
I don’t feel well here, and I don’t know why.
“Are you okay?” she asks softly, raising her eyes to look at me.
“I’m fine,” I say sternly, without looking back at her.
Fuck, I shouldn’t be here.
Ahead of me, the gravestone seems old. I mean, it is. It’s been twenty-three years. I stare at her name carved on it like a brand, and I can’t believe it.
Alice Manson.
It still doesn’t feel real. I can still hear her laugh, too clear for someone who’s been gone that long. I still remember the way she nested me in her arms when I was afraid of my brother, or the way her last gasp of air landed on my ears.
I guess some things don’t fade.
Suddenly, her thin fingers weave gently through mine. That’s when I turn to look at her, but she doesn’t look back. She keeps her eyes on the stone in front of us, like it means something to her. I can’t see them clearly through her sunglasses, though.
She kneels carefully and leaves a daisy on the grave—such an ordinary, insignificant move, yet so important to me.
Then, she stands up and keeps her eyes on the grave.
I brace myself and gently leave the bouquet of daisies right next to Kate?ina’s.
Then, the strangest thing happens.
A tiny, emerald-green hummingbird flies toward us. It heads straight for the gravestone, levitating over my mother’s name like it’s reading it. Then, it turns and moves closer to Kate?ina.
It hovers in front of her, its wings beating like a machine, staring straight at her. She smiles brightly at the scene.
The hummingbird lingers for a second longer, then darts into the sky and disappears.
She doesn’t know that my mother talked to me about them, but I could never forget her words.
“Hummingbirds never forget love,” I mumble.
She takes off her sunglasses, and her gaze rises and lands on mine. “What did you say?”
“That’s something she used to say.”
Her expression softens, and she leans against me in my arms. She’s quiet again, as if she can read my mind and understands what I’m thinking. I wrap my arm around her and pull her closer.
“Thank you for being here with me today, Kate?ina.”
“Thank you for letting me, Cain.”
I look into her cool eyes, and my heart pounds faster. What is she doing to me?
God, it’s impossible to feel this way.
I would love to stay here, looking at her forever.
However, something even weirder happens.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see him. He’s walking toward us—black shirt, white collar.
Took him long enough.
“Hello, Cain,” he says, folding his hands in front of him.
“Father Gabriel,” I say, raising a brow. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I went by your place, and Grayson told me where you are.”
“Couldn’t you have called?”
He glances at me, then at the gravestone. His eyes squint against the sun. “I wanted to visit her grave, too.”
“Why did you come?”
His gaze returns to me. “I guess you were right. Some things can’t be forgotten.”
Ah. There it is. Took him a while, but he got there.
I give a half-smile. “I’m glad you see it, too.”
“I’ll stand by your side,” he says, his gaze straight into my eyes. “But this will be the last time.”
“And then? What’s God’s plan for a sinner like you?”
“Then I’ll ask for forgiveness and pretend I still believe in something.”
I smile brightly.
“Welcome back, Judas Manson.”