Chapter Thirty-Eight Hollis
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Hollis
The storm broke over the house. Rain lashed the shutters, a relentless drumbeat, and the lights continued to flicker, buzzing with each surge.
Jason kept his arm around me, my head on his shoulder as we sat on the floor, our backs to the wall, waiting out the weather. It was just the two of us in there for now, and his presence was heat in itself in the drafty room.
I brought my hand to his chest, hooking my stretched-out leg over his to draw even closer to him. “Well, um, since we’re going to be here a bit longer, and the last thing I want to do is think about my family, any chance you want to talk about—”
“Mine?” Thunder punctuated the word.
“No pressure. We just haven’t . . . you know, since the plane . . .”
He was quiet for a few minutes, and I took that silence as his request to drop it, so I didn’t expect him to begin filling in the blanks about his past.
He revealed heartbreaking stories, one after another. Quick and fast, like he wanted to skip through them to avoid me taking a moment to offer compassion or sympathy.
“I stole something once,” he said, switching gears.
“I was thirteen.” Guilt thickened his tone.
“I hadn’t eaten in days, and my parents were MIA, and nothing was in the house, and as the clerk was yelling out ‘Stop him,’ I ran right into a cop, smashing the sandwich I hadn’t paid for against his chest. The officer felt sorry for me, paid for it, then took me home and waited until my parents came back.
He laid into them both and had CPS check in on me regularly.
You’d think they’d have cleaned up their act after that, but they didn’t. ”
“I’m just so—”
“Don’t be. Please. And there’s one more thing I should tell you. It’s not exactly the time or place to do this, but if I don’t share this soon, I feel like it’s going to break me.” Pain seared his tone, bleeding into me.
I looked up at him, our mouths close enough for him to pass the truth to me in a whisper. “Tell me, please.”
“And if you hate me for it?” He closed his eyes, resting the back of his skull against the wall.
“I could never. Well, not unless it’s fake hate,” I reminded him. “Also, we’re not going anywhere until this storm weakens, and Gwen and my brother are still working on the source code. So now sounds like a good time to unburden yourself of whatever is bothering you.”
His jaw and neck visibly tensed, but he slowly tilted his head to catch my eyes. “The tattoo.”
“Genesis 2:24,” I remembered.
“‘A man shall leave his father and his mother and hold fast to his wife, and they shall become one flesh.’” He set my palm to his rib, and I had to believe he chose that spot for biblical and symbolic reasons as well.
“It’s a reminder to wait to have sex until I’m married.” He closed his eyes. “I had it tattooed because I kept messing up. I kept failing. And on November twenty-fifth, 2021, I got the tattoo and promised myself never to fall again in that way.”
In that way?
Oh.
Ohhh.
His reset point. The passcode for his phone: 11-25-21.
“I haven’t had sex since the twenty-fourth of that month and year. I haven’t crossed the line. And I told myself the next time I had sex would be my wedding night, and I’d change my passcode to my anniversary.”
Tears filled my eyes, and I blinked a few free. “That’s noble and amazing. W-why would I hate you for that?” I sniffled, trying to understand.
He shut his eyes. “Because of who I was before. I had issues.” His Adam’s apple rolled, and he expelled another deep breath.
“My parents had their vices, their addictions. Mine was sex. It became meaningless. Hollow and empty. I kept trying to find a way to feel something, if you get what I mean . . .”
I thought back to his hand around my throat in the kitchen, and how bad he’d felt after. Dominance?
“One morning, I broke down. I was dead on the inside. And I found myself wandering down the street and wound up in front of a church. A priest was inside—like he knew I’d be coming.
I’d never even been to church before.” His dark lashes fluttered, and he opened his eyes.
“I’d also never experienced anything so real as when I fell to my knees and put my life in God’s hands instead of my own.
Not even when I was downrange risking my neck in war. ”
A tear skated down his cheek, and I rolled my lips inward, trying not to sob, because then he’d try to comfort me instead, and that was the last thing I wanted.
“I’m not a good man just because of this.
I’ll never be perfect. I’m grumpy and moody, mad at the world and all the evil I see in it.
” He quietly stared at me before professing, “But then I met you, and my feelings for you terrified me. I tried to lie to myself that it wasn’t real.
I never thought you’d be with a man like me, so I did my best to push you away, worried I’d lose control and mess up. ”
I shifted around, unable to stop myself, and climbed on his lap. In hindsight, sitting on him like this was probably not the best idea, but I needed to hug him.
“I’m safe, I promise. I was always careful.”
“That thought didn’t cross my mind.” I straddled him and threaded my fingers into his hair, resting my forehead against his. “I’m not mad at you, and I don’t hate you. I’m so happy you found peace.” I sat upright, cupping his cheeks, tears streaming down both our faces.
Guilt clawed deep in my chest at the memory of stripping and inviting him into my shower, not knowing all that he’d endured before to get to where he was now.
“No, don’t you dare feel bad. I can read your thoughts right now.” His brows slashed together as he held my wrists, pulling my hands away from his face. “You didn’t know. I didn’t tell you.”
“You told me enough, and I didn’t listen. I—I tried,” I sputtered, “but the connection with you is so strong, and I just wanted you.” I tugged one wrist free of his hold and leaned back to reach beneath his T-shirt, skimming his flesh. “I want to be your missing rib,” I ugly-cried.
He dropped his mouth over mine and kissed me softly, rain hammering the windows like a celebratory applause.
The thunder boomed, rattling the frames on the wall as our kiss intensified.
The fragile moment shattered when my phone vibrated in my pocket—the new phone Gideon had given me. Why would that be ringing? Lyra?
I hated to break away, but after the third attempt to ignore the ringing to stay locked in the moment with the man beneath me, the vibrations became unnervingly loud.
“Who is it?” he asked as I brought the phone between us and showed it to him.
Julian. “Hello?” I answered, holding the phone close to Jason so he could listen in.
“Am I on speaker?” Julian asked.
“No.”
“Where’s Gideon?”
A chill swept up my spine as I whispered, “I don’t know. Not here.”
“Listen very carefully to what I’m about to say,” my brother began in a steady voice, “and don’t react.
Gwen and I restored the original footage.
” The weight of the world stabbed me like a knife in the back as he rasped, “Gideon carried your limp body out of that store above the crypt with three other men in Rome.” He paused, his breath catching over the line.
“It was him. It—it was Gideon who did this to you.”