Atone (Recovered Innocence #2)(69)

“No one’s ever said that to me and actually meant it.” There’s shame in her tone, as if it’s her fault no one’s ever loved her before.

“Well, I’m saying it. I love you. You don’t have to say it back. Just try to get used to it. Okay?”

“I’m not sure if I will.”

“Then I’ll just have to keep saying it.”

“What if I can’t ever say it back?”

“Then you don’t say it.” I’m not worried about this. I don’t need the words to know how she feels about me. It’s in everything she does and thinks and says. She just needs to figure that out like I had to figure it out.

“You don’t have to say it if I don’t say it.”

“Oh, but I do,” I say, tickling her. “I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.”

She squirms around, giggling and trying to push me away. It’s the freest and easiest I’ve seen her in too long. The silliness and laughter give way to a very serious kiss. She’s quiet after, stroking my face. I’d give anything to know what she’s thinking. Maybe she’s working on that I-love-you. Then again, maybe not. She’s got more than my twinge of insecurity to deal with right now.

“I think maybe I do love you,” she says, thinking out loud.

“Please don’t humor me. And don’t you dare say it during sex. I’ll never believe it.”

“I definitely love you during sex.”

“See, now, that’s just wrong.”

“I’m serious,” she goes on. “I think I love you.”

“Jesus. Why are you torturing me? Next you’re going to tell me you think I make you come.”

“Oh, no. There is no think on that one. You definitely do.”

“Love is like an orgasm. You either come or you don’t. Once you have an orgasm you know for sure when you don’t. There is no kind-of-sort-of-maybe in climaxing.”

“That’s beautiful. You should write poetry.” She makes a motion like she’s writing in the air. “Love is like an orgasm…Barreling toward a chasm…It’s so very taxing…When you’re climaxing…Once you come…You know you’re done…Love is like an orgasm.”

I groan. “That’s awful.”

“I’m going to find a way to put it in our vows.”

I tighten my hold on her. “God, I love you.”





Chapter 36


Vera


“I’m never going to get to meet my dad and brother, am I?” I ask Beau out of the blue.

We’ve been cooped up in this apartment for almost two weeks. There’s nothing to do. We can’t take a walk. We can’t make phone calls. We can’t use the computer or watch TV. The only thing we can do is have lots and lots of sex, which we’ve been doing pretty much nonstop night and day. The marshals assigned to watch over us have gotten to where they don’t even roll their eyes anymore when Beau picks me up and takes me to the bedroom. I’m pretty sure we’re on our way to setting some kind of world record.

“Probably not,” he answers my question grimly.

He doesn’t like it when I point out all of the negatives of our situation. This is pretty much when he tosses me over his shoulder, throws me on the bed, and makes me scream his name. He’d be doing that right now if we hadn’t just collapsed on the bed after some pretty strenuous doggie-style sex.

“I wonder what they look like,” I say. “I don’t look very much like my mom. At least, from what I can remember. I lost the pictures I had. There was one of her and me, one of her alone, and one of her and me and Marie taken right before Child Services took us away. I wonder if he has any photos of my mom. Like from their wedding.”

He doesn’t answer. This is one of those conversations I have, one-sided, while he broods over how to fix it for me. There’s no fixing my family. Half of them are dead and the other half are lost to me.

“I wonder if I look like my brother,” I continue. “Like how you and Cora look so much alike.”

“You think we look alike?”

“Oh, yeah. Totally. Your personalities are similar too. I wonder—”

A commotion from the living room makes me halt midsentence. Beau and I exchange looks, then we bolt out of bed and start throwing our clothes on. Something’s wrong. The voices are agitated and growing louder. Beau upends the table in the corner, rips two legs off, and hands one to me. They’re not very big, but they’ll do some damage if we have to.

Beau jams what’s left of the table under the doorknob. There’s no lock, so this is the only barrier against us and whoever’s out there. Beau goes to the side of the door that opens and signals me to go to the other. If they have guns, we don’t have much of a chance, which is why I motion for Beau to crouch down low. We at least have the element of surprise and the possibility of knocking their legs out from under them and maybe the gun from their hands if they should get past our barricade.

Someone knocks on the door. “Beau! Gwendolyn!”

“Carter,” Beau whispers.

“I thought he wasn’t supposed to know we’re here,” I whisper back.

“Come on out,” Carter says. “I have some good news for you.”