Collared(83)

The heat from his hand is already coming through my shirt, seeping into my skin, spreading to my head and messing with my sense of reasoning. I squeeze my eyes closed and try to concentrate. “I know. It’s doing the same thing to me, but they aren’t going to leave us alone just because you ask them to. It’ll get worse. Every kiss, every touch, every private moment . . . they’ll find a way to take those from us, to twist them into something ugly and shameful. I can’t let them do that to us. I can’t let them corrupt what we have.”

“Then what are we supposed to do?” His wrist twists in my hand to free itself. He lifts it to slide my hair behind my ear.

I stare at the door, my stomach knotting when I think about what’s waiting. It’s not just the media I’m afraid of. “I know they’re not going away until I tell my story, and I can’t tell my story until I know what that story is. I need time to figure it out. And I won’t drag you into this mess while I’m taking my time and trying to put myself back together.”

His forehead lowers to mine, and our eyes close. “And what if I want to be dragged into it?”

“I’d ask you—beg you—not to.”

He exhales. “Why?”

I don’t pull back, but I open my eyes. His are already open. “Because that’s a choice I want us to make when the time’s right. I don’t want us to be forced into making that choice.”

“No one’s forcing me to do anything.”

My hands form around the sides of his neck. “No, but if you do this, you’re forcing me.”

That gets his attention. The creases iron out of his forehead, and the anger rolling through his eyes fades away.

“Look at me, Torrin.” I step back so he can, and I hold my arms at my sides. He looks at me, but I don’t think he sees what I do when I look in the mirror. “I was reintroduced to the world weeks ago after years of being away from it. The smallest, most insignificant things send me into a tailspin. I have flashbacks and nightmares and images in my head that would traumatize a sadist.” I pause, remembering why I’m saying this. Why this is so important to me. Him. He’s important. He deserves the best and the most, and until I can give that to him, I can’t do this. “I need to get myself right so I don’t do this—us—wrong. I’d be a fool to think I can just get over this or move on or get back to my old life. It’s going to take time. I’m going to need time. Can you give me that?”

I’ve only seen Torrin cry once, and that was the day I found him camped out on his front steps when everyone else was inside after his dad’s funeral. I didn’t say anything when I walked up to him that day. I just sat down beside him, wound an arm around him, and let him cry.

This is the closest to crying I’ve seen him since then.

Like that gray afternoon on his front steps fifteen years ago, he doesn’t say anything. He just closes the space between us, wraps his arms around me one at a time, and draws me close. His head tucks mine against him, and he holds me for an eternity. At least the only kind of eternity Torrin Costigan and I can have.

The finite kind.

“What am I supposed to do?” His voice is hoarse like someone’s been choking him.

“Go back to being a priest. Unsuspend yourself. Be that light. Be wonderful and infectious and compassionate and all the things that drew me to you.” I lean back and look up at him. I have to say good-bye, but at least this time I get to say it. “Go be you. And I’ll try to figure out who I am while you’re doing that.”

His arms slide away from me and fall heavily at his sides. He manages a smile because I think he knows that a frown will kill me “Anything else?”

I smile back because I think a frown would kill him too. “Yeah.” I tip my chin down the hall. Away from the media. Away from the storm. “Take the back door.”

He manages a tiny laugh, and I know how lucky I am to have this as my last memory of him. Shirtless, doused in sunlight, his smile eclipsing into a laugh. I’ve lived a full life, and I’m not even thirty. Whatever comes next, I’m prepared to accept it.

As he turns to go, I grab him just before he gets away. “And one more thing.”

Then I kiss him good-bye.





“THANK YOU FOR taking the time to sit down and go over a few last details.” Detective Reyes closes the folder in front of her. “I know this has been a trying process for you.”

A week after my night with Torrin, Detective Reyes called to ask if I’d be open to going over my case again. I agreed, but not without setting the date out as far as I thought I could push it without pressing my luck. The week between her call and today went faster than I would have liked.

“No problem. Thank you for all of your patience.”

“Well, the police couldn’t manage to find you for ten years.” She leans back in her chair looking like she’s trying to get comfortable, but she doesn’t seem like the kind of person who could ever just get comfortable. “Waiting a couple weeks for the rest of your story was really the least we could do.”

I smile because she’s making a joke, and I’m getting better with conditioned responses. I’m relearning at the pace of a turtle with three broken legs, but at least I’m moving forward.

Detective Reyes offered to drive to my place to go over the last few things, but I told her I’d meet her at the station. It’s a small thing that feels like a big one. When we first settled at her desk to talk, I felt everyone watching me. I suppose most of them were involved in my case either at the beginning, the end, or both, and all of them are familiar with my dad, so I should have been ready for the stares.