Erasing Faith(89)

“I call you Wes in my head,” I whispered.

I heard a sharp intake of breath, followed by the soft crinkling of fabric as his face turned on his pillow. Though I didn’t look, I could feel his eyes burning holes into my back through the quilt.

“I know it isn’t your name.” I swallowed. “That man… Benson. He told me it was just your cover.”

He kept silent, so I heaved in a steadying breath and spoke on, unable to stop now that I’d started.

“I just…” My voice was so hollow I barely recognized it. “I don’t know how to look at you and not see Wes, even though I know he doesn’t exist. So maybe…” I trailed off, suddenly feeling foolish.

He cleared his throat but when he spoke, his voice was still rough, like he was speaking around a mouthful of gravel. “Maybe what, Red?”

I pressed my eyes closed. “Maybe, if you gave me something else to call you, I could stop seeing you as my Wes, and start seeing you for who you really are.”

I was immediately mortified that the words my Wes had escaped my mouth, but it was too late now. They were out there, thrumming in the air around us. I knew, if there’d been light enough to see by, my cheeks would’ve been redder than a fall sunset.

He was silent for so long, I feared he wasn’t going to answer at all.

“Never mind,” I mumbled, feeling like an absolute idiot. “Just forget it.”

I heard him sigh. “Joshua Collins.”

My eyes flew open. “What?”

“My cover name in Budapest. It was supposed to be Joshua Collins.”

Supposed to be?

“I had it all worked out. The backstory had been prepped for weeks. I was prepared.” His voice was low, now, and full of strain. “And then… Then, you looked at me with those big melted caramel eyes and… Fuck. I just… lost it.”

Though my heart was racing inside my chest, I bit my tongue to keep from talking. I knew from experience I’d have to wait if I wanted the full story from him.

“And before I knew it, I was telling you my name was Wesley Adams. Which has to be the single most reckless thing I’ve done in my entire career.”

My heart began to pound faster. “Why?”

“Covert Ops 101, Red: never pick a code name too close to your real one. And, no matter how you slice it, Wesley Adams is a bit too damn close to Weston Abbott for my liking or anyone else’s.”

Weston Abbott.

Just like that, I finally had an answer to the question I’d been turning over in my mind for the past three years.

His name was Weston.

Which meant… he was still Wes.

He’d always been Wes.

My mouth opened and closed mutely, like a fish gulping for oxygen, trying to process the fact that he’d given me a name nearly identical to his own. And, suddenly, only one question remained that really mattered.

Why?

I’d parted my lips to ask just that when I felt the bed shift as he flipped over to face the opposite wall.

“No more questions. I’m tired, Red. Go to bed.” His tone booked no room for argument and within seconds, I heard his breathing rate slow into the telltale rhythm of slumber.

Perfect.

Exhaustion had effectively fled my system as soon as the words Weston Abbott left his mouth. I’d never felt more awake as I stared at the wall, contemplating everything.

His words just now. His actions back then.

As I replayed memories in my mind, I knew it would be another sleepless night for me.

And yet, with his name echoing off the walls inside my skull, I couldn’t seem to make myself care at all.





Chapter Fifty: WESTON


OVERTIRED



I was tired as hell when dawn broke.

It had taken me hours to fall asleep, listening to Faith toss and turn on the other side of that ridiculous damn barrier she’d put up between us. Every few moments she’d shift from her back to her side, her side to her stomach, and so on, and each time she’d let out this soft little sigh that would’ve been cute as hell if it hadn’t been so damn late.

By the time I finally fell asleep, it was practically morning, which meant I was going on day three without so much as a night’s rest. I cracked open my eyes — overtired and grouchy as all f*ck — and prepared to take on what was sure to be another infuriating day with the goddamned brunette whose life’s mission was apparently to make me as miserable as possible.

But all my anger disappeared as soon as I blinked awake and found Faith wrapped around me like a starfish — one leg wound around my thigh, an arm slung across my chest, her forehead nestled into the crook of my neck. Evidently, her unconscious mind wasn’t such a fan of pillow barriers; at some point in the night, she’d shifted onto my side of the bed and tangled her limbs with mine so thoroughly, it would be a miracle if I managed to get up without waking her.

I froze for a solid minute, just appreciating the feeling of this — waking up to Faith. Her warmth radiated into my skin and the light rise and fall of her chest pressed against mine was more soothing than anything I’d ever felt. I could’ve happily stayed there all day, but that would’ve been a test of my control unlike any I’d yet faced. The need to trace her curves with my hands, to skim my lips against her soft skin was so strong, it took every bit of restraint inside me to keep myself in check.