Erasing Faith(97)

“Mmm,” I murmured, my lips brushing the skin of his neck. “That was so beyond worth the three year wait.”

***

He carried me to the bed and never once loosened his hold as he settled in against the pillows. And for a long time we simply lay there, me curled happily against his chest, with our arms wrapped around each other. I listened to the beat of his heart beneath my ear and he ran his fingers through my hair over and over again, soothing me.

“Do you miss the red?” I asked after a while.

“Your hair could be purple, it wouldn’t change the way I feel about you.”

I giggled, picturing myself with magenta locks — not a flattering image. “I had to change it. It was too hard to look in the mirror and see it without also seeing you.”

He resumed his long strokes through my hair. “I know. But the hair was only part of the reason I called you Red in the first place.”

I pivoted my face so my chin was planted against his pectoral and looked up at him, eyebrows raised in question.

He brushed back a strand that fell across my eyes. “You reminded me of Little Red Riding Hood, lost in the forest, making friends with a wolf. Thinking she could redeem him, even though he was dangerous. A lost cause.”

I snorted. “And I suppose you’re the irredeemable Big Bad Wolf in this equation?”

He shrugged, a grin playing out on his lips.

“Well, is there a version of the story where the silly girl and the evil wolf end up together?” I asked, my eyes warm on his face. “Because that’s the only ending I’m interested in.”

His eyes flashed and abruptly, I was dragged up his chest so my face hovered above his. And then, he was kissing me. This time it wasn’t hard or bruising — it was soft. Tender. Full of love.

When he released me, I fell back against his chest in a daze. It took a little while to recover my senses, but when I felt my brain return to my body, I looked up at him with questions lurking in my eyes.

“Can I ask you something?” I whispered.

The way he looked at me made my heart turn over. “Anything, Red.”

“Why did you…” My voice trembled into silence. I took a deep breath, cleared my throat, and tried again. “Why did you leave before I woke up?”

I felt his chest deflate beneath me as he expelled a sigh of pain. His eyes pressed closed for a long moment, and when they opened they were full of remorse. I barely recognized his voice when he began to speak.

“First, I need you to know that I’ve regretted that decision since the second I made it. I never should’ve left without saying goodbye, without making sure you were okay.” He swallowed roughly. “They weren’t sure you were going to make it, at first. I told myself I couldn’t sit there and watch you die, which was partly true. But really… Well, I could barely bring myself to walk away from you while you were unconscious. If I’d had to say it out loud, to watch your face as I told you I’d betrayed you…” He shook his head swiftly in rejection. “I’ve survived a lot in my life, but knew I wouldn’t survive that. So I took the coward’s way out. I left.”

He looked down at me with a thin film of moisture over his eyes. Seeing my strong, self-contained man nearly brought to tears… it floored me. Wes was not someone who cried easily — or ever, for that matter. I’d guess this was as close as he’d come to it in a long, long time.

“I know it’s unforgivable, Faith. But you have to know that I’m sorry. If I could go back and change it, I would.” He cleared his throat and seemed to regain control over himself, and I knew his tiny show of weakness was over. “I don’t blame you for hating me. I hate myself for doing that to you.”

“It’s not,” I said simply, looking into his eyes. “And I don’t.”

“What?”

“It’s not unforgivable.” I shifted in his arms and my hands slid up his chest to cup his jaw. I made sure to look into his eyes when I spoke again. “I forgive you, Wes. And I don’t hate you. I’ll never hate you.”

His arms tightened around my body and he dropped his head forward, burying his face in my hair.

“If the man who shot you wasn’t already dead, I swear I’d put a bullet in his head,” he muttered darkly.

My heart began to pound. “What?”

“Istvan Bordas,” Wes said, lifting his head to look at me. “He’s the one who shot you, Red.”

“I know that,” I said, my eyes wide. “But he isn’t dead.”

Wes looked at me funny. “He died in the fire at Hermes. My men found his charred remains in the wreckage.”

“Well, I hate to break it to you, but your men were wrong. He isn’t dead — I saw him four days ago at the airport. It was kind of hard to miss him, considering he was shooting bullets at me and all.”

“That was Bordas?” Wes growled, anger suffusing his every word.

“I mean… I’m pretty sure.” I shrugged. “He looked different. There were… scars. Burns, on his face. But it was definitely him.”

“Fuck,” Wes cursed, his eyes distant. “He’s the one doing the hits.”

Thoughts of Margot filled my mind and I pressed my eyes closed in sudden pain.