Risking it All (Crossing the Line, #1)(26)

She glanced back out the window. “I’m officially an indoor kid.”

He ran a hand through his sleep-mussed hair. “Well then, we need to get you out of here, baby.”

Oh, God, until he’d agreed, she hadn’t realized how badly she needed to get some air. Bowen’s apartment was a million miles from her tiny room above Rush, but the possibility of getting outside and stretching her legs sounded like heaven. She stood, smiling so big it hurt. “Really?”

For a moment, he just stared at her, before visibly shaking himself. Stepping away from her, he reached into his back pocket and took out a pack of cigarettes, lighting one. “Let me grab a shower. I’ll take you anywhere you want to go, Ladybug.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “Anywhere?”

Cigarette clamped between his teeth, he nodded, but his eyes grew suspicious.

“Why? Where are you thinking?”

Sera breezed past him and took a jug of milk out of the fridge. “Church.”

Later. She’d get back on track with how to proceed later.

This isn’t happening.

As Bowen walked down the sidewalk of his familiar neighborhood, Sera’s hand warm inside his, he tried to remember the last time he’d been to church. Had he ever been to church?

Once in middle school, he might have sneaked into the rectory and stolen wine.

Did that count? He tried to picture what the inside of Saint Anthony’s looked like, but could only remember the abandoned lot behind it, where he’d once watched his father end another man’s life for shorting him by fifty bucks on payback of a loan.

Learning from his father had been his sick version of church. Sure, he’d listened to sermons, but they’d been about instilling fear and brooking no disrespect. Running numbers, inflicting pain, evading the police. His bible had been a notebook filled with debts, passed down when his father got pinched.

How could he walk into a church, holding this girl’s hand? He’d be an imposter, a hypocrite. And hell, that was if he didn’t burst into flames first. Why had he agreed to take her?

He knew the answer to that. She’d looked like a bright, beautiful mirage sitting on his windowsill when he’d woken up this morning after a mere hour of sleep. An antidote to the grisly images tattooed on the back of his eyelids.

Images he added to every day, with situations like last night. Situations that left blood on his knuckles and another piece of him lying discarded in the gutter. One look at her, though, and he forgot everything, at least momentarily.

She’d opened her mouth and said church. Yes had been his only possible answer, because she wanted it.

Make her happy. Keep her safe. The mantra had played on a loop in his head last night, keeping him awake as he painted every free inch of space in his room, until he’d run out of wall space.

Before he knew it, he’d been standing at the foot of her bed. He’d fed himself the excuse that he just wanted to make sure she hadn’t tried to sneak out, maybe head back to Rush for another shot at stealing the ledger. But minutes had passed and he’d still stood there, heart thudding in his chest as he stared down at her peaceful form. What would goodness and purity feel like wrapped around him nightly? He’d had to put a stranglehold on the need to crawl into the bed with her and try to absorb it. The fear it might have the reverse effect had stopped him.

What if he dirtied her instead?

God, he’d come close on that stairwell. So damn close. Tackling her on the stairs, his head had been f*cked up. She’d just looked at him and seen her death. He’d known it. That certainty had been the equivalent of a shotgun blast to his chest. Minutes later, the reassurance in her eyes had been like a balm over the blast wound. He’d gotten lost in her, his need for her… He didn’t know how long he could go without touching her again.

Church was certainly a good start.

Thankfully, when they reached the steps leading to Saint Anthony’s, everyone had already gone inside.

Everyone in Bensonhurst knew him, or at least knew of him, and would wonder what the hell he was doing there. He didn’t care about the scrutiny on himself.

He’d grown used to it. But he didn’t want anyone making Sera uncomfortable.

Not today, when it felt so goddamn perfect walking down the street, holding her hand. Since he didn’t know if he’d ever get the chance again, he needed to savor it.

When they walked into the church, Bowen swore he could hear a record scratching. The priest actually paused in his opening welcome. One by one, every head in the church turned to face him, a few mouths even dropping open at the sight of him. Obviously sensing his discomfort, Sera pulled him into the very last row, a resolute smile on her face.

After a beat, the priest resumed his welcome, before opening the Bible on the altar and beginning a reading.

“I guess you don’t get to church much,” she whispered. “They seem surprised to see you.”

So, that’s how she was going to play it. As if she wasn’t aware of the real reason they looked horrified to have him in their sacred midst. “It’s not my fault.

They keep turning down my application to be an altar boy.”

Her lips pressed together, laughter in her eyes. “You’re not missing anything.

The robes are itchy and all that kneeling is murder on your knees.”

His dropped his head forward. “Don’t tell me you were an altar—”