Sinner's Creed (Sinner's Creed #1)(77)

I’ve tuned out their laughter, their talk, and their indifference to the turmoil that is happening in our lives. I’m ignoring everything they say and do. I’m wanting nothing more than to flip this table over and shatter every f*cking dish in this house, and then dare them to ask me what’s wrong. Someone is telling a story and when laughter erupts so loudly that it breaks through the silence I’ve created, I’m on my feet and out the front door.

At the sound of my chair hitting the floor, their laughter silences. And now, the only noise I hear is the heavy beat of my heart. When the door opens then closes behind me, I’m expecting Shady or Jimbo. What I don’t expect is to see the face of my love. I’ve ruined her perfect Thanksgiving, but the look in her eyes isn’t disappointment, it’s understanding.

“I know it’s hard, Dirk. I know every day I smile and act like nothing’s wrong, but I feel what you feel too. I’m worried about what tomorrow will hold. I’m nervous about next month. I’m terrified of the unknown. But, more than that, I’m scared of what I’ll do when I don’t have you.” I light a cigarette, knowing if I continue to look at her that I’ll break.

“I’m trying, Saylor,” I tell her, but I can’t even meet her eyes. I’m staring out into the yard, searching for something to focus my wandering eyes on so they don’t land on hers.

“You’re more than trying. You’re making me happy.” She wraps her arm around my waist and tucks into my side. I put my arm around her shoulders and hold her closer, wishing like hell I had the strength she did. “Some people say tomorrow everything will be better. I don’t think that.”

I find the courage to look down at her, and I’m expecting tears, but what I find is a beautiful smile on the face of a beautiful girl. My girl. My happy girl. “I think that today is great, and yesterday was even better.” Saylor isn’t living for the future; she’s living for the present, and it’s the past that makes her feel alive.

—

Time seems to fly by. Before I know it, it’s Christmas Eve and I’m helping Saylor wrap all five thousand presents we bought at the Black Friday sale. It was a f*cking disaster and if I lived another hundred years, I would never want to put myself through that again. Even Saylor said that that was a day she could have lived without.

I told her it wasn’t necessary for us to shop on sale and she said it was the experience she wanted. I’m glad she got it. I just hate I had to be there. So did the little smart-ass working at Target. After he got smart with Saylor, twice, I snatched him up from behind his register then shoved him to the ground. I didn’t hit him but my mug shot was now on the corkboard when you walked in, listed under “Barred for Life.” Not that I give a shit. Plus, it made Saylor horny as hell and we had a chance to christen our new SUV—the one I bought because she said it would be nice to have one. When I took her to pick one out she was skeptical, but when I informed her the heat in the old truck was going out, she became excited. Saylor isn’t very fond of the cold.

I tried to convince Saylor that Christmas wasn’t about presents, and she agreed. When I got comfortable with the fact that we wouldn’t have to do any shopping, she came back at me with “it’s about giving, not receiving.” So I tried to convince her that I should give her something, because she’d already given me herself. That didn’t work either. She said we should spend a day doing something the other one loved most, and not buy each other gifts. But we should buy Donnawayne, Jeffery, Rookie, Carrie, Shady, Jimbo and every-f*cking-body else in the club a gift too. So we did. Because Saylor always wins.

I’ve wrapped the last pocketknife, the last pair of leather gloves, and the last f*cking V-neck of my life. Never again will I do this. Which reminds me that Saylor never will either, and it brings me back down to earth. I shouldn’t bitch about these kinds of things because Saylor would probably give anything to do it again. When I told her this minutes ago, she never answered. When she pauses her wrapping and looks at me across the mountain of shit scattered in our living room, I know she is finally gonna respond.

“No, I wouldn’t.”

“You wouldn’t?” I ask, the disbelief evident in my voice.

“No.” She is sure of her answer, but she needs to say more to convince me. When she sighs, I know she’s in my head. Good. She’ll give me what I want.

“You know all that talk you have about selling your soul to the devil? How you’re convinced that there is a god, but you aren’t worthy of his love?” Here we go. I’m taken back to Thanksgiving, where I told Saylor the devil had possession of my soul. It derived from our conversation about praying before we ate. She said that if I believed in God like I said I did, then I shouldn’t have a problem with prayer. When I told her I wasn’t worthy of his time, she told me for thanks, he would make time. Now she thanked him every time we sat down to eat. I still didn’t bow. Or say thanks. Or amen. Prayer was her thing, not mine.

“Well, what if I told you, that I had the same bargain, but it was with God. What if I had a choice to live out a long and fruitful life here on earth, or one that was short, but actually meant something? Would you still think I would do anything to prolong my days here?” It’s just a metaphor. That really didn’t happen. It couldn’t have. But I don’t want to discuss this anymore.