Wife Number Seven (The Compound, #1)(57)

After leaving Jorjina’s, I was desperate to talk to Porter. Once I’d passed Samuel and the other guards at their small tower, I’d run the rest of the way to Porter’s apartment. Without knocking, I let myself in, knowing the door would be unlocked. Inside his living room, I paced back and forth, fretting and working myself up into a panic while Porter stared at me in confusion.

“Knows what? About you and me?” His forehead wrinkled as he attempted to keep me rooted to one place, but I couldn’t stop moving.

“Yes.”

“That’s impossible.”

I shook my head sharply, hugging myself as I strode from the door to the couch and back again. “No . . . she knows. She knows.”

“Brin, slow down.” Porter pressed the palms of his hands on my shoulders. “Talk to me. Tell me what happened.”

“I’m in trouble.” I brushed past him, my head spinning. “So much trouble.”

“You’re safe here,” he said, his voice stern, and a chill ran down my spine.

“That’s exactly what she said. Word for word.” I stared at Porter, trying to process what Jorjina had meant by those words. The world was closing in on me, and I was certain I was being punished for all my sins against Heavenly Father, for my transgressions against my husband.

“The prophet’s mother?” he asked.

I nodded, finally standing still, staring him in the eye. “She said I was safe with her.”

We stood in silence.

“She knows, Porter. I feel it in my bones.”

“Okay, stop.” He walked to the couch and sank into the cushions, then placed his head in his hands. “So, what . . . you think she’s, like, telling the f*cking prophet everything you’re doing? You think she’s some sort of spy?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know.” My chest felt heavy and I struggled to breathe, then the room began to spin around and around. I was having a panic attack.

Porter jumped up and caught me just as my legs gave out, keeping me from tumbling down to the dirty carpet. He wrapped his arm around my waist and led me to the bedroom.

“Lie down, put your feet up.”

I closed my eyes and attempted to slow my breathing. Porter sat next to me, clutching my hand in his.

“Stay here . . . with me.”

My eyes opened quickly, and the panic accelerated within my chest. “I can’t.”

Porter pursed his lips and looked away. “Brin . . . what is it you see in me? I mean, what is this about?”

Despite the pressure in my chest, I sat to face him. “I don’t understand.”

“I mean, what do you see in me?” He peered at me wide-eyed, his expression distressed and vulnerable.

“I—”

“That’s what I was afraid of.” He stood and took my place pacing the room.

“What do you mean?” I asked, still confused.

“Is this just a game to you? Am I a game?”

“How can you say that to me? You’re everything! Absolutely everything!”

I moved to the edge of the bed, trembling. How could he think that? Every morning I started the day with thoughts of Porter. Every night when I prayed to Heavenly Father, I prayed for Porter—for his happiness, his well-being, his health, and the strength to conquer his addiction.

“Then why won’t you stay? I’m offering you a place to be away from all of them, and you won’t take it.”

“I’m not ready.”

“Why? Why not?”

“Because I’m married! I can’t just stay here and never go back.”

Panic filled my chest at the thought of leaving behind the only life I knew for a man I’d only known for a few months. Yes, I was falling for him. Yes, he was constantly on my mind and in my heart. But how could I know that he was ready to commit to me? To provide for me? That was a huge burden to carry, and I couldn’t expect that of him. Not yet.

“He’s not your husband, Brinley. No matter what the prophet ‘revealed.’ He has one wife and that’s Leandra. You’re not bound to him unless you choose to be. Period.”

He was right. Legally, Lehi had no claim to me. It was a celestial union, a marriage of faith. And clearly mine was fading fast. I stared at him, acknowledging how correct he was with that statement.

Porter’s eyes bore into mine, and part of me wanted to unbraid my hair, to strip myself of my long, heavy dress, and make myself at home in his apartment. But I knew I couldn’t do that.

“I risk everything to come here. You have to know this isn’t a game.”

Porter looked away and crossed his arms in front of his chest, building a wall between us.

“Porter, please.” My fingers grazed his elbow and he flinched at my touch. When I gasped, he closed his eyes tightly. “You’re everything to me. You could never be a game.”

“What do you see in me?” he asked, his voice small. His body seemed to crumple into itself. I’d never seen him like this.

“You’re kind and you’re strong,” I began, stroking his shoulder with my fingers. “You protect me and you make me laugh. I never laughed before I met you.”

“I believe that.” He chuckled under his breath. “What else?”

“You have this tough exterior, but for me . . . for me, you’re gentle, sweet.” His expression softened and he covered my hand with his own. “And no one, no one on this earth makes me light up like you can. No one makes me feel the way you make me feel. And I’m starting to think no one else ever could.”