Wife Number Seven (The Compound, #1)(73)

“I’m not possessed, Brin. It’s called an addiction.” He rolled his eyes. “Never mind, think what you want. I’m going to hell anyway, right?”

“No.” I reached again for his hand. This time he didn’t pull away. “I don’t believe that.”

“Why not?” he demanded.

“Because your soul’s too beautiful for hell.”

“That’s total and utter bullshit, and you know it . . .” His voice trailed off and he broke our eye contact.

“No, it’s not. Now, please tell me what happened.”

My head raced with possibilities, and it ripped my heart apart that every single scenario involved his addiction. Did he owe someone money? Did he steal again? What had he done to cause himself such pain and despair that he’d start using again? I pushed my anger down within my gut, angry with him for choosing drugs over us, angry with him for falling into old habits.

Wasn’t I worth more than that?

“I don’t want to talk about it.” He pulled his hand away even as I fought to hold on. He then flopped onto his bed and rolled to his side, staring out the window.

“We have to, Porter. If we have any chance of making this work, you have to let me in.”

I sat down next to him and stroked his side, trying so desperately to calm and soothe. His muscles tensed beneath my fingertips.

“I can’t . . . not this.”

“I was ready to pack my bags, to leave Lehi, to leave the compound, the only life I’ve ever known. I was going to leave all of it.”

He turned over and his eyes were wide. “You were?”

“Yes.”

“And now?”

“Well, I certainly can’t stay with you.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Because clearly I can’t count on you. You promised to get clean . . . and you’re not. And then you avoided me! You couldn’t even take a minute to text me.”

“I couldn’t.”

“Why? Did you lose your phone?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

“I was too high.” He hung his head and looked away.

“Right.” I grimaced at the idea of Porter so high that he was physically unable to type on the keys of his phone. “And now we’re back where we started, aren’t we? What happened to the man from last weekend? The man who showed me a house? The man who wanted to get out of this place?”

I threw out my arms, wildly gesturing to his disaster of a bedroom littered with dirty laundry, food wrappers, and soda cans.

“I just . . . I screwed up, okay?” His voice cracked in desperation.

“Fine, you messed up. But that doesn’t change anything.” I tapped him on the shoulder to make my point. “You have to be honest with me, even when you’re hurting like this.”

“I’m not hurting. I’m pissed off.”

“Fine,” I said. “Then tell me what you’re so angry about. Who made you so mad that you came crawling through my window in the middle of a rainstorm?”

His eyes filled with daggers, pointed directly at me. But I wasn’t about to back down.

“C’mon,” I pleaded. “You know I’m on your side. Don’t push me out of your life. Don’t make me walk away. Because I will, right here and now. I’ll walk away and never come back.”

I rose to my feet, demonstrating how serious I was. It took every ounce of strength within me to even threaten such an action. If he allowed me to leave, I’d be devastated.

Hooking my hands on my hips, I said, “I have other options when I go, ya know. I can stay with Tiffany. I’m sure she’d let me, all I have to do is ask.”

He scoffed at me. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Oh, really?” I asked, then turned toward the door. “I’m not bluffing, Porter. I’ll leave that place with or without you.”

“Okay, okay.”

Porter pushed himself to a seated position and took my hands in his, his fingers twitching with nervous energy. His pulse beat like rapid fire through his hot skin.

“Don’t go anywhere, all right? I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you everything.”



Chapter 27

Porter couldn’t get his mother out of his head. The last time they’d seen each other, the last time they’d spoken, it had been gruesome. The absolute worst day of his life. The day she dropped him on the street corner with a hundred dollars in his hand, a suitcase full of clothes, and absolutely no idea how to function in the outside world.

But he missed his mother. So much it physically hurt. With Brinley’s presence in his life, he’d not expected to be dragged back to the compound where he’d spent the bigger portion of his young life. But dragged back he was.

He was a man devoured by love, in love with a woman he wasn’t supposed to have. And he knew he was going to burn in hell—of this he was certain, but he no longer cared. She’d brought happiness into his dreary, dark life. Brinley inspired him to be better, to be a man she’d be proud to call hers. For her, he’d move mountains, he’d change his act, get clean once and for all, finish building his house and move away from the roommates who dragged him down. He’d be better for her. A much better version of himself.