Page 67 of Sterling Heat

On the final verse, Enya fixes her eyes on mine as she finishes. The last lines linger between us, softly drifting off until silence surrounds us.

“I don’t really believe in God.” Roughly spoken, I’m overwhelmed by her voice and the lyrics.

God? What kind of god takes away my mother and leaves behind a father who hates my existence? What god forces Stone to give up his life and me to flip mine to drugs? Then again, those were human choices. Some bad decisions. Some reckless actions.

Lifting Enya’s hand, I kiss her knuckles and let my lips linger against them. She’s made decisions as well. Gave up a dream. Tried to please her parents. Had Adara on her own. She’s a goddess, and I only wish I were worthy enough to worship at her temple.

“At the very least, you should believe in the power of gratitude and forgiveness.” With her hand still against my lips, I close my eyes. Could a woman like her forgive my past? I’d told her some scary shit and once again she didn’t even flinch. She just took my truth and didn’t judge me.

“You didn’t say anything the other night when I told you about my past. About selling drugs and being in jail. Beating a man. Aren’t you afraid of me? Or repulsed by me?” I keep my focus on her hand, tracing over her firm knuckles with my thumb, truly confused by this angel in my life. “Don’t you find me unforgivable?”

“Unforgivable?” She chokes while she blinks rapidly three times. Her hand squeezes mine in return. “Honey, everyone is forgivable. As for being frightened, you’ve never given me a reason to be afraid of you. Not physically.”

I lift my head, prepared to question her meaning. Not physically?

Dawning strikes. She means emotionally. We are so wrong for each other.

She wants a family. I don’t.

She’s perfect. I’m broken.

“I’d never be repulsed by you.” A spark flickers in her eyes as she meets mine.

There’s something undeniably pulling us together. Like a twisted moth to a brilliant flame, there’s an attraction that we both ignore but the struggle is real. Her brightness is too intense.

Enya releases her hand from my fingers and stands, setting Adara down in a portable bassinet in the living room. The baby has fallen back asleep to her mother’s voice. When Enya returns to the couch, she presses at my shoulder, forcing me to my side on the couch. Wedging herself onto the cushions, I shift until we face one another. Wrapping an arm over her, she tucks her arms between us, but clutches at my shirt.

“I believe in God, Sebastian. Or at least, Fate. And there’s a reason we’re here. Right now. On my couch. Together.” Enya ducks her head and rests her cheek against my sternum.

I’m hanging on every word, thinking she has more to say. Is this Fate? Is this forgiveness? Is she some strange form of redemption? The thought is too much. The hope a reckless risk.

I remove the elastic band holding her hair and comb my fingers through the long length, watching as the shiny dark strands slip through my roughened fingers. I’ll never let her slip away.

“Sugar?” Tilting my head, I glance down and see her eyes are closed, her fingers still tight in my shirt, like she isn’t willing to let me go. A soft snore tells me she’s fallen asleep.

I press a kiss to her forehead and settle in. Looks like I’m spending the night again in a house I thought I’d never visit, with a woman I don’t deserve, because of a baby who holds my heart.

Both my flames have ignited something in me and I’m not ready to give up the warmth.

+ + +

After giving Adara a bottle at the three a.m. feeding, I leave. Sneaking out like I didn’t spend most of the night. Pretending to myself that leaving by four means it wasn’t an overnighter.

I was only sharing time with my girls.

I’m such a liar.

Because the following night, I made an excuse to return. I’d noticed some bookshelves still in a box waiting to be assembled, so I build them, help Enya place items on the shelves, and then linger until we pass out on the couch again.

The next night, I had another excuse. The toilet in her first-floor powder room had been rattling in the morning. A little adjustment fixes it, and then I offer to make Enya dinner. We watch three episodes of Ted Lasso. With Adara on Enya’s chest, we sit side by side until both my girls are sleeping. It’s another night on the couch.

And each night, Enya and I share tender touches. My knuckles along her neck. Her fingers tracing over mine. We’re friends, I remind myself, but every stroke stokes the heat between us. The something more I keep denying. I wish I could ignore it, but I can’t.

Because Enya, my flame, burns too bright.

Earlier today, she went to Huntington to see her doctor. Gone most of the day, she returned to Sterling Falls much later than I expected her.

I’ve been waiting on her porch as the evening started to grow dark, and when she finally pulls into her driveway, I am ready to implode with comments about calling me and letting me know she is safe. The other night—the one when she thought someone was on her porch—still has me rattled. I don’t like the idea of her and the baby out here alone even with the security alarm she’s installed.