Page 77 of Fairest of Heart

Titus slid from the chair and nudged the seat aside. Kneeling by the bed, he clasped Penelope’s hand between his and bowed his head as he pressed a kiss against her knuckles.

“I need you, Pen.” He couldn’t stop the tears this time. Not with his chest cracking open. “These last couple years, I’ve only been half-alive, but you breathed new life into my soul. You warmed places inside me that I didn’t even realize were cold. Please . . . don’t leave me.”

His forehead dropped to the mattress as his neck bent in supplication. To God. To her. Never had he felt so powerless. If he could open a vein and take the poison into himself, he’d do it in a heartbeat. But he couldn’t. All he could do was sit in a quiet room, listen to her breathe, and pray each time that the next breath would come.

Out of words and lacking the energy or desire to move, he stayed in that position, holding her hand and watching her sleep until his knees throbbed and his feet started to go numb. He released her hand then, laid it out upon the sheet, and caressed the length of each finger before ratcheting himself off the floor.

His gaze never left her as he stood and stretched his aching muscles. He was afraid to let his attention lapse. Afraid she might slip away if he wasn’t there to anchor her. It was irrational, but he cleaved to the idea, wanting to believe that he could help her heal. That he could breathe with her. Expand her lungs by expanding his. Yet deep inside he knew it was an illusion, his faulty attempt to control things beyond his control.

He dropped into the chair and buried his head in his hands. “I surrender.” The murmured words punched a hole in his chest as the truth bore into his heart. He couldn’t save Penelope. Just as he couldn’t save Tate. Only one Being held sway over life and death.

His hands tightened in his hair until the tugging on his scalp grew painful. “I forgive you.” The words scraped at his throat like swallowed glass, but he forced himself to say them again. “I forgive you for taking Tate.” A hot tear seared his cheek.

All this time, he thought he had moved past his brother’s death, but standing on the precipice of losing Penelope made the truth raw and clear. Resentment had rooted in the dark corners of his soul. Resentment toward the God who hadn’t saved his brother.

He loosened his grip on his hair and lifted his face just enough to see Penelope. Her spirit so gentle and sweet. She wouldn’t want him to carry that weight anymore. She certainly wouldn’t want him to add to it. He closed his eyes and pictured her dancing with butterflies. He heard her laughter. Saw her beaming smile. Joy radiated from every pore. Until he’d stomped it out. He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

He bowed his head in submission. “Forgive me,” he pleaded, his voice broken. “For holding on to anger. For trying to control things better left to you. You knew what was best for Tate, and you know what is best for Penelope.”

Titus had been consumed with his own definition of what was best. For himself. Avoiding the heartache of another loss. Establishing a future with the woman who had climbed into his heart. Feeding the fledgling fire of love that had just started to catch.

But love meant putting the needs of another before his own.

Do what’s best for her, Lord. I bend to your will.

For a long time, he sat in the bedside chair, doing his best to surrender instead of fight. The practice didn’t sit naturally on his shoulders, but he didn’t shy away from the challenge. The Lord knew the desires of his heart. Time to leave the battle in the Commander’s hands.

Titus shifted closer to the bed, wanting to be near Penelope. Every moment was precious because no moment was promised. He reached for her hand and held it to his cheek.

“What’s best for you, Penelope?” he whispered. “This world has treated you poorly. Beaten you down. Tried to kill you. Are you weary of the struggle and ready for rest? As much as I want to promise that life will be better if you stay, I can’t.”

If she was his, he’d do his best to protect and provide for her, but even that wouldn’t be guaranteed. An outlaw’s bullet could easily strike him down and leave her abandoned again.

He pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “You don’t have to stay for us, Penelope. Not if you want to go. We want you to be happy. At peace. Doc and the others . . . me . . . we’ll be all right.”

Titus moved to the mattress beside her. Needing to be close. To peer into her face. Memorize her features. How was he going to let her go? Taking a volley of bullets would hurt less. But he had to find a way. For her sake. She deserved a noble hero, not a man who thought only of his own—

A barely perceptible pressure compressed his fingers.

Titus jerked, his gaze targeting the small hand clasped inside both of his where he cradled it on his lap. Had she just . . . ?

“Penelope?” His heart pounded in his chest as he tried to find enough moisture in his suddenly dry mouth to speak. “Squeeze my hand, sweetheart.”

Please. It couldn’t have been just a reflex. It had to mean something. It had to.

The pressure came again. Stronger this time.

“Doc!” Titus shouted loud enough to bring the house down, but he didn’t care whom he disturbed. “Doc!”

He clutched her hand to his chest, directly over his heart, then leaned forward and brushed a kiss onto her forehead.

“That’s it, Pen. Come back to me.”

She was fighting. He could feel it. Her breathing was no longer as languid. Her skin not quite as pale.

“Open your eyes, darlin’.” Holding tightly to her hand with his left, he cupped her face with his right. The pad of his thumb stroked her eyebrow, then her cheekbone, as if he could help her focus her energy.

Her lashes fluttered.