Page 62 of The Devil

“Then I am guessing she was a stunner.”

Amal smiles, blushing, distracted. Good, that’s what I want.

“It was just the three of us. She couldn’t stop looking at him and I sat on the bed with her under the blankets. We were all cuddled up like that, and we just counted Daniel’s fingers and toes and kept smelling the top of his head. Babies smell so good.”

“Yeah, until they shit their diapers or puke all over you.”

She smiles. “Every time he’d open his eyes it was like a magical moment. Just unreal. He was so little.”

“That’s a great story.”

“She loved us very much. Both of us.”

I glance at her because her voice goes strange at the end. She won’t meet my eyes though and although her gaze is glued to what I’m doing she seems far away.

“Well, maybe she loved Daniel a little more than me,” she adds.

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

“It’s okay, it’s fine.” She draws in a breath and sits up taller. “I’d love him more too.”

“What kind of thing is that to say?”

“Besides, Daniel didn’t have her for as long as I did so I’m glad all he ever felt was her love, you know?”

“I do.”

“Your mom seems nice,” she says and when I meet her eyes after drawing the tenth suture tight, I see the irony in them.

“She’s a real gem. Warm and loving. Exactly how I’d describe her.” She snorts. “Nah, she’s fine. Just dealing with her own shit like we all are.”

“What about your brother? What’s he like?”

I groan as I knot the final stitch. “Sev’s kind of an asshole but I know he’s just trying to make up for shit that happened that he had no control over, you know? Big brother guilt, I suppose.” I glance at her. “Can you cut it?”

“You’re good at this,” she says, using the small suturing scissors to cut the thread.

“Lots of experience. Now whiskey please.”

She hands me the bottle and stands, watching me as I drink. I set the bottle aside and sit up, wincing when I swing my legs off the bed to stand.

“What are you doing? You should rest.”

“Your turn.”

“No way. I don’t need any stitches.”

I chuckle. “Don’t like needles?” I take hold of her hips and pull her to stand between my knees.

“Don’t like the idea of stitches without some sort of numbing first.”

“That’s what the whiskey is for.” Reaching up, I push a hand into her hair and draw her face to mine to kiss her, tasting the coppery tang of blood on her mouth. I slide my hand down and unzip her dress. Amal watches me as I push it off her shoulders and let it pool around her ankles. Her bra and panties are next.

I look her over, taking in each bruise, each cut. Touching each one before sliding my hand back into her hair and pulling her to me to breathe her in. To send up a little gratitude to whatever entity that spared her.

To feel her. Hold her. To know she’s safe.

And finally, to kiss her.