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He looked like a damn snake, that’s what he looked like. “I can live with Sam.”
I like it, the reptile practically purred.
“He says he likes the name.”
With clear delight, she stroked the rattler’s head. “Do you, honey? I’m so pleased. You are such a beautiful boy. Aren’t you, Sam?”
Striker wanted to vomit as the rattler crowed about how much she adored him.
“You never pet me like that.” Yeah, he’d turned into a jealous four-year-old.
She fought a smile. “Are you feeling neglected?”
“Yeah.” Damn it. He really was. He wanted her close, not fawning over a bad-tempered diamondback.
“Well, we can’t have that, can we?” She kissed the reptile’s head. “Go on back to Striker now.”
And damned if the reptile didn’t do exactly as he was told.
You are such a suck-up, he told it.
You’re jealous because she likes me better.
He felt that familiar sharp burst of pain as his body merged with the reptile. Damn straight I’m jealous.
Friday crawled the short distance between them to kneel beside his hip, her fingers tracing down his cheek. “You are such a beautiful man.”
“Only you would call me that.”
“Will you take off your eyepatch for me? I want to see all of you. I love your unusual eyes.”
He didn’t hesitate, removing the patch and placing it in the pocket of his jeans for safekeeping.
“Thank you, Luke,” she whispered.
He sucked in a breath at the sound of his name on her lips. It seemed different coming from her. More special, somehow.
“Thank you for everything.” She cupped his cheeks and leaned into him, pressing a sweet, gentle kiss to his lips.
Her words unleashed the helpless rage inside of him. His hands went to her hips, and he held on tight. She couldn’t leave him. She was his, damn it!
“Don’t,” she whispered against his lips. “There’s time for anger and grief after. This time, the time I have left, it’s for us.”
He rested his forehead against hers. “You’re killin’ me, bébé.”
Each word was a blow. A nail to his heart. A brutal wound from which he would never recover. Never. He’d keep walking and talking after she was gone, but he wouldn’t live. He knew that. His life was wrapped up in hers, and a large part of him would cease to exist when she did.
“Do you think,” she hesitated, her voice a whisper. “Do you think there’s anything there after you die?”
It took a minute to answer. To make his voice work. “My Maman believed in Jesus. She said if you believe in him, you get to hang out in heaven forever. She wasn’t afraid to die. She said she’d get to live in Paradise.” His heart squeezed at the thought of his mother. He hoped she was right. He hoped she’d been living it up somewhere wonderful these past eighty years.
“I like that. I never did believe in anything. But I like that. I don’t really know anything about Jesus, but maybe he wouldn’t mind letting me in, too. I’m sure if I knew him, I’d believe. And if I get to carry on after this life, in heaven, then maybe I’d meet your Maman there.”
“You’d love her.” His voice was tight, and it hurt so damn much to use it.
“I already love her son.” His heart stopped entirely at her softly-spoken words. She leaned back to look into his eyes. “It’s true, Luke Boudreaux. I really do love you. You slammed right into my heart the moment I met you, and you’ve been making yourself at home there ever since. I’ve never loved anyone before. Not one person. I always thought that, maybe, it wasn’t because I didn’t have anybody to love, but because I wasn’t capable of loving. I was wrong. I’ve been storing up my love all these years, keeping it safe, because it was meant for you. Only you.”
“Friday,” he croaked the word. His eyes stung. His fingers flexed on her hips. His throat ached. “Bébé.”
