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“I’m serious, though.” I get back to the issue at hand. “Will you stop back by?”
Enoch turns, heading toward the front door with a chuckle. “Don’t worry. The medicine the doctor gave him will knock him out until brunch. You’re safe. Enjoy some freedom while the warden is down.”
And the truth will set you free…
The teacher, aka Father Enoch, knows his son is a straight-up demon.
Yet, he loves and forgives him… just like me.
Van
My heart feels ready to explode, and it’s not from fucking love.
“You tried to kill me!” I bark at my wife, sounding like a drunk frog from the antihistamine the doctor gave me. If I weren’t so pissed, I’d scratch my skin off until I passed out for the rest of the day. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a reaction this severe. I’ve forgotten how shitty it feels.
“I didn’t know!” she screams, no longer treating me as delicately as she was earlier. “You’re supposed to tell your wife that you have a severe milk allergy!”
“Dairy,” I correct. “It’s not just milk that you can kill me with; yogurt and sour cream work just as well.”
She jams her finger into my chest. “It’s not funny! You should have told me! You shouldn’t have stocked it in the house!”
“I did it for the DoorDashers,” I tease. “I didn’t want more blood on my hands the next time you got hangry.”
She belts out a laugh, her cheeks turning a slight shade of pink. “You are such a liar.”
And fucked up the ass. When did I risk my life for love? Hell, when have I ever cared if someone was hungry or comfortable in my presence? Never. Never have I cared about someone like I do my aggravating wife.
“And you’re a beautiful killer.”
She sits up and pokes me in the chest. “For the last time, I wasn’t trying to kill you.”
“I know.” I shouldn’t have been so wrapped up in worrying about what she was talking to Blake about and the possibility of a pussy apology for withholding such things from her husband.
“So, why not tell me?” Her voice is soft—a gentle caress that stirs my dick through the fog of drowsiness. “Haven’t I proven that I love you? That I care about you?”
What is proof, really? As an attorney, I can spin anything into proof if I need it to win a case. Did the camera catch you entering the store that was robbed twenty minutes later? Based on that information, I’d argue you were the thief, but your lawyer would argue you were buying a pack of smokes and using the restroom when the crime occurred. Everything is perception—even cold, hard facts.
Does my wife love me unconditionally as I do her? Did she try to hate me for punishing her? God knows I tried to hate her. I tried to make her into a monster who betrayed me, but I kept circling back to that summer when she begged to run away with me.
She was never scared. Never judgmental about who I was or what I’d done. She accepted me for everything I was and everything I wasn’t. I wanted to be a better man for her. I wanted to take care of her and keep her from harm.
I saw redemption in Reese Carmichael—redemption I thought I would never have after I failed to save my mother.
But I could keep Reese safe.
I could find happiness again.
As long as we were together, we could heal from our pasts.
But then I was arrested, and the new beginning I dreamed of turned into a nightmare until Enoch came along.
Finding Reese’s hand, I interlock our fingers and gaze into her eyes. “On my first birthday, my mother gave me whole milk as my pediatrician recommended.”
Reese gasps. “Oh, no.”
“Needless to say, I reacted the same back then as I did today. Except, my mother had given me a bottle in the playpen while she took a shower.” I shake my head, remembering her tears as she told me this story when I was old enough to understand. “I wasn’t breathing when she found me.”
Letting go of my hand, Reese lies beside me, draping one arm over my chest. “I can’t imagine how scared she was.”
