“Yes,” I agree.
“You believe he’s in on this,” he states, and it’s not a question.
“I believe Logan’s in on this,” I confirm once again, not willing to believe my father would betray me, even risk my life. “But my father controls Logan.”
Blake still hasn’t looked at the paper. “You sure you want to do this?”
“It’s painful,” I admit, “but my father is not a good man. Adrian is. So, yes. I’m sure. Connect the dots and then I’ll take it from there, but I’ll need to stay here. At least for now.”
He gives me a small nod and I turn away from him, walking toward the stairs. He calls after me. “Pri.”
I pause and glance back. “Yes?”
“He is a good man.”
“I know that,” I say. “I wish he did, but I’m working on that.”
I leave it at that and head down the stairs, eager to find Adrian. We are both broken and bleeding through the cracks our mistakes have created. I know this. I don’t even try to run from this truth. I also know that broken people often erode within themselves, or into someone else. But maybe, just maybe, it doesn’t have to go that way. Maybe a lucky few connect with the perfect soul, the one that heals them. I don’t know which of these things awaits Adrian and me, or who we will become as individuals or as a couple. I just know that I need him. And he needs me. We need each other.Chapter Twenty-TwoPRI
Once I’m downstairs, Adrian isn’t in view and I don’t know why I know he’s in my room, but I do. Or maybe it’s just wishful thinking. Hope. Me daring to feel hope. Whatever the case, I hurry down the hallway and when I enter the room, he’s sitting on the bed, chin low. I shut the door and slowly his gaze lifts. He casts me in a tormented stare.
The air thickens with anticipation. Mine and his. I don’t have to read his mind to know he’s not in a good place, but the fact that he’s here, in my room, tells me he’s not pushing me away. This matters. This is progress. This is him telling me he’s not walking away.
I hope.
I close the space between us and he watches my every step, the swoosh of a ceiling fan somehow louder now. I stop in front of him, and for several beats, we just stare at each other, a pulse of awareness between us. He seems to be waiting for me, and of course, why would he not? He made the first move. He came to me. He’s waiting for my reply. Is he welcome? Do I still want him?
My hands press to his face and for a moment he doesn’t react, but when I whisper his name, “Adrian,” he seems to breathe again. His lashes lower, and he nestles into my palms as if my touch is everything.
I’ve never felt like everything to anyone.
He captures my hand and his eyes meet mine again, a punch of emotion between us. “Pri,” he murmurs. “There are so many things you need to know.”
“And you’ll tell when the time is right. And I’ll prove to you that I’m not fair-weathered. I’m not in this, any of this, most certainly, not us, because it’s easy. But it is right and I’m not going anywhere.”
“I’m not going to tell you that you’re wrong. I don’t think I have it in me to let you go.”
“Good,” I say, relieved that the tug of war is over. No more promises of hate. No more foreboding goodbyes. “Finally,” I add. “And right now, I just really want to be with you. To be with us.” I shove him backward onto the mattress, climbing on top of him, straddling him. “Don’t let them win,” I say, my hands on his chest, the thick ridge of his erection pressed to the hot spot between my thighs. “Don’t let them make you believe you’re like them. You’re not.”
He rolls me over, his leg sliding between mine, his big body pressed to mine, his elbow by my side, holding up his upper body. “I could say a lot of things right now.”
“Should I say them for you? You’re bad. Too bad. So very bad.”
“No,” he says softly. “I’m not going to say those things anymore. You know. You don’t care.”
“Now you’re starting to understand.” My fingers curl on his jaw. “But just in case you decide to go down that rabbit hole again, I’m alone in a sea of sharks. Do you think you’ll save me by walking away?”
His eyes darken, lashes lowering once more as he murmurs, “What are you doing to me, woman?” and then his mouth crashes down on mine, his tongue stroking long, deep, slow.
He lets me taste his anguish, pain, self-hatred. But there’s more. There’s his unyielding need for me and us. There is our unexplainable, impossible-to-deny bond. A bond it seems created in blood.