*
Limited funds anda crippled bike keep me from going to Tybee when I get home after taking Nellie to an afternoon matineewith subtitles and lunch at the same café where Theo took me. It was my idea. Unfortunately, Karma had a nap this afternoon; otherwise, I’m certain she would have arranged Harold Moore being there too, with his tart of the week.
The good news? I have a landline phone. The bad news? I don’t know Theo’s mobile number. I should have lifted Harold’s wallet and taken enough cash for taxi fare to Tybee. We could have called it payment for injury.Fucking wanker!
I don’t recall a time in my life when I had to live on such a tight budget. Daniel didn’t offer to give me any money, even though I deposited close to fifty thousand pounds in his account before I left London. I’m sure it was an oversight on his part, but I didn’t have the nerve to ask for any of it back after having destroyed his life.
I live a few streets from a library. A library with computers and internet. I’ve walked by it several times like an alcoholic walking past an off license. But I can’t do it. Hackers can play God with a computer. A simple internet search turns into a handful of crimes within a matter of minutes. My desire to destroy the man who shoved my face into a wall is too great to give me internet access. It would be a loaded gun in my hand.
I collapse in my ten-dollar picnic chair in the middle of an otherwise empty room. “Bugger!” I wince, having forgotten that I need to avoid any sort of plopping.
There’s a knock at my door.
“Unless you’re a murderer, let yourself in.”
The door eases open.
“Hey.” I punch as much enthusiasm into my greeting as I can.
It would be easier to fall on a sword than look at the pain etched into the face of the beautiful man before me: Theo in his tattered, loose jeans, old, black T-shirt with a tear near the neck, and black boots. I can’t see any life in him and it makes me, onceagain, question my existence. Slow goodbyes offer nothing but drawn-out pain. I did it with Daniel, and now I’m doing it with Theo.
I could cry just watching him stand here, not saying a word. My heart bangs against its cage, wanting to break out and hold on to him. I can’t follow my heart, but oh, how I want to.
I didn’t try to love you.
He lets the door shut behind him and walks to me, kneeling on the floor between my feet. My nose tingles. My eyes burn.
Are you my salvation or my damnation?
I open my mouth, but I can’t speak. My throat swells. Breathing is its own feat. Theo lays his head on my lap and wraps his arms around my waist, but he says nothing.
Drawing in a slow breath and holding it, I roll my eyes toward the ceiling and try not to blink. Give me back the death sentence. Let me die because this kind of suffering is too unbearable. Threading my fingers through his hair, I blink and succumb to the tears that don’t just fall—they come like an enormous wave, shaking my whole body.
He holds me tighter.
My name is Scarlet Stone, and my nana told me I won’t know I’m in love until my heart is broken. Love doesn’t sound so great.
“Don’t go,” I whisper around the emotions choking me. “I-I know you have to go, but I… I have to say the words.” I fight the sobs. “I’m s-sorry… I had to s-say it.” Leaning forward, I rest my head on his, and we stay like this until the pain becomes a numbing reality that we can no longer deny.
When my tears dry and I wonder if he’s even awake, I kiss his ear. “I stole a heart. Daniel needed a heart transplant and so I… stole one. When I take things that aren’t mine, I don’t leave a trail. But emotions made me sloppy. I messed up. Daniel had no idea. My dad confessed, turned himself in with the guarantee that Daniel would never know what he did. Buthedid nothing. Idid it. My dad is in prison for a crime I committed. He wanted a happily ever after for his daughter. I hated him for it.”
I laugh. “Isn’t that crazy? How can I hate him for wearing communal underwear that could have been mine? How can I hate him for giving me freedom, a future, a life? He said someday I’d have a child of my own and understand that there isnothinga parent won’t do to give them the world.”
“And your mom?” He is awake.
“She died—of cancer—before I turned two. My best friend died of cancer too.”
“But you didn’t.”
I kiss his ear again, memorizing the feel of every point where our bodies connect, memorizing the smell of ocean in his hair, the rare vulnerability in his voice. “No. Not yet.”
“Why do you think that is?”
“Why do you swim in the ocean?”
His long lashes flutter with a few blinks. “It feels natural and… freeing. It’s where I let go of everything and it’s…”
I sit up and press my hand to his cheek. He sits back on his heels like I’ve seen him do while working a million times before.
