“Stephen, what’s the point of this? Stop being the living dead. You’re as bad as my parents. You were saved for a purpose and I don’t think it was to live in perpetual regret, perpetual mourning.” She held her fisted hands at her side, shaking. “Bird chose to protect you. He might not have known about Baby Bird, but he sure as heck knew about Agnes. He gave his life for you. Why don’t you choose to honor him by living it?”
“Instinct.” He shook his head, refusing to face her. “Bird moved on instinct. If he’d hesitated like me, he might have run for cover. But no matter what, I can’t shake the reality that I robbed Bird, Carlos, the others of their lives.”
“No,youdidn’t.” She moved in front of him, hands on his legs, ducking her head to see his face. “Stop with this reflective guilt. Asif robbed them. Not you. His anger and bitterness.” Oh, the picture of forgiveness just became clearer to her own heart. “You keep on this path and not even the pitch can save you. One day, Stephen, you’ll be too old to play. What if your ankle doesn’t heal—”
“It will heal.” His eyes locked with hers and she saw beyond the cloak into the depth of his pain. “It will.”
“Then healyou. Let go. It’s been five and a half years. Don’t chain yourself to the past. What’s your instinct telling you, Stephen? Right here, right now? You said hesitation caused you to falter. So don’t hesitate.”
His hand grazed her hip and her passions pulsed, aching to be in his arms. But his answer was soft. Passionless. “Carry on. One day at a time.”
Disappointment burned in Corina’s chest as the first cathedral chime rang out, a second cathedral bell following. At nine o’clock they were bold and resonating, but a dissonant, uncoordinated sound.
One . . .
Two . . .
Three . . .
Corina determined not to lose this moment. She slipped her hand around his neck and drew him toward her, pressing her lips to his. Tentative at first, then with the full force of her heart, leaning against his leg, pressing toward his chest.
Four . . .
A kiss to remind him of their love, of the kiss that began it all that day on the pitch in Cathedral Stadium.
Five . . .
Her kiss deepened with the memories of their wedding night, the heat and sweat of making love for the first time in that small quaint cottage on Hessenberg’s shores.
Six . . .
He held off at first touch, almost pulling away, then his arms slipped around her waist and he drew her onto his lap. They embraced, their bodies pulsing.
Seven . . .
Then she broke away, smoothing her hand over his chest where his heart kicked against her palm.
Eight . . .
“Corina—” His breath was hot against her skin.
Nine . . .
“I love you.” She anchored her hands on his legs and tapped her forehead to his, the flutter of the annulment envelope brushing against her arm. “I just do.”
Stephen woke Sunday morning, drenched in sweat. He’d dreamt of Corina again, but this time she was in his arms, swaying to the music of violins playing Chopin, the feathery white of her gown pure and spotless.
Forgiven.
With a growl in his chest, he kicked out from under the bed linens and made his way to the bathroom. At the sink, he doused his face with cold water, cooling the emotions that flamed against him.
“You’ve done it, mate.” He stared at his reflection. “She’s gone now. It’s what you wanted.”
He touched his finger to his lower lip, where the buzzing hint of her presence remained. He splashed his face again and tried to rub the buzz from his lip. When he snatched the hand towel from the bar to dry his face, the sensation of her touch had not diminished but intensified.
Forgiven.The word strafed his heart.
Stephen tossed the towel into the hamper and made his way back to his room. He wasn’t worthy of forgiveness. Not from himself or Corina. Especially not from a God to whom he barely spoke.
