“Mirren?” he asks tentatively, his dark brows furrowed in concern. “Gods, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have—did I hurt you?”
I shake my head fervently. “No, Covinus, no. That was…” I don’t have words for what that was. It was like being awakened.
I pull my robe tighter around me and turn to face him. His hair is wild where I ran my fingers through it and his lips are rose-tinged. Satisfaction threads through me, seeing my mark upon him. “I need to tell you something,” I finally say.
Confusion flickers on his face. “Now?” he says weakly, and I almost laugh.
I bite my lip and nod. Dread sinks in my stomach. I don’t want to tell him. Not when his face is so tender, and his lips are so thoroughly kiss-worn. But if Shaw, a man who has been devastated by the world around him time and again, has faith in my strength, I must have the same faith in his. Trust in his ability to hold fast to his goodness even when his world is shaken.
Trust that he won’t hold it against me. I take a deep breath and spill the secret I’ve kept from him.
“Denver is my father.”
* * *
Shaw
I stare at Mirren, certain I’ve misheard. “What?”
“Denver is my father,” she repeats, her voice soft but sure.
I sit up straight. Distantly, I realize I still wear my dress pants from the night prior, though now, they’re rumpled and stained. I only planned on staying with Mirren until the tremors ceased, but the feel of her tucked into my chest lulled me into a fast sleep. And with everything else this morning, I haven’t had time to change.
I frown. Or bathe.
“Denver,” I say slowly, “myDenver…is your…” I struggle with the wordfather, “…is the man you’ve been looking for?”
Mirren nods, the story of how she found Denver’s picture pouring out of her in a desperate stream. I try to listen, but the words sound fuzzy. Maybe it’s because it has caught me off guard in a world where so little does anymore. Or perhaps my mind still hasn’t settled from the feel of Mirren’s skin on mine, her breath in my mouth and her hands in my hair.
I furrow my brow, trying to focus.
“So, Denver,” I hesitate. Can I even call him that anymore? It’s certainly not his real name; it isn’t Similian in origin. It isn’t reallyanyorigin, which is probably the point. I clear my throat, “so your father was Outcast when you were seven?”
She nods, her eyes wide and glassy. Eyes that are precisely the same shade of green as Denver’s. For someone trained to notice details, I certainly failed to see what was right in front of me. Though her lips are fuller, there is something of him in the set of her mouth and the curve of her jaw, now striking in its apparency.
I close my eyes, wishing desperately that we were still tangled together. That I was still watching Mirren tremble with the power I was so willing to cede to her. Gods, she practically glowed with it. Feeling how it heated her, the way my touch brought a needy flush to her skin—I know I’ll spend the rest of my life chasing that feeling.
A flame of anger spears through me and I can’t even pinpoint exactly why. Because she’s on that side of the bed and I’m here alone? Because she kept vital information from me that could have changed everything? Because the man who brought me back to life and sheltered me isn’t who he said he was?
Because I risked whatever is left of my humanity for his lie?
Whatever it is, I swallow it down.
“Denver, he…he never talked about his past and I never pressed him about it.” I don’t know whether to be ashamed or livid. I poured the darkest parts of myself on to Denver and he accepted them all without demand. Was I selfish for not accepting the same in return? Or was he selfish for not offering it to me?
I rub my palms over my eyes, suddenly feeling exhausted. “Where is your mom?”
Mirren wraps her arms around herself. “I don’t know. I was always told they were Outcast together.”
Mirren’s question about Denver’s personal life suddenly becomes clear. Denver never mentioned a partner, but he also never bothered to mention that he left behind two children to fend for themselves. He always stiffens whenever an interested woman approaches him, but I always assumed it was because he shared Cal’s preferences for the company of men.
“Gods, Mirren. I don’t even know what to say. I don’t know how the person who taught me compassion and kindness is the same man who abandoned his children. Who never even tried to get them back.”
Mirren swallows roughly, but the tears that line her eyes don’t fall. This is something she’s already thought about. She’s had days to come to terms with this, to align her emotions and present them to me neatly, and I hate the Similian slime of it. I want her as untethered as I am, like the world is unraveling beginning with one untruth.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask quietly. Mirren has never been forthcoming with intimate pieces of herself, but neither is she a liar. For the first time since she wrenched herself away from me, I look at her closely. Her hair has begun to partially dry wild around her face and her eyes are red rimmed and agonized. With a start, I realize it isn’t worry for herself. It’s for me.
She bites her lip, and I can’t help but watch the way her teeth worry at the rosy flesh. I dig my fingers into my palm.
