“Like I would have.” His eyes darken; bright and clear one moment, a starless sky the next. Outside, the wind crashes against the house, demanding passage.
His gaze seizes hers. She can’t look away. His usual easy charm and confidence have evaporated. There’s no room for frills in the little space between them. His face is open in a way that’s like Elijah but not like Elijah, because Elijah doesn’t make her skin burn from head to toe. Elijah doesn’t parch the inside of her mouth with want.
“I’ve been alone for so long,” he says.
The blood sings in Sarah’s ears again, but this time it’s not her fight-or-flight reflex.
She reaches out and touches his cheek.
“So have I,” she says.
He’s so beautiful, as guileless as Elijah in a lot of ways. His hand flies up to cover hers. He closes his eyes and leans into her, his stubble digging into her palm.
“I see you,” she says. “You don’t have to pretend anymore.”You don’t have to pretend you’re holding it all together. “It hurts to pretend, doesn’t it?”
“Yes,” he whispers. “Yes.”
His voice trembles. Something lurches in Sarah’s chest. It’s heady, this power. Maybe this was what was missing from her relationship with Ben. Caleb is a little scared of her, as scared as she is of him. Is this what love is really supposed to feel like? Desire wrapped in fear?
Yesterday she would’ve told herself to step back and say good night. Today she killed a man. And if she can kill a man, she can love one too, just because she wants to. Because she’s finally free.
Sarah slides her fingers down his cheek, tracing the strong line of his jaw until her fingertip rests in the dimple in his chin. He takes her hand and presses his lips to her fingers. At her gasp, he presses another kiss to the heel of her hand, then the tender inside of her wrist, looking at her through long lashes. It is a question.
She answers it by drawing him into the room and closing the door behind him.
“You don’t owe me anything,” he says. “I’m the one who owes you. Are you sure you want this?”
She turns off the light, drags his head down to hers, and kisses him.
Being intimate with a new partner is a mental battleground. It takes a long time to erase someone from your body. Caleb’s smell is different. His weight is different. The shape of his body, the way he moves, the noises he makes, his touch—warm and unhurried, almost reverential, like he can’t believe she’s real—it’s all different, but it’s not enough to escape the muscle memory of the past eight years. Sarah moves with him, screwing her eyes shut as if she can evict the image of Ben’s face. With every stroke, the voice at the back of her head whispers,Ben, Ben, Ben, even though he’s dead.
She grabs Caleb’s hips, terrified of moaning the wrong name, and meets his thrusts with a determination fueled by passion and fear. She opens her eyes and watches his face, wondering if he’s remembering a past lover, too. Each grimace as he strains—is it for her, or for the memory of another woman? Is it desire, or dread?
It is a terrible thing to close your eyes to pleasure and find someone unwanted waiting there, like a ghost standing in the middle of your dream house.
Afterward, she snuggles in his arms, her limbs soft and heavy, careful to lie on the side of the bed opposite to where she used to sleep with Ben. The difference is enough to be a relief. And Caleb is bigger than Ben, more solid.
“You’re beautiful,” she murmurs, skimming his chest with the flat of her hand, tracing faded scars that match Elijah’s. His fingers tense briefly around her shoulder. She’s said the wrong thing, even if it’s true. She forgot he owes his physique to his father, to the threat of violence. A ghost haunting his body, as Ben haunts hers.
He presses his lips to her temple and says, “So are you,” and she knows she’s forgiven.
But he can’t be right. She’s not beautiful, because just as Jacob Vass shaped his eldest son, Ben has shaped her. What will she become because of him?
Her last thought as she drifts into sleep is that she came all this way to escape Ben, but there might be no escape after all.
* * *
Sarah wakes a few hours later and untangles herself from Caleb’s sleeping form. The windows glow a deep indigo-grey, providing enough light for her to groggily stumble to the bathroom. When she returns, she catches a glint of metal on the floor.
A handful of keys splay from a carabiner, attached to Caleb’s discarded jeans.
She jolts to full alertness. She could grab her backpack, get into his truck, and drive away from Sweetside. Disappear into the night and finally start the new life for which she’s been longing for months.
She crouches over the puddle of clothes and reaches for the carabiner, her insides trembling.
“What are you doing?” Caleb’s tousled head rises from the pillows.
Sarah smiles at him. “I was just picking the clothes off the floor.” She scoops them up and deposits them on the recliner. “What did you think I was doing?” she adds, letting an accusatory note slip into her voice.
