I feel tears prickle at the corners of my eyes, now getting a chance toreallylook at him.
His hand reaches out, tucking a loose strand of wet hair behind my ear.
“I think you found me, darling.” The knots in my chest grind together. “Albeit you had a fucking laser sight pointing at my chest. Care to explain?”
I can’t find my voice, can’t even get a coherent thought together.
There are so many questions I want to ask that my answer to him feels irrelevant.
“Where did you go?”
My gaze flickers around his face, trying to work out if this is real.
Saint was always profoundly handsome, he still is, but right now he looks like a sinfully corrupted God.
My arms ache to wrap themselves around his waist, hands itching to reach out and touch him, but I keep them fisted at my sides, my nails digging painfully into my palms.
He walks backwards, dropping down to sit on the bed, spreading his legs as his elbows rest on his knees, staring up at me.
I’m grateful for the distance, because being so close to him was making it hard to breathe, but yet, I can already feel my heart pining for him to come back.
“Don’t make me ask twice, Indie.” His tone drops to a dangerous level.
The warning in its base seems to snap me out of the trance I was in, the fog clearing slightly to allow some lucidity through.
I wet my lips, trying to find the right words. “Your ex sent us—”
“The onlyexI have is standing right in front of me.”
I frown at his answer, even though his words spike my heart rate.
His only.
Fuck, so much has happened over the last couple days, everything merging into one.
He’s not John…he’s Saint.
My Saint.
“You’re weren’t supposed to be at that cabin,” I admit, my voice breaking, trying to keep the tears at bay.
An abundance of emotions are threatening to overrun me right now, all of them fighting for dominance as they race to the surface.
He sighs, running a hand through his textured hair. He’s shed the floppy strands he used to have, the sides shaved down short, but his movement ruffles the strands on top away from each other in a messy bundle.
I loved that feeling, watching him in my lap whilst I played with those silky strands, the nostalgia making the tips of my fingers tingle.
“What the fuck do you mean by that, Indie?”
I stare at him.
I trusted Saint with my life, more than any other living, breathing soul.
And even after all these years, the distance and pain separating us, I still do.
It might be foolish, but I always was when it came to him. I never did learn my lesson when he warned me about loving him.
Now it looks as though it’s come back to bite me in the ass.
